Can you write another fu fic where reader invites him to bake cookies with them bc fu is bored, and they’re just being wholesome. OU and maybe hii helps at the end too and ends up eating the rest of the chocolate chips after they’re done? IDK I thought it would be cute and funny 🥹
⸝⸝ ⊹ ˚｡ 𖥔 ༚ ˚₊· 𝐐𝐔𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐓𝐘 𝐂𝐎𝐍𝐓𝐑𝐎𝐋 ˓˓ 𝐅𝐔 𝐎𝐑𝐎𝐒𝐓𝐎𝐑 & 𝐇𝐈𝐈
𝐃𝐈𝐕𝐈𝐃𝐄𝐑 𝐁𝐘: @huraxy-dividers 𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): Fu Orostor x Gender Neutral!Cleaner!Reader x Hii 𝐒𝐘𝐍𝐎𝐏𝐒𝐈𝐒: With nothing else to do, Fu agrees to help you bake cookies after you ask him nicely. What starts as a simple way to pass the time quickly turns into a messy afternoon, and the leftover chocolate chips somehow disappear before the cookies are done. 𝐆𝐄𝐍𝐑𝐄(𝐒): Romantic fluff/catching feelings. 𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆(𝐒): None. 𝐀/𝐍: I hope you enjoy @menwhere! This was such a cute request to write, thank you for requesting! 𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 4.7k words
Fu looked like he had been left somewhere.
Not abandoned, exactly. Just… placed.
He sat near the far side of the common room at the Cleaners HQ, shoulders slightly hunched, knees close together, hands resting awkwardly against the front of his teal hoodie. The hoodie pulled over his frame like he had chosen comfort and invisibility at the same time and the hood cords hanging still against his chest. His white sneakers tapped once against the floor before going still again.
Hii sat beside him. Or rather, Hii had been set beside him. The doll rested against Fu’s thigh, still, watching nothing and everything with that unpleasant little presence it always had. Not moving, not blinking and not doing anything that a doll was not supposed to do.
But Fu kept glancing at him anyway. That was usually the giveaway.
You had noticed Fu had a few nervous habits. He often looked down before answering too quickly. He waited for directions like standing still too long without them would get him in trouble. And, when Hii was speaking to him, his eyes always shifted slightly. Down. Sideways. Away. Like he was listening to someone standing right there.
You had talked to Fu here and there since he started working around the Cleaners on trial. Long conversations when you were free with you mostly doing the talking or dragging him along to spend time with you. A passing comment after a job. He looked really relieved. Too relieved for something that simple.
So now, seeing him sitting there with absolutely nothing to do, no one speaking to him, and no clear task in his hands, you knew exactly what kind of boredom this was.
You stood in the doorway for a moment, watching him.
He did not notice you at first.
His eyes were pointed toward the opposite wall, but he was not really looking at it. You tilted your head. Then you made your decision.
“Fu.”
His head snapped toward you fast.
“Y-Yeah?” he answered, already sitting up straighter.
You leaned your shoulder against the doorway. “You busy?”
He shook his head.
“Good, come with me.”
“Come with you?”
“Mhm.”
“Where?”
“To the kitchen. I’m baking cookies.”
“…Why?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Why am I baking cookies?”
“No. Why do you want me to come?”
“Because you’re bored.”
“I’m not—”
You gave him a look.
Fu stopped.
“…I might be.”
“You are.”
“I wasn’t bothering anyone.”
“I didn’t say you were.”
Fu looked up again, and the confusion on his face was small but obvious. It was like he had expected your next line to be a complaint. Like boredom, in his head, automatically became useless, being in the way, being a problem someone else had to fix.
You softened your voice, but only a little.
“I’m asking because I want help."
“You want me to help bake?”
“That’s what I said.”
“I don’t know how.”
“That’s fine. I’ll tell you what to do.”
The second you said it, Fu’s expression settled half-heartedly.
His hands curled lightly over his knees, and he glanced down at Hii again.
“Hii says that sounds stupid.”
You looked directly at the doll.
“Hii can stay here, then.”
Fu stiffened. You kept your face calm.
“If he thinks baking cookies is stupid, he doesn’t need to come.”
Fu stared back at you, awkwardly serious.
“…He didn’t say he wasn’t coming.”
