#and decided to pick up some oolong tea

[gatheryepens]

I’m so stupid I accidentally bought green tea instead of oolong tea 😭😭

[fictoculus]

Hiiiiii! Can i request some genshin guys reacting to reader refering to them as "my husband" they're not married yet/just dating? As for characters, I'd prefer Tighnari, Albedo, and Cyno (I definitely have a type lol) please 🙏

౨ৎ "my husband..."

send a request!┊masterlist┊taglist applications

FEAT… alhaitham, tighnari, albedo

SYNOPSIS... calling your boyfriend your husband just to get a rise out of him (or you)

A/N... hey anon! thanks for the requesttt i love getting them literally puts a smile on my face ^^ so sorry for taking so long tho, nd also sorry for not writing anything for cyno i js had zero ideas for him, have alhaithtam instead!! anywayyy i was actually planning on writing something like this so great timing!!! hope you enjoyyy ♡

✧ alhaitham.

it's been a long, tiring day, so you and alhaitham decide it's the perfect chance to unwind and finally visit the small café you often pass on your way home.

it's quaint but welcoming, with warm white fairy lights and oak wood accents to highlight the faded walls and exposed brick. however, due to it's size, there is quite a long queue. usually you'd be a little on edge, but with the quiet chatter and soft music, you're able to relax.

just as you begin to scan the menu, a quiet gasp causes you to jolt slightly as your boyfriend taps you on the shoulder.

"[name], i'm so sorry but i have to go back."

"is everything ok?"

"it seems i've forgotten something important. will you be alright by yourself?"

you reassure him with a nod, smiling up at him and urging him to go; the sooner he leaves, the sooner he'll be back.

"i'll be just fine, take your time, love"

"i won't be long"

he places a hurried kiss on your forehead and rushes back to the akademiya, breaking into a run as soon as he's out of your sight.

the queue edges closer and closer to the counter, and you start to give up your space for people behind you in the hopes that alhaitham will return, but eventually you're the only person left in the queue and have no choice but to place an order.

"good evening, um, could i please have..."

you carefully pick out a couple of baked goods you think your boyfriend would enjoy, and take your time selecting the right tea.

"ah, well... my husband has just gone to run an errand but i think he'd like... an oolong tea, please"

as if you somehow summoned him, alhaitham appears beside you with an arm wrapped around your waist.

"yes, that'd be just fine. thank you"

you can feel the heavy rise and fall of his chest against your shoulder, but you say nothing of it until you're sat down with your drinks and snacks.

"are you alright? i didn't mean to hurry you, 'haitham, i know you're tired"

the scholar, however, couldn't care less about having to rush, and completely dismisses your question.

"your husband, hm? i haven't heard that one before"

a sly smirk is plastered on his face, though you know he has no malicious intent, he simply enjoys teasing you, that's all.

"well- i didn't think you'd be back in time and i- it just-"

"don't worry about it, love, i'm only teasing."

he reaches across the table with a smile, holding your hand in his and rubbing your knuckles with his thumb.

"in fact, i quite like the idea of being your husband"

you're completely stumped. alhaitham? your husband?

yes, the two of you have been together for quite some time, but never in a million years did you think you deserved to marry him.

"y-you do?!"

"of course i do, love, don't you?"

"yes absolutely! i- it'd be a dream come true"

you blurt out, feeling a heat rushing to your cheeks as they glow a bright pink. usually, you'd be embarrassed, but in this moment, it doesn't matter. it feels as if time has come to a halt, and it's just you and him. alone. together.

at least now he knows you'll say yes...

✧ tighnari.

it's yours and tighnari's 1 year anniversary (hooray!), so of course, the two of you have gone out for a meal at a fancy restaurant, recommended to you by cyno surprisingly.

you absentmindedly read out the menu, whispering any dishes which intrigue you under your breath. it's one of the little habits you have that tighnari finds oh so charming, and he can't help but gaze at you lovingly as he completely disregards the menu and pins all his attention on you.

"are you ready to order?"

a stern voice snaps him back into reality as a waitress approaches the table, taking the pen out of her breast pocket and clicking it against her notepad.

you glance over to your boyfriend, and chuckle to yourself as he panics and skims over the menu hurriedly.

"my husband is having some trouble deciding, so i'll go first if that's alright"

you shoot your boyfriend an 'innocent' smile before placing your order.

"of course, and for you, sir?"

tighnari is completely out of it, your words echoing in his mind as he seems to just float away. "my husband", "my husband", "my husband". he sits there a flustered, blushing mess. how couldn't he be? the love of his life just called him their husband. if it weren't for the waitress stood before you, he'd be burying himself in your chest from the sheer embarrassment. not that he'd be ashamed to be your husband, he'll just never get used to that tugging feeling he gets in his chest when you tease him like this.

"sir? your order?"

"r-right, excuse me..."

you watch intently as he orders, stumbling over his words and fidgeting furiously with the loose fabric of his cape. how cute.

only when you've paid the bill and started heading home does he (nervously) confront you about your teasing, squeezing your hand tightly as he, once again, stumbles over his words.

"so... husband? is- is that something you really want or is it just some little scheme of yours beca-"

"i want nothing more, 'nari"

✧ albedo.

your boyfriend, albedo, is perched on a stool in front of you, painting fervently. painting what, you ask? why, you of course!

a feeling of pure euphoria washes over him every time his eyes outline your figure; you're beautiful. every curve, every dip, every mark, everything about you is a work of art in itself.

it feels like you've been sat there forever, holding your hand to your face and staring out the window, trying your best to be the perfect muse.

after hours of daydreaming, he finally calls you over.

