#ichigo daifuku mochi | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

f2e5b1 · 8 months ago

Text

bitter orange — okkotsu yūta [1/3]

pairings. okkotsu yūta + f! reader/original character (main); past!orimito rika + f!reader; past!okkotsu yūta + orimito rika warnings/themes. mentions of death, jealousy, hints of obsession and possession. just a lil dark romance practice (which is barely any dark romance tbh who am i kidding) sprinkled with food motifs but i dont know what im doing im just here for the vibes :P mostly sfw with nsfw themes but nothing sexual bc im too scared to go down that dark path (also no use of y/n bc i started writing with an original name and it unfortunately stuck lawl... can be treated as either or it doesnt matter tbh i cant write anything outside of 2nd person anwyay) word count. 2.8k words nothing too crazy xd playlist. knuckle velvet by ethel cain; velvet ring by big thief; pure by cigarettes after sex; only in the dreams by the marias; be my mistake by the 1975; mary by alex g

it’s been a long time since i have seen my beloved. the moss has grown on that abetachibana tree

PART ONE: ichigo daifuku

Gojō Satoru tells you that love is the most twisted curse of them all.

He had said it in passing after your first solo mission, right as you were entering the car back to Jujutsu Tech before talking your ear off with his lame jokes. The mission had consisted of exorcizing a curse that had persistently haunted an abandoned apartment complex in Omotesandō, assigned to you by the higher-ups in accordance with your newly promoted rank as a Grade 2 sorcerer, having decided that a Grade 1 was doable enough for someone of your caliber. The curse itself wasn’t anything special, though, only repeating gargled confessions of its love to some ‘Chiyo-chan’—whoever she was—the whole time you were dodging its attacks, which was incredibly annoying. You liked your battles in silence, quick and succinct, but curses make that difficult to achieve.

Gojō muses it could have been a past lover, this Chiyo-chan—its love for her having cursed itself. You didn’t really care. If you keep up the good work, complete your required missions and get another recommendation, you could be ranked a Semi-Grade 1 by your second year, then a Grade 1 by your third and nothing else after that because unless you were someone like Gojō Satoru, then you are capped forever at Grade 1.

“So anyway—snacks you like?” said sorcerer asks, finally done with his previous tale. Something about an old coworker. “Mochi, senbei, or taiyaki? Personally, I'm a mochi ice cream type of guy!”

You look at him.

“Why are you here again?”

“... Is your memory that small, Ume? I was proctoring you,” he tuts, mouth turned downwards. “Congrats on the promotion, by the way.”

You shrug. “Ichigo daifuku is good, I guess.”

He smiles, wryly.

“You’re joking, right?”

The building facing your childhood home had been home to Orimito Rika, an unsuspecting property with a decent front yard and the occasional street cat or two often shooed away by her irate grandmother. “Mean granny,” you’d often call her, the insult drowned out by your hushed giggles as you played with your dolls. Rika wouldn’t say anything about it, wouldn’t dare verbally agree with you, but she would always nod her head down, the corners of her lips turned up too high.

You didn’t particularly hate the old woman, but there was a certain kind of satisfaction to saying it behind her back after all the times you’ve caught her looking at her granddaughter in unbridled scorn, your own little form of revenge. You could never understand how her only remaining family could look at her like that, not when Rika was so beautiful and kind; like the cherry blossoms during spring, falling gently along with the wind. Sure, she could be a little cunning at times, and none of the other kids at school liked her because “something’s odd about her, can’t you just hang out with us instead?”—but that’s what makes her interesting, right?

Rika isn’t weird, she’s pretty, and you’re the bee drawn to her. She’s only older than you by a year, ten instead of nine, but she always played with you, taught you how to make flower crowns at the park, and when you walked home from school she’d always hold your hand. Her smile is blindingly bright, the sound of her voice a song you couldn’t stop listening to. Selfishly, you wish it would always be the two of you together; playing with your dolls, walking home with your hands intertwined.

But when she came back from the hospital, so did Okkotsu Yūta.

You could never see what she saw in him; he was short and just a little bit pathetic, always trailing after her like a lost puppy at first. You could push him off the swing and he'd move on with a sniffle, the kind to give up the plastic shovel even though he desperately needed it to finish his sand castle because he didn’t want to fight a girl. He smiled shyly and hid his hands behind his back, looking at you like he was looking for your approval. Of course, you never gave him the time of day, because it felt like he had stolen Rika—your Rika. It was supposed to be just you and her, but that wasn’t the case anymore. Now there was Okkotsu Yūta, who held Rika’s other hand after school, who took away her attention from you so easily.

“He’s so cute, isn’t he?” she asks often, a light blush dusting her face.

“I guess,” is your reply.

“Ne,” she calls, presenting to you a small, black box. You look at it in apprehension, wincing when she eventually opens it. “What do you think of this ring? It was my mom’s. I’m gonna give this to Yūta-kun, do you think he’ll like it?”

The ring was immensely simple, a silver-colored band with a small diamond in front, glinting under the light. Nevermind the fact that it was too big for a child’s fingers to fit in, Rika presented it to you as if it held all the answers to the world. Although her parents were dead, and she had definitely stolen it from her grandmother’s dresser, the ring spoke full of promise. When she takes it out of the box and lets you inspect it, it feels heavy.