“Of course he didn’t. He can supervise. Quality control. He can sit there and judge everything we do.”
A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth before he swallowed it down and looked away.
“He was already going to do that.”
“Great. Then he has a job too.”
The movement nearly made Hii slide off the couch, and Fu fumbled, grabbing the doll before it could tilt over. His cheeks went pink from the small failure, and he tucked Hii against his side.
“I can come."
“You don’t have to sound like you’re reporting for punishment.”
“…You’re bossy.”
You turned and started walking. “Good. Then you and Hii already understand me.”
The kitchen was quiet when you reached it.
That was lucky.
The common kitchen at Cleaners HQ could get out of hand fast depending on who was using it. But right now, it was spacious and clean enough to your liking.
You walked to the counter and started pulling out what you needed. Flour. Sugar. Butter. Eggs. A mixing bowl. A spoon. A tray. A bag of chocolate chips that crinkled loudly when you set it down.
Fu stood near the entrance at first. Not fully inside or out. He hovered there with Hii in his hand, watching you move around the kitchen.
You looked over your shoulder.
“Fu.”
“Yeah?”
“Come here.”
He came to the counter and stopped beside you, keeping a careful gap between your shoulders. He placed Hii on the counter too carefully. The doll leaned back against a folded cloth, positioned so his eerily sharp grin face pointed toward the bowl.
You looked at Hii.
“Comfortable?”
“…He says don’t talk to him like that.”
“I’ll talk to him however I want. He’s in my kitchen now.”
“It’s Cleaners HQ’s kitchen.”
“I am using it, so for now, mine.”
Fu stared at you. “You can just decide that?”
“For cookies? Yes.”
“…That’s not how ownership works.”
“Hii is going to lose his quality-control position before we even start.”
Fu’s eyes widened a little, and he looked genuinely alarmed. “Can you fire him?”
“From my kitchen? Absolutely.”
Fu’s mouth parted slightly.
Then he looked at the doll like this was actually something worth considering.
You had to turn away for a second so you did not laugh directly in his face.
“Okay,” you pushed the mixing bowl toward Fu. “First job.”
You pointed at the bowl. “We need flour.”
“How much?”
“One and a half cups.”
His brows furrowed with sudden concentration. The change was almost impressive. The bored, uncertain Fu from the common room was gone. Now he had a mission. Now there were clear rules. Now there was an amount, an object, and a place to put it.
You watched as he picked up the measuring cup with both hands. He dipped it into the bag carefully. Flour puffed lightly around the edge and dusted his fingers. Fu paused, eyes widening at the white powder on his hand.
You leaned against the counter. “It’s just flour.”
“I know.”
“You look scared of it.”
“I’m not scared.”
“Hii say you are?”
Fu stiffened. His gaze snapped toward you.
“How did you—”
“You make a certain face."
Fu went very quiet.
Then, reluctantly, he looked away.
“…He says your observation skills are annoying.”
“Tell him thank you.”
“He didn’t mean it as a compliment.”
“I’m taking it as one.”
Fu stared into the flour bag.
For the first time without scaring him away, a small breath of amusement escaped him.
Instead, you let him continue.
He scooped flour into the cup, lifted it, then paused.
His eyes narrowed.
“What?”
You followed his gaze. “What’s wrong?”
“It’s over the line.”
“That’s fine. Just level it.”
You reached beside him, picked up the back of a butter knife, and dragged it neatly over the top of the measuring cup. The excess flour fell back into the bag.
“Oh.”
“You try the next one.”
Fu nodded.
Very seriously.
He poured the first cup into the bowl. Then he measured another half with intense focus, levelling it so carefully that it took three times longer than necessary.
You waited.
When he finally added it, he looked at you.
“Like that?”
“Perfect, Fu.”
Blood rushed to his cheeks faintly.
The sugar went better. Mostly.
Fu measured it carefully, though he did ask twice whether the brown sugar should be packed down or left loose. When you told him to pack it, he pressed it into the measuring cup with such seriousness that you had to stop him before he turned it into a brick.
“Fu.”
He froze. “What?”
“You don’t need to press that hard.”
He looked away, embarrassed. “Right.”
You pointed at his face. “There it is again.”
He looked offended in the weakest way possible.