"i'm finished, love. you did so well"

you walk over to him, back slightly sore, rolling your shoulders with a sigh. albedo's warm arm snakes around your waist and gently pulls you down onto his lap, bringing both hands to your shoulders to give you a well deserved massage.

"do you like it?"

he nods towards the canvas, now covered in the most wonderful shades of every colour you can imagine. the way he manipulated the light and shadows is commendable, and the fabric of your carefully styled outfit seems to flow around your body perfectly.

"do i like it?! archons... it's beautiful, 'bedo"

"you're beautiful, [name]"

it looks just like you, and now, finally, you get to see a glimpse of how albedo sees you.

"my husband is just so talented, what in teyvat am i going to do, hm?"

that was all it took for him to loose him composure, looking away from your gaze yet you kept your eyes locked on his. a pink tint dusts over his cheeks, and he seems to grow slightly distant as he processes it all; it's as if you can see the gears turning behind those pretty eyes of his.

"y-your husband?"

he stammers out, hands stilling to rest on your shoulders.

"mm, you don't like it?"

his eyes widen; of course he likes it. the idea of being your husband is something that gets him so giddy he can't sleep at night. just the thought of sliding a ring onto your fingers sends shivers down his spine, and he can feel himself burning up as he stutters:

"o-oh, no, no... i do, i just- i wasn't expecting it, that's all"

best believe he'll be attached to you for the rest of the day, leaning onto your back when you go to get a glass of water, and tugging on your arm as he leads you to bed.

"one day, [name]. one day i really will be your husband, if you'll let me..."

thanks for reading ♡ want to read more? my requests are OPEN, so please feel free to let me know what you’d like me to write next!

TAGLIST…@maopll . @nyxmainex . @avensuersa . @moondrop-gummies apply here

© FICTOCULUS 2024; please do not steal, translate, or repost my works as your own

[rubykgrant]

Idea for a Magnus Archives AU (that I don't have time to write all the way out, but it still intrigues me~)

At some point after Martin's father left, but when he was still very young, somebody offered to bring Mrs Blackwood some furniture. Used, but still in good condition. She refused, insulted by the idea that she needed "pity" or "charity", despite the fact that her health is already making things difficult... one day, while her son is at school, she hears a knock at the door. It takes her a while to get there. When she finally opens it, whoever knocked is gone, but they have left behind a table.

She assumes it was the same person as before, and is now irritated that they have "dumped" their old junk on her doorstep. A neighbor sees and offers to at least bring it inside. She decides it may as well be put to use, so she lets the neighbor move it in. Alone in the house, she looks the table over. It certainly isn't new, but isn't too beat-up or broken. It has a VERY unique pattern... almost like an optical illusion...

When Martin gets home from school, he's surprised to see that his mother is in the kitchen, getting ready to cook dinner; she hasn't done that in a year! He offers to help, or just make himself a sandwich and canned soup if she wants to rest, but she assures him that she's feeling MUCH better. This continues for several months, the doctors are amazed by what seems to be a miracle recovery! All the neighbors and old friends agree, she's also had a change in attitude lately, but it all seems for the better. Her son is especially happy... his mother seems so much more "gentle" than she used to be, and she doesn't even make him drink oolong tea with her anymore. She's decided that Earl Grey is better.

Nobody notices that her hair is a different length, a different color. Nobody notices the shape of her eyes and jawline has changed. Nobody notices that she's taller. Not any friends, neighbors, doctors, or family. Even all the photographs in the house have changed. A different woman is holding a tiny, newborn baby. A different woman is sitting next to a small Christmas tree, helping a child open a present. Nobody notices... except for one person.

When Mr Blackwood heard from an old friend that the wife he left had recovered, he suddenly had second thoughts. He really had thought she would die, and he must have had some sort of break-down. He couldn't handle it, so he ran away... but he's thinking clearly again. It has nothing to do with the fact that he also heard his wife recently got a new job, a very well-paying one with the kind of health plan that a spouse could share. It has nothing to do with the fact that he isn't feeling well himself lately, and he's noticed that he has nobody to take care of HIM. It has nothing to do with the fact that he hasn't been able to find work, and he also can't find a place to live. He just wants to go back because he misses his wife and son. That's all.

When Mr Blackwood returned, he brought flowers. To apologize. He knocked on the door, and heard a muffled voice call- "Come in!". He picked a time of day when he knew Martin would be at school, so he and his wife could reunite with some privacy. He expected his wife to be upset. He expected his wife to be angry, maybe cry, or try to throw something at him. He expected it would take time for his wife to let him explain, then forgive him. He expected HIS WIFE. The woman in this home was not his wife... she said she was, she smiled, used his name like she knew him, but she WASN'T. Her voice, face, EVERYTHING was different! This was wrong, why was this strange woman here?

He ran away, even though she called for him to stay. He tried to speak with their friends, her family... everybody acted like he was crazy. They acted like the woman claiming to be his wife was right. After months and months of trying to talk some sense into people, he finally remembers Martin; surely a child would know their own mother? Mr Blackwood has been watching the house, and he sees little Martin kiss the woman good-bye, then leave for school. As if everything was normal. He can't stand it anymore! He bursts through the door, shouting at the woman to tell the truth, but the noise alerts the neighbors, who call for help, and he leaves...

He stays away for more than a year, but he never went far. He kept watching. He tried to figure out WHY somebody would pretend to be his wife, and HOW she could fool everybody. It never makes any sense. He comes back again, in the middle of winter. Martin is sleeping over at a friend's house. Mr Blackwood has been sleeping in an old treehouse, long abandoned by the kids who built it. He can't stand the idea of that strange woman sleeping in the bed that SHOULD be his (that would have been his, if he hadn't left). He uses his key to open the back door. She hasn't changed the locks. He goes in, ready to be rough if necessary; he will get the truth if it kills him.