“... You really like him, don’t you, Rika-chan?” you ask, quietly.

Rika looks at the stupid piece of jewelry, painfully smitten.

“Mhm,” she affirms. “I really like Yūta-kun. I want to be with him forever! Of course, I like you too, Ume-chan. You and Yūta-kun are my favorite people in the world!”

You close the box, handing it back to her. When Rika looks at you expectantly, you realize then that you could never bring yourself to take that happiness away from her.

The koinobori flies.

“It’s so pretty!” Rika exclaims, eyes wide and staring up at the sky where the huge, windsock carp moves around. It’s bathed in all sorts of colors—from red to blue to white to green—dancing along the azure expanse in commemoration of Children’s Day. The weather is just right, not too hot nor too cold, and the wind caresses your skin gently, the sun not too harsh. It makes the color of Rika’s hair shine in all the right ways, adds more sparkle in her already bright eyes. She’s wearing a yellow sundress, a nice change from her usual blue one. The cream-colored hat you let her borrow covers her face with the shade, but her smile remains bright and blinding. She looks pretty.

She gives you all of her ichigo daifuku, and shares Yūta’s snacks. She doesn’t even like chimaki.

“Are you sure, Rika-chan?” you ask, looking at the two sweets in your hands.

She beams. “You like them, don’t you?”

You keep them with you until the end of the event.

The day passes by incredibly fast, your little trio having exhausted yourselves from running around the park alongside the other children. Yūta chases Rika around the park, and you watch them squeal and laugh at each other and hold hands. You watch them take a nap under the shade, their pinkies intertwined, and you watch as the ugly color of green blinds your eyesight. You leave them be.

Sometimes, you wish you’re the colorful koinobori flying in the sky. You’d let Rika hold on to you, let her fly and hear her amused laugh as the wind tickles her skin. Sometimes, you wish Yūta slapped the ring away from her hands when she handed it to him. Wish he stomped it on the ground and at the same time stomped on her heart. Wish he didn’t take it with a huge smile and agree that he’d marry her when they get older; he’s not the one who’d wait long lines just to get her the best ichigo daifuku, not the one who’d jump at the other kids when they so much as think of insulting her, and he won’t be the one who’d choose to stay with her when she’s all gray and old cause he’s a boy, and boys would never do that.

Sometimes, you wish he never liked her at all—because he never deserved her in the first place.

Okkotsu Yūta could never love Orimito Rika like you.

He sits beside you at lunch.

Rika’s been bedridden for the whole week, which subsequently ruins your week. Yūta doesn’t seem to mind her absence all that much since he doesn’t see her a lot during classes anyway, but they’re supposed to be engaged. He should always be thinking of her, should be acting as miserable as you even at the unripe age of nine. He looks too okay with her absence when he shouldn’t be.

“What’s this?” you ask, pointing at the small bag of snacks he had placed on the cover of your bento.

“Hm?” he looks up. “Oh, it’s norimaki senbei.”

“... And?” you prod.

He tilts his head. “You don’t want it?”

“... I don’t want it.”

He looks at you thoughtfully.

“But you like them, don’t you?” he asks though he’s acting like he already knows, like you’ll take it regardless of what you say. It’s annoying.

You look at the seaweed-wrapped rice crackers—the stupid norimaki senbei—in mild contempt. “Why are you giving it to me?”

Yūta’s smile is small, knowing. “Because you don’t like sweets.”

You frown.

She’s a sweet girl.

You think of Orimoto Rika like that because it’s true—she smiles sweetly, she speaks sweetly, and she likes sweet things. She tells you that her favorite snack is ichigo daifuku, the very same confection you always begged your parents to buy for you just so you could share them with her. It pays off all the time because then she’d look as sweet as the daifuku itself, her cheeks as red as the fruit within it. She also likes hanami dango, but she doesn’t like the green part because she doesn’t really like the subtle taste of yomogi, so you eat the rest for her because she doesn’t want to waste it. She likes cold tea instead of hot, sweet instead of savory, like yuzu iced tea or bubbly ramune in comparison to the nutty taste of hōjicha. When you go to the store, she always gets the kompeitō with some random anime character on the packaging because those were the “cutest kind of kompeitō,” and Rika likes cute things.

She also likes the color pink, but when you ask her what her favorite color is she’d say it’s blue. It’s blue not because she wears that blue dress all the time, but blue because it’s the color of Okkotsu Yūta’s eyes, bright and round and always looking at her. Rika likes it that way—she likes how Okkotsu Yūta is always looking at her with his blue eyes, unwavering and full of adoration for her and her only.

You think Orimito Rika is a sweet girl, but sometimes she’s more than that. Sometimes, when the other kids get brave enough to drag you away from her, tell you to stop hanging out with her, they say it’s because Rika doesn’t like anyone else but Okkotsu Yūta.

Sometimes, when they tell you that, you wonder if Rika liked you at all, way before Okkotsu Yūta came into the picture.