“I don’t.”
“You do. It’s like this.” You lowered your chin, shifted your eyes sideways, and made your mouth go tense.
Suddenly, he looked horrified.
“You do when he’s being rude.”
“Your impression is bad.”
“So he admits I’m right.”
“No.”
“Too late. I won.”
This time, the happy sound he made made you grin, you definitely almost got a laugh out of him as he refused to look at you.
You let him have that one.
The butter was next.
You had softened it earlier, which made things easier. You pushed the bowl closer to the center of the counter and handed Fu the spoon.
“Mix.”
Fu took the spoon. “How much?”
“What do you mean?”
“How much do I mix?”
“Until it looks combined.”
He frowned. “That’s vague.”
“It’s baking.”
“You said you’d tell me what to do.”
“I did. Mix until it looks combined and if I'm going to be criticised by Hii he's welcome to write a baking manual."
Fu’s grip tightened on the spoon.
“He would.”
“I’d love to see it.”
“The first rule would be not listening to you.”
“Then his cookies would be terrible. Has Hii ever baked?”
Fu did not answer.
You raised an eyebrow.
“Fu.”
He looked at the bowl.
“…No.”
“Then he doesn’t get to talk.” You nudged the bowl toward him. “Mix.”
So he did.
At first, Fu mixed like the spoon might break. Small, cautious turns. Gentle scraping around the side of the bowl. The sugar and butter barely moved together.
You watched for a few seconds.
Then, instead of taking the spoon from him, you stepped behind him.
Fu froze the second he felt you close.
“What are you—”
“Helping."
You reached around him, placing your hand over his on the spoon. Then you rested your chin on his shoulder like it was the most normal thing in the world. His shoulders lifted slightly, feeling himself getting hotter without warning as he stared down at the bowl like the butter and sugar had suddenly become the most important thing he had ever seen.
“You can use more pressure,” you shrugged, guiding his hand in a stronger circle. “Like this.”
You folded the butter through the sugar until the mixture started to come together properly. Fu nodded too quickly.
“R-Right.”
Behind his flustered silence, you see Fu's eyes trailing to Hii before flicking down toward the counter, then away again.
“You're doing this on purpose...” Fu muttered.
You smiled against his shoulder.
“Maybe I am.”
Fu’s hand twitched under yours. The dough finally started coming together properly. Butter folded into sugar, sugar dragged into flour, and Fu kept his eyes fixed at one place.
“There,” you remained in place. “See? Better.”
He resisted the urge to wipe the sweat off the side of his head. “H-Hm..."
You finally stepped back, letting him breathe.
“Try it yourself now.”
He started mixing again. Better this time. Still a bit too careful, but better.
For a while, the kitchen filled with simple sounds. The scrape of the spoon against the bowl. The crinkle of ingredient bags. The soft tap of Fu’s sneaker when he shifted his weight. Outside the kitchen, distant voices passed through the hall and faded again.
Fu’s shoulders slowly loosened. Not much. He was still focused, still tense, still clearly thinking too hard about every instruction you gave him. But he no longer looked like he was waiting to be told he had done something wrong.
Then came the egg.
You picked one up and held it toward him. He held it between both hands.
You pointed to the edge of the bowl. “Tap it there.”
Fu lifted the egg. Too high.
“Not that high.”
He lowered it.
“Good. Just a little tap.”
A split line opened across the egg.
“You’re fine, now open it over the bowl.”
Fu pulled the shell apart. The egg slid out. So did lots of pieces of the shell landing in the mixture. Fu went pale.
“I messed up.”
“No, you didn’t.”
“I did.”
“It’s just a couple of shell pieces.”
“They're in there.”
“And I’m going to get them out.”
You reached in with a spoon and carefully removed all of the tiny shards. Fu watched like he expected the bowl to explode anyway.
You held up the spoon.
“See? Fixed.”
“That’s it?”
“That’s it.”
His shoulders dropped with relief.
You threw the shell pieces away and turned back to him.
“Good job.”
By the time the dough started looking like actual cookie dough, Fu had flour on his sleeve, sugar on one fingertip, and a tiny smudge of butter near the cuff of his hoodie. He looked down at himself with mild distress. You looked at him with mild amusement.
“I got dirty.”