Around 2 in the morning, Mrs Blackwood calls for help. Her husband, the one who left her, the one who came back and threatened her, just tried to attack her! She fought back, and he ran off again. No trace of him is ever found. When Martin comes home, they have a discussion, and decide it isn't safe to life here anymore. So they move, not too far, Martin can still visit people he knew growing up. The new house is much nicer, in a safe neighborhood.

They take just about everything with them, except for a few large pieces of furniture they sell. Mrs Blackwood wants to keep the table with the unique pattern, though. She's grown rather fond of it. The movers she hired are... odd, but they get everything to the new home very quickly. When his mother speaks with the two of them beside their truck, Martin watches from a window, and he has the strangest feeling that... his mother might just step up into it, and ride away with them. Then she'll be gone, and he'll be alone. He can't explain why, but he almost expects it to happen.

She doesn't leave. She comes back inside, smiling, and hugs her child. Why wouldn't she? As the years go by, Martin wonders about his father; why the man left, why he came back, why he seemed so confused about who his own wife was. Martin also wonders what his father looked like, as none of the pictures they saved show his face. Mrs Blackwood tells her son- "I suppose there's a resemblance, but when I look at you, I just see YOU, not him. I love you too much to see your father in your features".

Martin grows up happy and safe with his mother. He's able to finish school, and eventually starts working at a bakery. Later, when he moves out to get his own place, he finds a job at a restaurant-confectionery in London. His mother didn't want him living so far away, but he really wants to sort of "get out in the world", have some experience on his own. Someday, he'd like to have his own tea shop and cafe. He works from the middle of the day to late shifts at the cafe, and he gets to know some of the regulars very well. One woman, Sasha, comes in often to get food and drinks for her coworkers. Martin likes chatting with her, and eventually meets Tim when they come to have lunch together. He considers them to be friends.

One day, they call and tell Martin they want to order the most extravagant cake possible for their boss; it is his birthday, and they are going to be obnoxious about it, but also trick him so he doesn't know they've planned something. Martin offers to bring it over himself, so they can pretend to not be up to anything. This is how he enters the Magnus Institute. This is how he meets Jonathan Sims. This is how he starts learning about the strange things they research here. This is how he sees a picture of a table with a very curious pattern. This is how he asks if he can listen to the statement about that table...

[random-thot-generator]

Dirty Little Secret + pt. 3

JOHNNY 'SOAP' MACTAVISH x FEM READER

-

Summary: Johnny shows up out of the blue and gets to meet Aunt Rue. Cue the impromptu come-to-Jesus meeting.

Warnings/Tags: Angst - obviously, Profanity, Sex is mentioned but nothing explicit, Soap's POV, Rue's POV, Reader is taking a moment, Aunt Rue's a good mum, No use of Y/N

(Notes: Again, no smut. We're not there yet, folks. Wanted to get Johnny's side of the story out there, along with Aunt Rue's thoughts on the matter. Just a warning. Edited this to Kickstart My Heart on loop, so if there's a shit-ton of mistakes... my bad. 🤷‍♀️)

Word Count: 2K

-

Johnny felt like the wind had been knocked out of him when he heard your voice behind the counter, but when you suddenly popped into view, it almost brought him to his knees. The only thing that kept him from reaching for you was that horrible, devastated expression on your face. Tucking his hands in his pockets to hide their shaking, he took a hesitant step towards the counter, as if approaching a cornered, wild animal.

"I'm no' here t'cause ye grief, hen," he murmured, trying to make eye contact. "I jus' wanted t'see ya."

You blinked up at him, huffing a breath out of your open mouth. "I didn't think I'd ever see you again," you confessed, sounding dazed. "How did you…?"

Johnny scratched the back of his neck, feeling like a bit of a creeper. "I, uh… I saw ye on the news. Some sort o' festival 'r somethin'."

"The May Day celebration," you mumbled, remembering the news cameraman panning his camera along the row of booths on the boardwalk. "Bloody hell. So… you saw me and just decided to stop by for a visit? After six months?"

Johnny's look turned sour. "It was no' like I knew where the hell ye'd gone off to, now was it? Ye jus' took off without sayin' a bloody word," he replied, his tone low and accusing.

You scoffed, your own expression growing dark. "And how could I have told you, Johnny? It's not like you ever bothered to give me your number, remember?" you fired back.

The bitterness in your tone cooled his anger instantly. "I…" He huffed out a breath, shoulders slumping. "Yer right. Tha's on me." His contrite expression returned. "It was jus' a shock, comin' back an' findin' ya gone, yer flat empty. I was no' expectin' it. Not after…" He blew out a breath, running his hand over his mohawk. "I dinnae ken wha' t'think."

You crossed your arms over your chest, lips trembling. "I'm surprised you thought of me at all. Why did you even go back to my flat? Things not work out with your other bird?"

"Other bird?" he repeated, scowling, looking utterly confused.

Before you could clarify, your aunt pushed through the swinging door from the kitchen, wiping her hands on a towel. Whatever she was about to say died on her lips as her eyes darted between you and Johnny. "Everything alright, love?" she asked you.

"Everything's fine." You dragged your eyes away from him to address your aunt, your tone softening. "I'm sorry 'bout your tea. The box was empty, and then he showed up, and…" You sighed, closing your eyes, shoulders dropping in defeat. "I— I need to go back to the stockroom. Maybe there's another box of oolong back there."

Picking up on the obvious tension and your need to escape the young man, Aunt Rue patted your arm affectionately. "'Course, love. Go ahead. I'll see t'him."