But most of the time, you don’t really care. Even if Rika didn’t like you, you’d still like her. Even if she’d only have her eyes set on Okkotsu Yūta with his stupid blue eyes and his stupid norimaki senbei and stupid chimaki that he shared with her on the fifth of May, you’d still like her because she’s Rika—beautiful, kind, and wonderful Rika.

She has things she doesn’t like, too, such as other people but never Yūta-kun or Ume-chan! She likes it when people compliment her and praise her looks and give her free stuff like ramune or ichigo daifuku or Sailor Moon-themed kompeitō from the store, but sometimes she tells you that she dislikes this certain group of girls from Yūta’s class, dislikes the boy assigned as your seatmate, her homeroom teacher, the “weird” guy who works at the konbini a street over, and dislikes it even more when her grandmother looks at her and tells her she killed her own father without even saying anything at all.

You know all those things because you know Orimito Rika. You like her even if she holds intense dislike for the people outside her circle, people who tick her off just a little for you to see her smile crack at the edges and go stiff, the little twitch of her brown eyes, and most importantly, you still like her when all she wants in the world is the attention of the boy who wears her deceased mother’s ring.

You’ll always want sweet girls like her.

“Where’s Rika-chan?”

“Her grandma won’t let her go out today,” Yūta says, sitting next to you on the bench. “So it’s just you and me.”

He says it dejectedly, but it’s not enough for you. If he was really sad, then he’d be as sad as you are, so you start packing your belongings. “I’m leaving, then.”

He startles, standing up. “Huh? W–wait! Don’t leave just yet!”

“But Rika-chan’s not here,” you frown. “There’s no point in hanging out today.”

He falters, looking down at the ground.

“Even if she isn’t here, we can still play together…” he offers, looking up at you timidly. “We’re friends, too, aren’t we?”

The green-eyed monster stares at the silver chain wrapped around his neck, the ring acting as its pendant tucked underneath his shirt—like an unattainable treasure trapped inside a chest with the key thrown away somewhere you cannot find it. We’re not friends, the monster says with a snarl, stay away from me.

If there is one thing you know, then it’s that you have never wanted to be friends with Okkotsu Yūta, not after he took everything from you. He can butter you up by sticking to you during class and sitting next to you at lunch and even offering you some of his not-ichigo daifuku, not-yuzu iced tea, and not-colorful anime-themed kompeitō but you will and have never liked him for the green-eyed monster will always sit on your shoulder so long as he wears that ring on his person, a physical manifestation of his promise with Rika. Your Rika, even if that’s not really the case.

You will never like Okkotsu Yūta, because—because he—

“... What’re we even gonna do?” you ask, slowly.

He immediately brightens up.

“… Wanna get ice cream?” he offers. “There’s a new flavor I wanna try!”

His suggestion does not entice you at all, but when he stands there with an outstretched hand waiting for you to take it, like it’ll matter if you reject him, you find yourself at a crossroads. But you make your decision soon enough. Like it’ll matter, like the green-eyed monster isn’t there, staring.

“Okay,” you say, moving past him to start walking. He blinks incredulously at the blatant rejection before gathering himself and following after you, a prep to his step regardless of your actions.

You try to ignore the warmth of his body next to yours.

He’s too close.

“Yūta-kun’s birthday is in a few days,” Rika announces, lying on your spare futon. “Did you get him anything?”

You didn’t. “... Yeah.”

“Really? What is it?” she cranes her neck to face you. “What’d you get him?”

She doesn’t want your gift being better than hers, it checks out. “Um… just a toy. A garbage truck.”

“Oh, okay,” she turns back to face the ceiling. “I made him a scrapbook with photos of us. I worked really hard on it… do you think he’ll like it?”

“He’ll like anything you give him.”

She’s already given him a ring—what else could compare to that?

Rika smiles. “I guess… you’re right.”

Soon enough, she goes to sleep, breathing softly beside you as your fan fills the silence of the night. You continue staring at the ceiling, making out the little dents despite the lack of light. You squeeze the hand that holds your under the cover, before closing your eyes.

You hear her softly breathe on a steady beat alongside the fan whirring in the corner, and you close your eyes, squeezing her hand tighter underneath the covers of your too-close futon.

You’ll have to ask your parents for some money tomorrow.

“Rika-chan isn’t here again,” Yūta says dejectedly. “Her granny’s too strict.”

“She hates her,” you say quietly.

Yūta looks at you, confused. “What’d you say?”

“Nothing. Your birthday’s coming up soon, what are you doing that day?”

“Uwah—you remember?”

“Rika-chan told me.”

“Oh, well,” he smiles sheepishly, “we have school that day, but after that I’ll be celebrating at my house. I’m thinking of just inviting Rika-chan and you over… um, so, will you come?”

“I’ll go if Rika-chan is going.”

He blinks, before a smile blooms on his face. “Okay! I’ll see you, then.”

It happens when you aren't there.

It never should have happened at all.

Orimito Rika is pronounced dead at the age of eleven, her body unrecognizable under the heavy weight of a blue truck.