“You’re baking.”
“I didn’t know baking was messy.”
“You didn’t know baking involved ingredients?”
“I knew that.”
“Did you?”
Fu avoided your eyes.
“…Mostly.”
You laughed as he seemed more used to your teasing now, enough to understand it was not meant to cut him down.
You pulled the chocolate chips closer. The bag made a loud crinkle.
“Chocolate chips. You like chocolate?”
His attention snapped to you looking almost suspicious. “Why?”
The moment you opened the bag and couldn't help but take a few for yourself, popping them into your mouth.
“Good.”
Instead of handing him the bag, you reached for a clean unused spoon from the drawer. You dropped a few chocolate chips onto it, held it up near his mouth, and tilted your head.
“Say ahh.”
His eyes widened and his face went warm so fast it was almost impressive.
“What?”
“Say ahh,” you repeated, holding the spoon closer.
“I can eat them myself.”
“I know.”
“Then why—”
“Because I’m feeding you. Come on. Quality control.”
“That’s not—”
“It is. I need a second opinion.”
After a few seconds, he leaned forward just enough to take the chocolate chips from the spoon. You watched him chew.
“Well?”
Fu swallowed.
“…They’re good.”
“See? Very important quality-control work.”
Fu looked away, embarrassed. “It’s just chocolate.”
“And you did great.”
You dropped a few more chocolate chips onto the spoon.
“You’re doing it again?”
“You want more?”
He hesitated. A little too long. Then he mumbled, “Maybe.”
You smiled and held the spoon up again.
“Then say ahh.”
Fu glanced at Hii, clearly suffering.
Then, quieter this time, he obeyed. “Ahh…”
You fed him the second spoonful.
You just poured most of the chocolate chips into the dough. An enough amount remained at the bottom of the bag to snack on. Fu watched the chocolate chips fall into the bowl, eyes tracked every single one.
You gave him the spoon.
“Mix them in.”
He folded the chocolate chips into the dough, careful at first, then a little more confident once he realised there was not much he could ruin. The dough thickened around the spoon. Chocolate dotted through it in uneven patches. Then stopped.
You turned away to get the baking tray. Behind you, the kitchen went suspiciously quiet that it made your hand stop halfway through reaching for the tray.
“Fu?”
No answer.
You grabbed the tray anyway and turned back around. Fu was still standing by the counter. Only it was not Fu. Not really.
His posture had changed. The nervous curve of his shoulders had straightened into something sharper. His hand was in the chocolate chip bag, fingers curled around a generous handful of the leftovers you had specifically planned to eat yourself later. His eyes, narrowed and far too smug for Fu’s face, flicked toward you for one second before he shoved the chocolate chips into his mouth.
You stared. Hii chewed. Slowly.
You lowered the tray.
“You.”
Hii swallowed, then reached into the bag again.
“No.”
You moved fast. So did he. The second you lunged for the bag, Hii twisted Fu’s body away from you, holding the chocolate chips in the opposite direction.
“Give those back,” you snapped.
“They’re being tested,” Hii bragged through Fu’s mouth.
“You already tested them.”
“I’m thorough.”
“You’re greedy. You are eating my chocolate chips.”
Hii popped another few into his mouth. Your jaw dropped.
“Oh, you’re nasty.”
He looked at you with Fu’s face and somehow managed to make it look twice as irritating.
“You left them unattended.”
“They were on the counter.”
“Unattended.”
“They were mine.”
“They were in the kitchen.”
“I bought them.”
“Bad storage decision.”
You lunged again. Hii stepped back. You grabbed for the bag but again he moved away too quickly for your liking. Fortunately, Fu was not exactly tall, but neither were you close enough to snatch it easily when Hii had already committed to being awful.
“Hii.”
“No.”
“I swear—”
You tried to hook your hand around his wrist. Hii jerked back, and the chocolate chip bag crinkled loudly in his fist. A few fell out and scattered across the counter.
Both of you looked at them.
Then Hii moved.
“Oh, don’t you dare—”
He scooped them up with his free hand. You grabbed his sleeve. He shoved the last few loose chocolate chips into his mouth. You froze in pure offence. Hii looked back at you. Chewing.
The disrespect was unbearable. Something in you snapped.