You gave a slight nod, eyes slanting towards Johnny for only a second, but then your chin gave a wobble, and you rushed through the swinging door. He called after you, taking an unconscious step forward, hand reaching out, but you didn't stop. A pained expression crossed his face before he turned and paced a few steps away, raising both hands to rub over his head, holding them there as he blew out a frustrated breath.

Rue pursed her lips, studying him before her eyes cut back to the kitchen door. "So, I take it ya know one another," she drawled.

Johnny turned back around, dropping his arms to his sides. He looked like a whipped pup. "Yes, ma'am. We were… She was my…" A myriad of emotions played over his face before he sighed, remorse evident in his eyes. "Aye. We know each other."

Rue smirked, brows lifting. "I see." She turned to the hot water urns and grabbed a couple of to-go cups. "Tea or coffee, lad?"

Johnny blew out a frustrated sigh. "Dinnae bother, ma'am. I should prob'ly jus' go. Sorry t'have bothered—"

Rue snorted, amused. "Ya ain't gettin' off that easy, lad. Been dealin' with that heartbroken lass for six months. I've got questions, an' you're just the one to answer 'em. So. Tea or coffee?"

Johnny opened his mouth to refuse but didn't have it in him to argue. "Coffee, please. Black with sugar," he mumbled.

Rue hummed in acknowledgment, making them both a strong cup, forgetting about the oolong. She needed all cylinders firing for this one. As she worked, Red finally showed, cheerful as always. He gave Johnny a friendly nod, opening his mouth to greet Rue, but she cut him off.

"No time for chit-chat this mornin', Red," she told him, throwing a couple of rolls into a bag and handing them over. She reached beneath the counter and grabbed his favorite jam packets, then rounded the counter to hand them to him. "On the house, yeah?" she said, ignoring his shocked expression. "Off ya go, then. See ya tomorrow."

Red could do little more than nod as Rue herded him out the door, casting a flummoxed look back as she shut the door and locked it behind him. Reaching for the cups she left sitting on the counter, she handed one to Johnny.

"C'mon, lad. Let's go out back an' have ourselves a wee chinwag."

She led the way to the back exit, checking to be sure you were still inside before motioning him out the door. Walking over to a pair of metal folding chairs leaned against the wall, she grabbed one, nodding for Johnny to take the other, then sat down with a tired sigh. Once, they were both seated, she crossed her legs and looked him over with a critical eye.

"Alright, then. First things first, lad. I'm Rue, her aunt, and you are…"

"John, ma'am. John MacTavish, but ye can call me Johnny."

She nodded, giving him a tight-lipped smile. "Well, it's nice t'meet ya, Johnny." She took a quick sip of coffee and smacked her lips. "Now, let's get down t'brass tacks, shall we?" She sat back and crossed her arms over her lap. "I'm goin' to take a wild guess an' say you're the reason why my girl came runnin' home with her tail between her legs. Not seen her in that bad a shape since her da dumped her on my doorstep, so it must have been serious. How long were ya together?"

Taken aback, it took a moment for Johnny to answer. "I been seein' her fer almost two years, but we were no'… I mean, it wasnae…" He huffed a frustrated breath and scrubbed his hand over his 'hawk. "It's— It's complicated."

Rue rolled her eyes, making a scoffing noise. "Bloody hell, this generation, I swear…" She shook her head. "Just say ya were fuckin', lad. Jesus." She scoffed again. "Complicated, he says…" she muttered.

Johnny gaped at her, surprised by her blunt words. His brows furrowed, an embarrassed look on his reddening face. "It was no' jus' fuckin'," he muttered, sounding defensive. "I cared 'bout her— do care 'bout her."

"Uh-huh. So, what happened, then? What would send my girl runnin' back to the one place she worked so hard to escape, hm?"

His lips parted, but he didn't have an answer. Eyes darting back and forth, he searched for an explanation, a reason why you would just up and leave him without saying anything. He thought it might have been another bloke, but after that last night together, he couldn't bring himself to believe it. So, why? Why did you leave? He had been searching for that answer for the last six months. Finally, he settled for repeating your confusing words from earlier. "She said somethin' 'bout another bird," he said glumly. "Dunno wha' the hell she's talkin' 'bout."

Rue's brows ticked up. "Sure about that? You're a handsome lad. Doubt ya have trouble pullin' the birds."

"No!" he snapped. "I'd never che—." He cut himself off, gritting his teeth in frustration. "There was no other bird," he grumbled out.

His hand clenched into a fist, the other warping the to-go cup, some of the hot brew spilling over his knuckles. Cursing under his breath, he set it on the ground, slinging the hot liquid off his hand. He glared at the back of his hand, then huffed a tired breath, his expression softening. "I dinnae want anyone else. Jus' her." He shook his head, looking lost.

Rue studied him, her head tilting to the side. "She never mentioned you, ya know? Never once spoke your name. I knew she was hurtin'— obviously, but there was somethin' about the way she looked when I'd try to bring it up, like she was... ashamed. 'Course, we've all been fools for love, so I figured some bloke had filled her head with a bunch of pretty words, promisin' her the moon an' stars, then broke her heart, but…" Her eyes narrowed. "Explain to me what 'complicated' means."

A look akin to the shamed face you would always give her now came over his. He started picking at one of his cuticles, studying it with keen interest, his bottom lip jutting out a little.