#yuuta okkotsu x reader #jjk #yuta okkotsu #jujutsu kaisen #jjk okkotsu #jjk x reader #yuuta okkotsu x you #yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x reader #okkotsu yuta x you #okkotsu yuuta #yuuta okkotsu smut #jjk imagines #f: jujutsu kaisen #c: okkotsu yuuta

89 notes · View notes

morethansalad · 1 year ago

Text

Strawberry Stuffed Mochi / Ichigo Daifuku いちご大福 (Vegan & Gluten-Free)

#vegan #gluten free #sweets #japanese cuisine #east asian cuisine #mochi #daifuku #strawberries #mochiko #red bean paste #matcha #cornstarch #coconut sugar

87 notes · View notes

starry-nocturne · 9 months ago

Text

✦➤ main info

Name: Ryo Kurokawa

Kanji: 黒川竜

Meaning: 黒川 (black river) 竜 (dragon)

Age: 18

Birthday: August 12th

Zodiac: Leo

MBTI: INTJ

Blood Type: O

Race: Human/Vibora

Ethnicity: Japanese

Height: 170 cm

✦➤ about

Occupation: 2nd Year Student at Ryoutei. Composer

Hobbies: Stargazing, swordsmanship, piano, sports

Favourite food: Ichigo daifuku (strawberry mochi)

Voice claims:

Haruka Tomatsu

chelly (EGOIST)

✦➤ background

As the one and only heiress to the Kurokawa family, an old lineage of shrine maidens, Ryo wasn't expected to be anything other than perfect: the perfect heiress whose perfect skills would soon serve to hide how much of an embarrassment her mere existence had brought onto the family.

Born to a single mother and with birth circumstances far from normal, there was always something unusual about her. After some time it was found out to be an illness: she simply had a weak heart. That was the entire reasoning behind her sometimes strange acting, the fainting and being sick. A weakness she could never get rid off and which would surely end her life way sooner than it should.

Her quiet yet somehow fulfilling life in the countryside only lasted for a few years. Things started to go wrong as she grew up: people getting sick, their shrine catching fire. Her grandfather dying. She wasn't ill, she was cursed.

Just as the Kurokawa family's one and only hope to regain their household's old status vanished and they started targeting Ryo as the root of all evil, her mother took the difficult decision to flee from their home, to leave everything behind and move with a father she didn't know a thing about but who could surely help them... or so she expected.

Ryo's father wasn't a kind man. He wasn't even a human and that suddenly brought a bizarre closure to everything she had been feeling for the past years: she wasn't cursed, she simply wasn't human. Not really a human and not really a vampire, but some sort of sick in-between.

After her mother was killed by her father time after that, everything spiralled down. Vampires were monsters and she didn't want to become one of them, no matter what. She seeked revenge against her father and was determined to do anything to get it.

With no family left to look after her, she found unexpected support in a boy slightly older than she was, who introduced himself as her brother. Her step brother on her father's side, even though the line started blurring soon after that, a vampire who also seeked revenge against the same man that had hurt her.

Time after that, a barely teenager Ryo decided to move back to Japan and start living on her own while trying to plot revenge against her father. Things worked out, somehow, as she tried to regain a human life that was forcefully taken away from her while dealing with grief and the aftermath of her non-human nature.

Years later, almost when she had grown used to being a "human" again, a certain incident forced her to move into a certain mansion where six vampires lived, pushing her back to the same situation she had lived as a kid: to keep herself alive, at all means. And to fight all the demons she had been trying to avoid for so long.

Credits: Base template here // Sprites, chibi and art: me

#diabolik lovers oc #leo; bio #hello hi yes this is THE post!#the sprites have taken me so insanely long likes and reblogs are extra appreciated!!#i also managed to make a short? introduction to her character but i promise there's even more to come #i am now officially ready to use my brand new sprites <3

31 notes · View notes

eeboshmeebo · 18 days ago

Text

🤜 Malleable Mochi 🍡

Tried out writing a fierce but domestic reader character... don't know how well I did. No beta, like always.

It was nearing December already, despite it feeling like September had just passed. How time flies, huh?

You pondered over it as you nibbled on your snack, scrolling through HeroTube videos mindlessly until you saw a video with a thumbnail that featured a cute porcelain rabbit, a wooden pedestal with wax paper and ornamental decorations on it, and most importantly...

Mochi. In a small corner of the thumbnail, there was even a mochi cut in half to display the dark adzuki bean paste filling and the gentle yellow chestnut, which was supposed to look like a full moon at night.

Maybe it was too late for the harvest moon festival, but who cared. It looked tasty, easy, and, well, when Monoma came back, you could make it with him after measuring out all the ingredients.

That sounded good, and besides, there's been enough of fall spices and peppermint going around. Time for a change of taste!

================================================

Monoma sighed after closing the door behind him and putting his casual jacket on the clothes hangar, finally back home after a long day of hero work and paperwork. Both were tedious and enjoyable (more the hero work than the paperwork), but he did need something comforting...

"Sweetheart, I'm hooooooome~!" He yelled, hearing his voice echo in the house's walls before he heard your response.

"Honey-buns! Come to the kitchen, I got something I want'cha to help with!"

"Alright, I'll be there in a second!" he replied to you, smiling wistfully to himself as he palmed the small ichigo* daifuku he bought on the way back. A small treat for you, but judging by the smell in the house, it'd be in the fridge for a little while.

He took off his shoes and walked to the kitchen, to be greeted with...