You released his sleeve, turned sharply, grabbed the flour bag from the counter, and swung it up before Hii could register what you were doing. His eyes narrowed.
“What are you—”
You shoved the opening of the flour bag straight over his head. Everything stopped. The bag covered Fu’s head completely, down to the upper part of his neck. A white puff of flour burst from the opening and drifted into the air between you. Some of it dusted his hoodie. Some landed on your sleeve. Some floated down onto the counter like the aftermath of a very small kitchen explosion.
Hii stood there. Still. Silent. Chocolate chip bag in hand. Flour bag on head.
For two seconds, the kitchen did not make a sound. Then you lost it. You pointed at him and burst out laughing. You folded into yourself slightly at the middle because the sight of Hii’s head trapped in a flour bag was too much.
“You—” You wheezed. “You look so stupid.”
The flour bag shifted. Hii’s voice came out muffled.
“You’re dead.”
That made you laugh harder.
“You sound stupid too.”
He yanked the bag off his head. Flour had dusted Fu’s black eye paint, his hair, his cheeks, and the front of his hoodie. It clung to his lashes in pale specks, making Hii’s glare look dramatically less threatening than he clearly wanted it to.
You clutched your stomach.
“Look at you!”
Hii stared at you. There was flour on his nose. You pointed at it. He slowly lifted Fu’s hand and wiped at his face. That only smeared it worse. You nearly dropped to the floor.
“Stop,” you laughed. “Stop, you’re making it worse.”
Hii’s eyes went flat. That should have warned you. It did not.
You used the moment to snatch the chocolate chip bag from his hand. Hii’s grip tightened at the last second, but you pulled harder, twisting it free. The bag crinkled as you yanked it to your chest and stumbled back.
Hii stared. You held the bag up.
“There are barely any left because someone has no manners.”
You turned your back to him, already smiling in victory, and peeked into the bag. A few chocolate chips remained. Not many. But enough for one smug bite.
You reached in, pinched the last pieces between your fingers, and lifted them toward your mouth.
Before you could eat them, something wet and heavy hit you dead in the face. It slapped across your cheek, nose, and mouth with a thick, soft splat. For a second, you could not process what had happened. Then a clump slowly slid from your cheek and dropped onto the front of your uniform.
Cookie batter.
Cookie batter was on your face. Cookie batter was in your hair. Cookie batter was clinging to your lashes.
You lowered your hand. The chocolate chips fell back into the bag. Behind you, Hii stood with one hand still raised, fingers coated in dough, Fu’s flour-dusted face set in the most shameless expression you had ever seen.
He had grabbed a handful of leftover cookie batter from the bowl and thrown it at you. At your face. Your face.
A bit of batter slid down the side of your nose. Hii looked at you. You looked at Hii. He said nothing. You said nothing.
Then you wiped one finger across your cheek, looked at the dough on your fingertip, and smiled.
Hii’s smugness faded by half an inch.
“Don’t.”
You reached for the flour bag again. Hii’s eyes narrowed.
“Don’t.”
“You started this.”
“You put a bag on my head.”
“You stole my chocolate chips.”
“You fed them to Fu first.”
“That was cute.”
“This is war.”
You grabbed a fistful of flour. Hii stepped back. You threw it. He dodged most of it, but not all. Flour burst across his shoulder and the side of his hoodie, leaving a pale streak over the blue fabric.
Hii looked down at it. Then back at you. His expression went still.
“Oh,” you said. “You’re mad.”
He grabbed the bowl.
Your eyes widened.
“Do not throw the bowl.”
“I’m not stupid.”
“You are covered in flour.”
“I said what I said.”
He scooped up another handful of batter instead. You grabbed a spoon. For one second, both of you stood there like duelists. Then Hii threw first.
You ducked.
The batter sailed past your head and hit the cupboard behind you with a wet slap.
You gasped. “You missed.”
You flung a spoonful of flour at him. It exploded across his chest. Hii looked down again. Then he moved. Fast.
You shrieked and stumbled back as he came around the counter with dough in one hand and flour on the other. You grabbed the tray like a shield, holding it in front of you while he tried to smear batter over it.
“No, no, no—”
“Hold still.”
“Absolutely not!”
“You were brave a second ago.”
“I was winning a second ago!”