"When we first started hookin' up, it wasnae a big deal. We'd run into each other at the pub an' end up back at her place." He shrugged but then paused, his eyes growing solemn. "But then, somethin' changed. I'd catch m'self thinkin' 'bout her, like all the bloody time, while I was deployed. Then I'd come home an' find m'self goin' back t'tha' same damn pub, hopin' t'see her, gettin' pissed when she was no' there." He sighed, shook his head. "I finally gave up pretendin' it was jus' a hook up, an' started goin' over t'her place when I was on leave."

"So, you're a soldier, then," Rue said softly.

A grim look pulled the corners of his mouth down. "Aye. A sergeant in the Army. Special forces." He frowned, an inner struggle going on inside his head. "I ken 's no' the best job t'have, no' when ya got a lass waitin' fer ya at home. 'S hard t'make it work, bein' gone so much. Most birds canna hack it, end up callin' it quits. Figured I'd come home one day an' she'd be shacked up wi' some other bloke. Thought that might'a been wha' happened, but... I had t'see fer m'self." A sad expression made his eyes look luminous in the morning sun. "Tol' m'self I should leave her be, let 'er go, but I canna do it."

He sighed, leaned back in his chair and scrubbed at the scruff on his cheek. "I never tol' her how I felt, dinnae think it was fair puttin' tha' on her. Tried no' t'crowd her, dinnae hang about her place, makin' a nuisance o' m'self. Thought I was protectin' her, but it was jus' as much fer me, I guess. Dinnae help."

Rue's heart went out to the poor lad, despite how bloody stupid he was. "Could ya not tell that she loved ya, lad?"

Johnny's brows shot up, his mouth falling open. "She… She loves me?"

Rue sniffed a laugh. "Bloody hell, you really are an eejit, aren't ya?" She shook her head, amazed at how clueless he was. "'Course she loves ya, ya daft numpty." Her eyes grew shrewd as she watched him process the revelation, saw the hope bloom in his eyes.

"So, tell me, Johnny boy. What are ya willin' to do to get her back?"

-

part 2 part 4

[hernakedmuse]

In my hour of need

I wrote my first Dave Mustaine fanfic, obviously isn't accurate, it's '84 Dave, Megadeth is getting their feet off the ground.

Synopsis: Dave Mustane x Femboy!OC, OC is a beautiful boy who likes to wear feminine clothing and had a doomed date tonight. The rain introduced him to Dave.

Warnings: MDNI! 18+, P IN A sex, anal sex, blow job (Dave receiving), top!Dave, dom!Dave, bottom!OC, femboy!OC, subby!OC, daddy kink, misuse of pronouns, mentions of being in the closet, mxm, choking (sexually)

Why did I ever agree to meet my date at the restaurant? Why couldn't he be a perfect gentleman and pick me up? That's a bad sign right, or am I overreacting? 

He seems nice, he wears an Armani suit, is an attorney for some actor, and the date tonight is going to be at Lawry's. Most likely he's a married closet case who has a thing for young crossdressers like myself, but hey why not give the man a chance? That's what my roommate tells me. I'm too picky apparently, and Avery, my drag queen roommate, convinced me that boys who are way too pretty and wear makeup and Chanel knock off slingbacks rarely end up with a fairytale ending, Mr. Right might be married with a couple of kids, but it's worth giving him a shot. 

Words: 4,286

So I gave myself a homemade facial courtesy of oil of olay, St. Ives, and L'Oreal. Pulled an Elizabeth Arden and filled up a bowl of hot water, tossed in some orange slices and sprigs of rosemary, and threw a towel over my head to steam my face for ten minutes. I nearly burned myself with wax but it got the job done and I was as naked as a seal, douched, oiled my little backdoor rosebud and took a rosewater and chamomile bath, washed, blow dried, and hot rolled my hair. I also made sure to starve myself 24 hours before this event living off of oolong tea and beef broth with Welsh onions.

My makeup is done to the Gods mimicking Material Girl Madonna since I will be eating at a five star steakhouse, same hairstyle too for it compliments my peroxide blonde hair.

I rubbed my skin with rosewater body cream, and perfumed myself with Anais Anais, finding an outfit took two hours on top of that. But in the end I decided on a dress, I'm convincing enough to appear female so I won't embarrass L.A.’s favorite attorney Joel Mitcham at the city's most exclusive steakhouse.

I chose black, backless halter dress with a severe plunge almost to the naval, the skirt was short and ended in a wrap with the split high up my thigh, the hem ended just below my plush thighs that slimfast, jazzercise, and cosmo diets seem to not be able to get rid of. I secured thigh high nylon stockings to my garter and a satin black thong disappeared between my ample backside beneath, the said Chanel slingback knock offs adorned my feet, and a fake gold bracelet wrapped around my waist with matching small gold hoop earrings.

I looked like a flat chested tramp and was heading out to hail a cab when for some reason, it was pouring rain all of a sudden. How was this happening? How did I always have such rotten luck? My hair I spent forever in was ruined, my dress was ruined, my makeup was ruined, I started to cry in front of my apartment building.

I dug into my purse to look for my keys, so I could go back inside and call the restaurant to tell Joel about my delay. But me being the space case I am, I left them inside! Could this get any worse? Avery is at work at the club and won't be back until 4 at the earliest! What rotten luck!

I'd have to catch a cab to the club to borrow his keys. 

For fifteen minutes, I tried hailing a cab in this pouring and shivering rain. The dress was like a second skin to me now and I was crying more. I gave up and got on the bus, enduring cat calls and weirdos as well as slurs I was getting due to my current state. I looked at my reflection in the bus window, wincing at how much I looked like a drowned prostitute. 

I got off on sunset, stumbling off and immediately  colliding into a solid chest that could easily be mistaken for a brick wall. Big hands caught my waist and I laid my hands on the stranger's chest. “I'm so sorry!” I exclaimed breathlessly. I looked up and my knees literally became weak.