You, who had portioned out the ingredients already and were in the process of cooking them, were mashing the adzuki beans you had just boiled (evident by the pot in the sink that was slightly steaming somewhat) with some sugar using the potato masher that, honestly, had gone forgotten for weeks until now. You didn't seem to notice him yet.

Seeing this, Monoma crept up behind you slowly and every so silently, internally anticipating your reaction as he inched closer and closer...

"I can hear your watches jingle on your belt, honey-buns."

"Tch..."

Oh well, he'd get you next time. He wrapped his arms around your shoulders, resting his head on the crook of your neck as he admired the view.

"So, what're you making? It smells better than I expected."

"Mochi! I saw a video online, and watch your mouth. I only burned that popcorn once because I hadn't made it for a while!"

He cried out in mock-pain as you bit onto his cheek gently, leaving pinkish shallow marks on his face that'd fade away in minutes.

"Ah, my darling, you disfigure me! How will I show myself on the streets now that my face has been rent asunder?" He put a hand on his forehead, leaning backwards and away from you with 'despair' on his face.

He slipped.

You scrambled to put the bowl on the counter to catch him right before he hit the ground, his heart racing from the surprise scare. Your heart was evidently racing, too, from how you were dry-laughing from stress and from the scare he had just gave you.

"..."

"...I'm sorry..?"

"You better be, dumbass..."

Then, you kissed him fiercely, allowing his stress to melt away along with his fear that just spiked for a few moments before you pulled away.

"You're so lucky you have a kissable face, or I'd have punched you already."

"...pfft- hahahahaha! Oh, don't worry, Kendo does all of the physical lecturing for you so you don't hurt your pretty hands on my head."

He then threw the most lovesick, puppy-eyed look he could muster. Monoma loved how your blush rose onto your skin despite the fact that you were still mildly angry, and how easy it was for you to give in.

Eventually, after five or so seconds, you sighed and placed the half-mashed bowl of bean paste into his hands.

"I'll deal with the mochi. Don't slip again, okay?"

Your tone was rough, but your eyes gave away the worry and the mild annoyance you felt as you stormed to the stove and took out the freshly-steamed mochi from the steamer in the pot, hissing from the heat as you hurriedly placed it on a large cutting board caked with rice flour.

Monoma grinned as he stood up, mashing the beans as he looked over.

He saw you punching and folding the mochi dough quickly, as if you did this multiple times before. Or maybe you punched and slapped a training dummy so many times it translated into mochi-making skills.

Either way, his eyes sparkled with every punch you delivered and every blow you landed, even if you stopped sometimes to cool your hands down, that he eventually finished mashing his own beans but was still doing so even if they were already done.

"I love you, sweetheart."

"Love you too, honey-buns! Now, help me make some mochi, eh?"

================================================

You sat on the couch, nibbling on some slightly lumpy mochi as your head laid in Monoma's lap while you watched TV with him. The show on was something about a pink-haired guy and a white-haired guy with a blindfold and they were supposed to be very important, but right now, your focus was locked on Monoma.

Who was dozing off right now, and there were a few more marks on his skin. You had bitten a bit too hard earlier after you both were done making mochi, but it was fine.

This was the life, nibbling on slightly warm mochi and savoring the sweetness of affection and sweet treats. And a good kiss on the cheek every few minutes.

[*Ichigo is Japanese for Strawberry]

[Apparently this rabbit's name is Daifuku, or something close to it. It's cute so I kept the GIF.]

#neito monoma x reader #monoma x reader #reader insert #gif warning #light jumpscare in text #cooking #neito monoma #monoma neito

13 notes · View notes

rays-of-fire-and-ice · 2 years ago

Text

A Part of You

Hitsuhina Weekend - Day 2: Stars / Morning / Zanpakuto / Teamwork

Prompts: Zanpakuto, Acceptance

Rating: T for mild themes and mentions of violence.

Setting: between the end of the Arrancar arc and the beginning of the Fullbringer arc

Synopsis: Momo puts another piece of the past to rest.

AN: I’ve wanted to write this story for a while, but seeing the prompts for the Hitsuhina Weekend and for @yearoftheotpevent's challenge finally got me to do it.

If there’s one [of many] things I think needs to be expanded upon in BLEACH universe it’s zanpakuto etiquette. We've seen Shinigami characters treat their zanpakuto differently, from some seeing it as just a weapon to others having a close bond with the spirit tied to their sword. So what happens if another person touches it or shatters it? How deeply and personally do they feel when something like that happens?

I listened to music that reminded me of water for this one, including Dying Planet by Parallel Highway, A Letter by Clem Leek, The Latter Rain Patio by Will Lewis, and Belong by The Living Sleep, so I recommend any one of these songs while reading this fic if you’re interested.

Also, Momo names a few confectionery treats here:

Siberia cake: a sponge cake with a sweet bean jelly filling.

Chinsuko: it’s like a shortbread biscuit, made form lard and flour with a mild and sweet flavor. A friend of mine brought these back from Japan as a gift once.

Kusa mochi: a sweet mixed with the leaves of the mugwort plant.

Botamochi: a sweet mixed with red bean paste. It’s traditionally made during spring and autumn/fall.

