#tatsuki x reader

[arsmada]

Chance. (Tatsuki x Reader x Izumi)

White chrysanthemum.

          Its petals fluttered outwards, as though beckoning to you. The flowers had been delivered in a fragile, icy blue vase that sent shivers coursing down your spine. At first you’d thought it to be a gracious thought of his, though after careful inspection, you discovered there was no note or any sort -- just the anonymity and the beauty of the bloom.

          When you’d presented them to your husband with a small, questioning smile, the mere response was a dip to his brow and a hint of suspicion creeping beneath his pure, azure eyes. With a shake of his tousled blonde locks, he denies any connection to such things.

Quite a bit of time had passed and the flowers had begun to wilt, despite your fruitless attempts to allow them to flourish for a bit longer.

Yellow chrysanthemum.

          The colors and flowers almost seemed symbolic as they stared back at you. You vaguely recall there being some sort of meaning behind the flowers -- a hidden message concealed beneath the delicate petals. A click and hasty clattering at the keyboard warrants the appearance of a website advertising their variety of floral products, though the very information you’d searched for had appeared in the open.

‘white chrysanthemum - truth,’ the words read and with a dip to your brow you silently ponder, and with surprise in your gaze, you discover something rather interesting:

‘yellow chrysanthemum - secret admirer’

Your lips part in vague surprise and you cast the flowers a wary gaze.

A secret admirer, huh?

          Your golden-haired, petite partner seemed faintly bemused at the presentation of such a discovery, though a flicker of recognition in his gaze is not gone unnoticed. You dismissed it easily, though the mysterious, anonymous sender had not ceased.

Red and yellow tulips intermingled, its sweet fragrance wafting about.

‘red tulips - declaration of love. yellow tulips - hopelessly in love.’

          As usual, they remained on perched atop the windowsill, an eerie but beautiful presence. Such matters escaped your mind once your husband had told you excitedly about an opportunity for you to watch his dance group film.

Of course, you had agreed, though not without a hint of hesitation.

~

          Their movements are fluid and graceful, surprisingly coordinated. The man adorning glasses and silvery hair catches your eye and you find yourself following his every motion and when his icy blue eyes meet yours, you immediately avert your gaze as your cheeks become roseate.

          Within the span of a few minutes, they finish, each of them breathlessly. You embrace him and with a bit of amazement you note how skilled he’d become. He introduces you to his comrades and with a polite bob of your head and acknowledgement of their identities, you excuse yourself to the restroom.

          Your fingers wrap around the cool metal of the handle and you move to pull it open before a gloved hand abruptly stops your movements. With a curious gaze, you meet the stoic eyes of Sou Izumi and you grimace as a small smirk forms on his rosy lips. He hovers close to you, breath fanning the shell of your ear, husky tone evident in his voice.

“My apologies.” He gingerly takes your dainty hand in his and the object (strangely smooth and soft) falls into your palm. “We will meet again, most certainly.”

An incredulous, dumbfounded gaze watches his retreating back, and you tentatively loosen your grip on the delicate object.  

The lone petal of a white carnation.

~Hitomi-kohai

A/N: My apologies; this work isn't my best but I decided to post it anyway. Hope you enjoyed. ^^

[arsmada]

Confession. (Tatsuki Sakakibara x Reader)

         Panic gnawed at him, a wave rising to conquer his frail, delicate body. He rested on the couch, knees hugged to his chest and curved chin placed atop. The dark arrows silently ticked and reverberated throughout the room in an ominous rhythm and he found himself counting each time it would jitter and continuously rotate about its encasement. Anxiety began to overcome his typically optimistic mind and he found it to be a terrible sensation and silently vowed to never allow such bitter thoughts encompass him.

          His eyes are fixated on the rectangular box (neatly packaged with bright hues adorning it to appeal to unsuspecting customers) and he, after the moment his lips form the beginnings of a number, hears the steps, faint but reiterating at an even pace, slowly making its presence prominent. The door is tentatively pushed to reveal a pale light bathing the lush carpet and he hurriedly rights himself and assumes his contagious grin, dainty fingers wrapping around the box. He fumbles to tear open the box and grimaces upon the realization that there is another layer of packaging underneath -- though, thankfully, it would reveal the creamy sticks, resting against the reflective silver.

“Tatsuki?” Imploring eyes peek in the doorway and you are greeted by the petite man nibbling on aforementioned food.

          His smile comes a bit more easily as he shuffles his feet towards your enchanting, elfin figure and hovers above you, shifting his weight occasionally. His brow dips briefly and his smile slowly fades, but his eyes glint mischievously, though the agitation is evident. Your gaze darts to the box he holds, emblazoned with an infamous logo and a small smile tugs at your lips.

“Can I have one?”

         He bobs his head and hands the stick to you, almost eagerly and not a trace of hesitance is displayed. You accept the pastry with an expression of gratitude and enjoyed just a morsel as you seat yourself on the plush, red couch.

          All his anxieties -- both positive and negative -- are coming into fruition as he nestles next to you, the curve of your figures snugly fitting, almost as though they were the pieces of a puzzle. His delicate fingers ghost by your chin and he coaxes you to incline your head towards him. When your eyes meet his glittering azure ones, he pauses for a brief moment, the realization of how close he is and how he can feel your gentle breath fanning his face overcomes him and a rosy tint blossoms across his milky skin.

          He can hear his teacher’s urging and insistent push, but his fear of rejection clouds his judgment and he mistakes the erubescent hue on your cheeks for a flustered anger. His lips part and an haphazardly delivered force causes part of the exposed stick to be encompassed in his mouth and the faint crunch! reaches his ears. His lips meet yours in a chaste, but nonetheless sweet kiss, before he is the one to pull away and repeat an apology as if it is a mantra, head bowed and hands covering his face in shame.

           A low chuckle is heard and he realizes that his teacher looms above them with a smug, satisfied grin, before said man runs his hands down his lab coat, dusting off imaginary particles and exits, chortling to himself.

“Tatsuki?” Your tender, melodic voice reaches his ears and a soothing hand rests on his hunched shoulders. A terse silence fills the air as he relinquishes his hands and breathes a sigh, his eyes, an awe-inspiring hue that could rival even that of the sky’s, mournful and oddly solemn meets yours. This time, you are the one to carefully lean close and meet his lips, a pleasant shiver coursing down your spine as he gingerly sets his hands on your waist. His dainty fingers travel to the small of your back, where he inscribes invisible letters that only you are consciously aware of as the fabric brushes against your sensitive skin.

I love you.

  ~Hitomi-kohai