I even stumbled a bit with those damn weak ankles of mine, like out of a movie.

I am not exaggerating when I say that I'm looking up at the most gorgeous man on the planet. The perfect dark and straight determined eyebrows above expressive, narrow, dark brown eyes that hold a smoldering quality, a perfectly noble nose that was a little pronounced and full rosy lips beckoning a kiss. He has strong yet smooth facial features, paired with his cascading, swirling waves of strawberry blonde, he looks just like a prince out of a fairy tale.

“Hey no fire, you're okay.” the stranger said casually before assessing my drowned appearance. “You look like you need to dry off.”

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Dave was feeling really good about the show his new band had, ‘84 was going to be his year, everything was lining up how it was supposed to for fucking once. Usually life dealt him the short end of the fucking stick that's for sure, nothing ever went right for Dave, even when he was born his family fell apart.

And if things seemed to be going great then it would crash and burn, ugly. Like being homeless for a bit and there was well Metallica, and he won't forget about his guitarist dying on him. 

No way, God loved giving Dave a big fat middle finger. 

But this year, this year he was taking control of his own life. He didn't believe in destiny, he didn't believe in fate, just himself. 

He was high on success more than anything else tonight, stepped outside for a smoke before meeting up with this girl he's been seeing, Diana. They weren't serious but he'll see, she's pretty with a tan and long chestnut hair and a petite build.

He was certain about everything, which is how he likes it.

But then he bumped into someone right on Sunset, passing Filthy McNasty's. He was ready to give them hell, really make them feel Like a complete piece of shit for slamming into him like that. But he looked down, almost but not quite speechless, of course if he wasn't such a loquacious man he would definitely be rendered speechless.

What bumped into him was– is a gorgeous, wet little woman. Stunning actually, stunning enough to make him forget all about Diana and her place tonight.

All he could focus on was the short little beauty who got caught in the rain, soaked blonde hair stuck to her small shoulders, mascara running down her heart shaped face, red lips impressively still intact, shivering in a black revealing number that was pasted to her tan skin. Emphasizing wide hips and plush thighs worthy of Penthouse, and the hard nipples on her…

After Dave reassured her that it was okay, he realized those hard, pronounced nipples that were evident in the wet garment, are not breasts. 

His heart was pounding blood pounded in his ears, his face turned red at the realization, and his skin felt prickly as he became half hard despite this discovery. 

A man is turning him on.

A man in a skimpy dress with big Hazel eyes looking all Bambi and helpless up at him with bee-stung plump, red lips was giving him a hard on in the middle of the street in the middle of the rain, and making Dave conjure up the most filthy imagery.

He imagined dragging the marilyn boy into the nearby alley, not pushing the skirt of his teasingly short dress up but ripping the garment until his most likely sun-kissed, juicy ass was revealed to his greedy, starving eyes.  Pushing his plump ass cheeks apart to see how tight or spread that rosebud of his, sinking his cock in and making marks and bruises that'll leave memories…

Dave didn't know why he felt this way, he has never in his life desired a guy, not even a little bit. He wasn't exactly known to be open minded, he's from San Diego, too much military influence for that.

He's seen plenty of passing men in women's clothes since he moved to L.A., most of the very passing…but none quite as passing as them. So delicate and small, could easily be mistaken, as a flat chested girl, a gymnast or ballerina.  But…he's not…he's a…well…he…and for some reason Dave's want for him and need for him outweighed all else.

“Wanna get out of the rain?” He asked the blond.

Hazel eyes widened comically yet adorably up at Dave. Long, dark lashes fluttered like butterfly wings as a dainty hand with manicured red nails rose to move wet curls out of those Bambi eyes.

She– he, looked so confused, it was very cute. It made Dave smile, his hands never left blonde's waist. In fact it tightened. If Snow White's brother here was smart and had any survivor instincts, he'd try and leave.  Key word try, because Dave wasn't sure if he wanted to let him go.

But Bambi here just blinked stupidly, before the most radiant, prettiest smile with teeth and a sultry gap between the two front were on display. He glowed like a candle in a house whose electric bill wasn't paid. “Oh that would be so nice, thank you!”

Dave snorted. “Are you willing to go off with a stranger?”

Disney boy here just looked sweetly puzzled for a brief moment before a soft giggle left his full lips. “Well how about you tell me your name? Then you won't be a stranger anymore.”

He was putting so much faith in someone like Dave, most people wouldn't. He looks like the typical burden on society, long hair and heavy metal, the recipe of a devil worshipper, and coincidentally, Dave was one briefly in high school.

But this little wet kitten of a boy here was willing to go with him to get warm and dry, it melted the harsh metalhead that's for sure, brought out his protective instincts, one a man usually naturally feels for a woman.

“It's Dave”

He smiled warmly up at Dave, it was the sort of smile that could heal Dave's childhood…almost. 

Dave drove them back to his.

He had given his Jean jacket to him to wear before they got in the car, he turned on the heat once they were in and was impressed when blondie didn't flinch at the boisterous headbanger threatening to abuse the speakers. 

Once they got to Dave's, he got out of the car and ran to the passenger side, opening the door for the boy.

A fragile hand  took Dave's, a long, nylon wrapped legged stepped out before bringing the owner. “Such a gentleman.” He giggled, it was teasing and made the singer wonder what he could do to get him to giggle like that again.

He opened the door for him and watched the boy carefully step in as if his dainty ass would somehow be a disturbance.

Dave walked behind him watching him, admiring him being swallowed in his jacket, bleached hair drying into beautiful natural curls. His messy mascara makes his eyes more wide and innocent. 