Ichigo daifuku: a sweet with a redbean paste filling and a strawberry stuffed in the middle.

Anyhow, hope you all enjoy this one!

___________________________

Toshiro blinks down at the box full of sweets. “You…really went all out.”

Heat rushes up to Momo's face. Had she gone overboard? “Well, ever since I left the Fourth Division, I’ve wanted to get back into baking. With the Shinigami Women’s Association bake sale, I thought it’d be a good excuse to try out a few recipes I wanted to do quite some time now.”

“Don’t they make enough money off of calendars already?”

She only gives him a pointed stare in response to his snarky comment. After a beat, she names off each sweet in the box. “This is sibera, those are chinsuko, and those are some mochi. The green ones are kusa mochi, the maroon ones are botamochi, and the white ones are ichigo daifuku.”

He only reacts to the latter, and she suspects it’s due to Ichigo Kurosaki. At his otherwise lack of a response, she sighs. “Did I go overboard? Maybe I only should have made the mochi and got Rangiku-san and Nanao-san to try the other sweets.”

He quirks up a brow. “I don’t just like mochi and amanatto.”

She can’t help but smile. “Well, you do tend to gravitate towards those, so…”

He shakes his head. “It’s fine, I’ll try all of these.”

“Thank you, Shiro-chan!”

“Call me that again and I’ll give everything a bad review.”

“You can be so mean,” she half-teases.

He only grumbles, but takes up a slice of the siberia. He takes a decent bite out of it and chews. She can’t help but watch him to gauge his reaction, and he makes it a point to look away to the garden in front of them. Nothing gives away his judgement as he munches on the cake. Did it always take him this long to chew his food? Was he doing this on purpose? Or had she not cooked the cake well?

Then, he swallows and makes an approving grunt. “It’s good.”

Momo grins in relief and pushes the box towards him; it's about as high a compliment as she can typically get from Toshiro with her baking. “You like it? Feel free to have some more.”

“You’re not going to have any?” he asks before biting into his slice again.

Momo shrugs. “I might have one of the mochi later, but I want to see what you make of everything first. I don’t think I can judge what I bake very well. Can you tell me what you like about it? Just so I know what I got right.”

Toshiro opens his mouth to speak, but he’s interrupted by a knock from the door behind them. Momo gives him a questioning tilt of her head, and his response is a deepening of his frown. He lowers the remains of sibera slice down to his lap and twisted around. “Yes?”

The door slides open to reveal Minagwa, Tenth Division’s third seat, kneeling. He bows his head. “I’m sorry to interrupt sir, but the group you sent to the seventh north district have returned. They have a debrief ready for you.”

Toshiro looks back to Momo. Seeing the glimmer of guilt in his gaze, Momo smiles. “Did you need to go speak with them?”

He nods stiffly. “It’s an investigation we’ve been waiting on for a while.”

He shoves the rest of his sibera slice into his mouth and chews quickly. She can’t help but list her head fondly to one side; it made him look oddly childish and it’s typical of him to not waste anything he’s started on.

Minagawa gives Momo an apologetic look, and is about to speak up, until Toshiro turns back to him “Where are they right now?” he asks while rising from the veranda.

The third seat follows suit and stands. “Out the front, sir.”

To Momo, Toshiro says, “I’ll be back soon.”

She waves her hand. “It’s all right, take your time. Captain Hirako ordered me to take a longer break.”

“What is it with his lax orders?” he says under his breath. However, unlike other times he criticized her captain, there's no annoyance in his tone.

Toshiro and Minagawa leave, closing the door behind them. Momo stares after them for a moment, sensing Toshiro’s reiatsu get further and further away.

Eventually, she turns back to the gardens. Tenth Division always kept such small but tidy gardens, suitable for jinzen or private conversations. This one happens to be her favourite, filled with colourful flowers and tall trees that shade most of the area. Had she ever told Toshiro this was her favourite? Is that why he often brought her here for their shared lunch breaks?

As the sun spills through the parting clouds, she munches on an ichigo daifuku, more out of boredom than hunger. Despite feeling like she can’t judge her own cooking, the daifuku turned out rather good in her opinion. Chewing on the last of the sweet, she goes for a kusa mochi.

As she does, it becomes hard to ignore the glint of Hyourinmaru’s hilt in her peripheral.

She risks swallowing with a tightened throat and winces as her food goes down. Haltingly, she lifts her gaze to the zanpakuto propped against the nearest wooden beam. Now focused on it, she senses the chill thrumming from it in slow waves, just barely brushing against the side of her leg.

She knows the blade’s cold all too well. How it burned through her chest and in her veins, as if freezing her from the inside out. She grimaces at the dull throb in her chest. A remembrance, still raw enough to make her lean away from the zanpakuto, hand clutches where it had cut through her. She closes her eyes and breathes, just like how Isane taught her to.

Unlike what she’d been instructed to do however, she keeps her eyes open, unable to look away from the zanpakuto. Toshiro sometimes went to training after their lunch breaks, it’s the only reason he brings his zanpakuto along. She never told him how unnerved seeing the blade made her at times, feeling it was something she and she alone had to deal with. Why worry him with something he can’t control?