“You were laughing.”
“And I was right!”
Hii shoved the batter against the tray. It smeared across the metal in a sticky streak. You pushed back, laughing despite yourself, your shoes squeaking lightly against the kitchen floor.
Then you caught an opening. You reached around the tray and dabbed flour straight onto his cheek.
Hii froze. It was not a throw. Not a smear. Just a small, insulting little pat of flour on his face.
You grinned.
“Cute.”
His eyes narrowed. You immediately regretted it.
Hii dropped the batter. You tried to run. He caught the back of your sleeve before you could get far, and you yelped as he dragged you back just enough to smear a line of cookie dough along your shoulder.
“Hii!”
“You said cute.”
“I was being nice.”
“You were being annoying.”
“You’re always annoying.”
“Good.”
You twisted away, grabbed the chocolate chip bag, realised it was basically useless as a weapon, then threw it at him anyway. It bounced off his chest. Empty. Pathetic.
Both of you looked down at it. Then Hii looked at you.
“That was sad.”
You grabbed the flour bag again. His eyes sharpened.
“Wait—”
Too late.
You swung it. A cloud of flour burst between both of you. This time, neither of you escaped. White powder bloomed across the air, coating your front, Hii’s hoodie, the counter, the floor, and probably half the nearest cupboard.
You coughed once, waving your hand through the cloud. When it cleared, Hii was staring at you through a haze of flour. You were staring back with batter on your face and flour in your hair.
The kitchen looked awful. The tray of unbaked cookies sat nearby, somehow mostly unharmed. The oven hummed gently behind you.
And then, from somewhere inside Fu’s face, the sharpness shifted. Hii’s expression flickered. His shoulders dropped. His eyes widened. Fu blinked. Once. Twice.
Then he looked down at himself. Flour all over his hoodie. Dough on his hands. Chocolate near his mouth. Then he looked at you. You were covered in batter and flour, standing with the flour bag clutched in one hand like a weapon.
Fu stared. His mouth slowly opened.
You stared back at him. Then you burst out laughing again. Fu looked around the kitchen in growing horror.
“[F/N]..."
“Hii happened.”
His gaze dropped toward the doll on the counter, still sitting exactly where he had been placed, innocent in the way only something completely guilty could look.
You pointed at your face.
“He threw batter at me.”
Fu looked horrified. Then, after a second, his gaze flicked to the side of your face where batter still clung near your hair. His lips twitched.
You narrowed your eyes.
“Do not laugh.”
Fu’s mouth pressed shut. His shoulders started shaking.
You gasped. “Fu.”
“I’m sorry,” he apologised quickly, but his voice broke halfway through.
He laughed. A real laugh this time. Still nervous. Still small. But real. He covered his mouth with the back of his hand, smearing more flour across his cheek by accident, and that only made you laugh harder.
“Now you look worse,” you told him.
Fu looked at his hand. Then the flour on it. Then at you. Then he laughed again, helpless and embarrassed.
For a moment, the mess did not matter. Not the flour on the floor. Not the batter in your hair. Not the stolen chocolate chips. Not even the fact that the kitchen was going to be horrible to clean.
Fu was laughing. Not because someone ordered him to. Not because he was trying to survive the moment. Just laughing. And that made the whole disaster feel annoyingly worth it.
Then the oven timer beeped.
Fu’s eyes widened. “The cookies.”
You grabbed the oven mitts while Fu scrambled to move the messy tray out of the way. He nearly slipped on flour, caught himself on the counter, and made a tiny panicked sound that sent you into another laugh.
“Careful.”
You pulled the cookies from the oven. Somehow, despite everything, they looked good. Golden at the edges. Soft in the middle. A little uneven, but not burned.
You set the tray down carefully. The two of you leaned over it in silence. Both of you were covered in ingredients. The kitchen was destroyed. The chocolate chips were gone. But the cookies had survived.
Fu swallowed.
“…Quality control?”
You stared at him. Then you laughed again, tired and breathless.
“Yes,” you picked up a cookie once it had cooled enough. “Quality control.”
Fu looked down at the cookie you held out to him. Then at you. Then at the mess. His smile was small, bashful, and still dusted with flour.
This time, when you offered it, he leaned forward and took a bite without needing to be told twice.