His legs looked so shapely and he needed to see them over his shoulders. 

“You can shower, I'll get you some dry clothes.” Dave appeared right by him, a large hand on his hip causing the feminine man to gasp. “I'll show you where the bathroom is.”

He nodded before Dave proceeded to lead him to the bathroom. He turned on the light and watched the pretty boy take off the borrowed jacket, revealing the most exquisite back that pointed down to a nice pair of hips and a thick ass. 

Dave swallowed as his eyes caught  a tear in his nylon, and he couldn't fight his hardening cock when he watched the guy step out of his slingbacks, shrinking attractively before his eyes. Dave had to have nearly a foot on him. Goddamn…

He was gone the moment the boy cast his gaze over his naked shoulder. 

Dave couldn't stop himself didn't sto himself. He launched himself at male beauty.  “Let me help you with that.” His voice had become unmistakably husky as he gripped the sopping wet garment and tore it with his bare hands from his small body. 

A beautifully gasp ripped from the petit blond. It was shreds of fabric at their feet and Dave groaned vocally at the sight of his perfect peach ass having a black satin thong being swallowed by his cheeks.  

He aggressively slapped his bouncy ass before grabbing the globes harshly, pushing his denim clad erection eagerly into the plentiful backside. He didn't care what he was, boy or girl, Dave had to have him.

★      ☆        ★                ☆             ★   ☆   ★

“Oh baby, fuck- look at you all dressed up.” Dave moaned in my ear, his solid, hot body  pressed completely against my back, overpowering me in the most delicious way. I felt like my body was on fire, his impressive hard on dug into my ass as squeezed all and every part of me, my nipples ached with need and I was sporting a little hard on myself.  

His full lips were hot and wet on my neck as he maneuvered his hand around to turn on the shower. He rubbed my chest and squeezed it before tugging on my puffy red nipples. It pulled a pathetic, whining whimper from my lips.

“Yeah, you like that?  Such a good, responsive little slut.” He rasped in my ear and I heard his belt unbuckle and his zipper come undone, my heart raced and he turned me around, his predatory, wolvish eyes took me in, leering at my thighs and the small, naked, rosy erection that laid between them. He grasped it causing my knees to become weak, drawing another whine from me. It was firm but gentle. “It's like a clit, so small.” He moaned  in a positive way. “Everything about you is so small, so easy to manhold.” His huge hand then slapped my ass so hard I yelped and leaned into him, which made him chuckle. Feeling his barenaked, impressive cock against my stomach. “Not everything, God this is a fucking ass.”

He forced me down on my knees with a harsh push on my shoulder.  I looked up at him dizzy.

“Be a good little whore daddy and suck.” He spoke sweet but it was condescending, causing my tip to leak.

I didn't wait another moment, I took hold of his huge cock, my small hand having a hard time doing so, he looked down with a guttural groan, lips parted, eyes darker and hooded, I could feel him pulse in my hand. “So tiny.” He was breathless as he said and I put my mouth on him, feel wetter when I drew the grand reaction of him swearing an elicit ‘fuck so fucking warm’ as I did so.

I conjured up a lot of saliva as I started suckling, he tastes so good, so musky , such masculine taste. I took a little more of him and his hand fisted into my damp hair, lithe hips started thrusting his big member further in my mouth. “That's a good girl, look at you, such a pretty little girl with more cock than she can handle. Can you handle more?” His tone was filthy and degrading.

I wanted to please him so desperately, I took him deeper so I could feel him in the back of my throat. He cursed and grabbed my hair tighter as he thrust faster into my throat, wet lewd sounds disappeared beneath the music of the shower, but you could hear Dave's vulgar language through it all, echoing against the bathroom walls. “Take it, that's right, fucking take it, you were meant for his- fuck!” He pulled me off his cock abruptly, his pupils blown, chest rising and falling, looking feral with a thin film of sweat decorating his ivory skin. 

Saliva spilled filthy down my swollen lips and chin, he looked at me like a starving beast. “I almost came, fuck, I need you now, gonna give me your hole baby?” He asked as he stroked my drool dripped chin, his tone suggested I had no choice. 

Dumbly, I nodded. As easily as lifting a doll, he lifted me up into his strong arms. He carried me into the shower and pinned me against the wall as he pressed his mouth against mine. My eyes would roll back if they weren't already closed. Fuck how could any mere mortal kiss like that? It wasn't chaste, bland or sloppy, it was a caress before he pried me open with a forced self invitation, our lips felt glued together suctioned together, it slow yet starvation was expressed as he dominated our mouth to mouth and smoothly sucked on my tongue, tasting every part of me and stealing away my right to breathe. It was all consuming as his big hands rubbed down my back and squeezed my ass and thighs as if he had every right as if he owned them. 

Feeling him hold me, paw at me, grab me, and his hot as a furnace body enveloping me was making me dizzy in such a euphoric way. 

When I lost the last drop of oxygen and was feeling light headed, he tore his lips from mine with a gasp and began to leave sweet open mouth kisses down my neck. “Smell so damn sweet.” He growled. His huge cock kept rubbing against my little leaking one.

My abdomen was knotted in insane amounts of pleasure, I whimpered feeling his patch of hair scratch against my tummy.

He pressed two big fingers to my mouth, eyes lidded and drunk with Rapture. “Suck.”

I immediately obeyed, sucking into my mouth with greed. His eyes rolled back. “Good boy.” I sucked them knuckle deep, squelched wet sounds caused his cock to twitch and drip against me.

As I was beginning to choke on his long fingers, he withdrew them, admiring the sopping wet, slobbery work I'd done before putting them back in, forcing my mouth open delivering his own spit into my awaiting mouth.