The door slides open, startling her.

“Apologies, it was important that I…” Toshiro trails off when his eyes land on her. She isn’t sure what her expression shows, but it’s enough to make him stop mid-step.

Without meaning to, she glances at Hyourinmaru. It all comes together for her childhood friend, his eyes narrowing at his zanpakuto. Momo had a feeling he knew something was wrong this whole time. Since they started having the occasional lunch break together, he would look at her for a second in a certain way, as if assessing her to make sure she was all right. Other times he'd try to obscure Hyourinmaru from her sight somehow as they ate. Even today, he'd knelt in front of his weapon, with only the hilt visible behind his head and blocking her from the cold it emitted.

She's brought out of her thoughts when Toshiro curses under his breath. He steps out from the doorway towards Hyourinmaru. “I didn’t -”

“It’s okay,” she’s quick to reassure, throwing her hands up. “Really, it’s okay.”

He’s unconvinced, not once taking his eyes off her and he comes to stand between her and his zanpakuto. He’s putting her first, making sure she doesn’t feel unsafe.

Something that makes her chest tighten. The weapon is a manifestation of his soul, a part of him. If she’s always going to be apprehensive towards his zanpakuto, then it’s not different from being fearful of him. He shouldn’t have to shield her from a part of himself.

She wills herself to calm the faint tremors. “May I…see Hyourinmaru up close?”

Toshiro’s eyes widen with a confused grunt. “What?”

She has nothing for him, unable to believe she had spoken the request out loud. At his continued stare and lack of response, she starts to lose her nerve. “Forget it.”

His frown returns, though now it's out of confusion. He lowers himself back to a kneel on the veranda. “Why do you want to look at Hyourinmaru?”

“It’s…It’s hard to explain. I think it’ll help somehow with coming to terms with what happened.”

“Are you sure?”

It’s rare to see him so uncertain, and she hates that this is his reaction. It’s all the more reason she needs to do this.

She lifts her legs off the edge of the veranda and folds them legs underneath to fully turn to him. Her heart races, but she schools her expression to one of calm and gives him a firm nod.

His gaze lingers for several heartbeats, searching for something within her. Whether he finds what he’s looking for or not, he still twists to Hyourinmaru and clasps his sheath with both hands. He’s slow to bring the weapon out and lay it before her, as if giving her time to back out. In response, she moves the box of sweets out of the way, a space now clear to lay the weapon down between them.

The ‘clink’ the blade makes once the sword on the floorboards is the only sound to break the tense silence. This has been the closet she’s been to zanpakuto since being in the Fake Karakura Town. She bites the inside of her mouth when the memories of that day threaten to come forward.

She focuses her attention on Hyourinmaru’s details, from the four-pointed hilt guard to the dark blue scabbard. It’s always had a certain elegance to it, though not in the traditional sense like Senbonzakura or even Sode no Shiraiyuki. It came from how ancient it felt, having been honed from one wielder down to the next. Perhaps it’s why it’s as long as it is.

There was a time where she found it a little funny the blade was too long for her childhood friend to carry on his hip. In time, she came to wonder if the sword was meant for someone older. Toshiro had unlocked his potential at such a young age, she couldn’t help but wonder once if maybe he should have waited until he was a little older.

A fresh wave of cold wafts over her. With the blade this close, the chill it emits reminds her of Toshiro’s reiatsu whenever she’s next to him. It swirls around him, as gentle as a winter breeze, settling coolly on her skin and uniform. It’s never been unpleasant to her.

So drawn in by that familiar reiatsu and as in a trance, Momo reaches for the blade. At Toshiro’s confused grunt, she stills, and then snaps her hand back to her lap. “I’m sorry! I don’t, um…”

He looks at her like she’s grown a third eye.

Before she can explain herself, he tilts his head downward. It’s imperceptible, a ‘blink and you’ll miss it’ moment, but she can tell he’s communicating with his zanpakuto. His eyes briefly take on a hazy quality, as if he’s fallen somewhere into the back of his mind deep in thought. Had her action disturbed Hyourinamru?

“I’m sorry,” she repeats. “I got ahead of myself without thinking.”

Toshiro seems to only half hear her, still stuck in his inner conversation with Hyourinmaru. She waits in nervous silence, fearful she may have offended the zanpakuto spirit or even Toshiro.

It differs from Shinigami to Shinigami, but zanpakuto wielders could get personal about another touching their weapon. Whether it was a fear that another would somehow damage it or because to touch it is to sense a part of the wielder’s soul, each Shinigami had their limitation for others touching their weapon.

Eventually, Toshiro lifts his head back to her. It’s as though he’s come to a heavy decision, one loaded with a lot of potential risk.

“Will it help you?” he asks. At her surprised blinking, he clarifies. “If it will help, you can touch Hyrouinmaru.”

Her shoulders drop in shock. He’d really allow this? Of all the Shinigami she knows, he is willing to let her touch his zanpakuto? She’s never had to touch Hyourinmaru or ever been tempted to, but she always imagined Toshiro would find it hurtful if someone tried to outside of combat or training.

She purses her lips, hating the uncertainty bubbling up within her. “I don’t know for certain. I just know that I can’t keep feeling this way towards Hyourinmaru.”

Toshiro's gaze softens. “You don’t have to push yourself.”

Momo had heard that so many times, from Shinigami in the Fourth Division and form all her friends. Shinji had told her a few times too, but it was only once he could see she was visibly upset by something that happened – usually to do with Aizen and remembering something from her past with him. She knows everyone means well when they tell her, but she doesn’t want to remain stagnant. She can handle more than she could before.

“If it’s truly all right with both of you…then please let me try. If not, then that’s okay too. Please don’t push yourself.”

He doesn’t react to his own words being said back him. “Hyourinmaru feels it’s only right that you do, after what happened.”

That shocks her even more. She’s left speechless for a moment, only able to look between Toshiro and Hyourinmaru. The zanpakuto spirit wants this too?

Trepidation jumps through her, making her heart race and her body want to freeze. She forces her hand forward.

The closer she reaches, the colder the chill becomes. Despite the quivering that comes more from anxiety than the cold, she isn’t deterred. With her heart racing and her eyes unblinking, she touches the scabbard.

She gasps at the freezing cold. It’s like her fingertips are dipped in the running water of a river just as the ice is starting to thaw. She can’t help but shiver, and she has to flash Toshiro a reassuring smile when he leans forward, ready to snatch the weapon away.

She stays with the cold, let’s her shaking calm with each breath she takes. It’s like the water has risen to surround her, but it doesn’t drown her. It doesn’t burn her either, like it had when the blade pierced through her chest. It’s like winter winds, the invisible waves of cold ice gives off, and the snowfall in the Junrinan. It’s harsh and soft at the same time. It’s only then she realises she’s closed her eyes.

Beyond the cold, there are swells of emotion. To her surprise, she senses she can go beneath the surface, tread further into the cold and discover how Toshiro feels in this moment and towards things happening his life. There are so few barriers in her way.

It strikes her again that Toshiro is allowing her to do this, to sense how he feels and what lies deep within his being. It’s more vulnerable than when one opens up with their words or actions, it’s truly getting to the heart of a person in its most raw form. To discover it may change how one sees the other, or it may break the person who allowed them to tread so far in.

And in understanding that vulnerability she doesn’t even entertain the idea of going further in; his feelings are his own, for him to express to her or not, and she will wait on the surface for whatever Hyourinmaru wants to convey her now.

Slowly, guilt floats up to her. It’s heavy, carrying the weight of two. So even after forgiving him when it wasn’t needed, Toshiro still feels responsible for what happened. On it’s tail is a wordless apology, as if a great force is bowing before her, asking for her forgiveness.

She shallows against the lump forming in her throat and blinks her eyes open.

It was nothing compared to what would’ve laid beneath he surface of Hyourinmaru’s connction to Toshiro, but she feels the need to make a confession of her own. “As I said before, it wasn’t your fault, you weren’t to know. It may take me a while to fully accept it, but I know I don’t have to be scared of you.” A small smile lifts the corners of her lips. “You’ve always been there for Hitsugaya-kun, since all the way back in the Junrinan. I knew he’d go to the Academy, one day, I could barely sense something within him, and that was you.”

In her peripheral, Toshiro straightens, but she doesn’t take her gaze from Hyourinmaru.

“I’ve seen the way you fight together,” she continues, “it’s inspiring to witness a connection like yours. It’s even inspired Tobiume and I to bond with each other when I was training to obtain my Shikai.” She bows her head to the sword. “Thank you for keeping Hitsugaya-kun safe.”

There’s a pulse, an like echo from a canyon. Gratitude, she realises with a widened smile. She only nods in response. Then, as slowly as she can, she curls her fingers away from the scabbard, and the connection fades. Her heart is at eases with the fading of the cold all around her.

She bows her head again, this time to Toshiro. “Thank you for letting me do that.”

He says nothing, doesn’t even shift. Perhaps it had been too much for him, for to even just graze a part of his inner self. She has an apology ready on her lips, but he speaks.

"Did it help?"

His voice is quiet, maybe even on the verge of quivering. It's like the day they reconciled, when he spoke in low tones and eventually lost the battle against the emotions raging through him. Unlike then, his gaze isn't tumultuous. There's worry, but also a calmness she hadn't seen in him for quite some time.

Following the same instinct that had led her to reaching out to Hyourinmaru in the first place, she takes on his hands and smiles. She can't give him a verbal answer, too overcome with what she'd experience, but she hopes this is enough to tell him.

She can’t forget the burning of the ice in her chest, just as she can’t forget that horrible day in its entirety. It will live on in her, but it’ll become an echo one day, of a time long gone and a pain long forgiven.

#hitsuhina #hitsuhina weekend #toshiro hitsugaya #momo hinamori #hyourinmaru #bleach #fanfiction #angst #I feel like I completely forgot about Momo's baking in the end #I wanted include a moment where they get back to eating her sweets #but it didn't feel right with what just happened with Momo and Hyourinmaru #I also didn't want to get rid of the start and just launch straight into the heavy stuff either #sooooo....maybe a sequel piece where Toshiro tries Momo's baking??#also #how do I keep finding gifs that just suit my fics?!#I swear it's by accident every time!

35 notes · View notes