I melted and was at my end, it was the thing that made me completely need to submit to him, to call him…but I can't call him that when I know he's gonna kick me out when I satisfy his itch. “Such a good girl, swallow that for me, that's it. God you're too pretty.”

I whimpered at his praise, before I knew it he had spread my ass cheeks apart and was rubbing my hole before sliding a finger in. I winced at that before I moaned in his ear. “Fucking Christ, you are so tight, such a tight little baby.” He was massaging and thrusting his finger inside of me, the burn of the stretch made me harder and I relaxed against him with kittenish moans and whines.

“Such a good little one, fuck, ready for another finger? Yeah? I need to hear you say you're ready baby.”

I moaned at being called baby by him, and stopped myself mid nod, knowing he wanted words. “Yes Dave, please I'd love another finger.”

He groaned “I'm not going to be able to be patient if you keep talking like that.”

I smiled, happy to know I have such an effect on him. I licked his neck and heard a moving gasp release from his lips. “Don't be patient.” I whispered in his ear.

I took great pleasure in watching his face flush and his Adam's Apple bobbed, I leaned into kiss it and cried against it when he pushed in the second finger, now fingering me deep and so good, so good, so good, so good- “so good, so good, so good!” I cried the mantra in hysteria.

“Look at you baby, so goddamn dumb, can't even think for yourself, won't be able to cum without me telling you to.” He cooed.

He fingered me faster and moved his fingers in scissor motion. I screamed. “Please, please let me cum, I'll be so good please!” 

He thrust against me and nodded as he watched me fall apart. “Cum baby.” 

I screamed it was high pitch and gasping, and I made such a mess on our stomachs and cocks.

“Fuck, I can't wait anymore!” He declared passionately. 

He lined his cock to my back entrance, holding me firmly against the wall before slowly easing the thick length in. Tears burned in my eyes, the stretch was painful at first but that only turned me on more, made me more needier. And fuck what a stretch it was. My eyes were closed as I cried out a wet outcry, I felt his lips on my cheek though. “I'm so sorry baby.” He kissed my lips so gently as if I had broken in his arms. I was surprised by his display of tenderness, it was like a warm blanket on a cold night.

He licked up my tears and I moaned “you can move, please move.” And he did, his hips rolled in the perfect rhythm like his body understood mine, and it felt too fucking good, I didn't know it was supposed to feel this good. Nothing could possibly compete with this, if I died tonight I'd be too pleased. Maybe it was because it was comparable but I felt so attached to him now, and when I opened my eyes and looked up at him, I saw such tenderness in his wolvish eyes as he looked down into mine.

His arms tightened protectively, possessively around me. A hand caressed my cheek with gentleness, his lips kissed mine so softly, his hand slid down to my neck as he curled his fingers around my throat, and I fell in love. “Harder” I begged quietly.

And he complied, oh my God did he comply.

Slamming his hips against mine, his bulbous tip hitting that spot in me over and over to the point I had no control over my words.

“Right there daddy, please let me cum daddy!”

When he froze, when his balls paused slapping viciously against my ass, my heart dropped. What if he called me gross, or hit me or–

“You wanna make a mess on daddy's cock?” 

Oh, I didn't expect that.

Didn't expect his honeyed voice to say such sweet things, or his eyes to smolder me looking at me like I was the answer to every problem. He squeezed my throat, I felt brainless. My only thought was daddy and Dave. “Don't make daddy ask twice.’’

“Yes daddy, I wanna make a big mess on your big cock, I'll clean it so good afterwards too-” He was slamming faster and harder, I was desperate for it and started to bounce on his cock whining vocally. 

“Fuck that's it. That's. My. Fucking. Little. Bunny!” He emphasized with each and every thrust.

“Oh shit, daddy I'm cumming!”

“Cum baby fucking cum for daddy!” 

I screamed and felt like I saw white, the light at the end of the tunnel. I have never cum that hard in my life, and it felt Neverending when I felt Dave fill me up. I have never felt so complete.

He slid down with me in his arms and still inside of me, panting into my neck. Once he gathered his breath, he pressed sweet kisses to my neck and shoulder. “Jesus, I have never cum that hard in my life.”

My heart glowed. “Neither have I. "I admittedly softly and closed my eyes.

“I only have generic brand shit.”

I opened my eyes in confusion. “Huh?”

“For shampoo and conditioner, it's generic.  Your hair is fancy as shit. So I apologize in advance.”

I couldn't help but grin, he likes my hair. “I use Salon Selectives shampoo and conditioner, and Luster's Pink cream and gloss spray. But this will be just fine for tonight.” I kissed his cheek. “Thank you.” 

He looked at me with a soft smile before using his shampoo in my hair. It felt nice and felt so good being cared for, for once.

“I have no food, so we'll have to eat at the diner tomorrow.”

My heart raced. “You want me to stay the night?”

He paused the delicious massaging on my scalp. “I don't know, what do you want to do? Did you have plans tomorrow, any plans to do with the ones you had before me?”

“I don't, um I'd really like to stay the night.”

He continued the massage then rinsed my hair. “Who were you meeting up with tonight?” He tried to sound casual but failed.

“A date.”

He scoffed. “A date that didn't pick you up?”

I shrugged. 

He was washing my body with some soap that smells like Irish Spring. He grasped my shoulder a little tight. “You don't need to see him anymore, especially someone who didn't think you were good enough to pick you up.”

I smiled. “Would you have picked me up?”

He put the soap down.  “Shit, I'll pick you up right now” I squealed when he stood up and scooped me up into his arms. “Dave, what if we slip?”

“Nah, I wouldn't drop such a delicate package.” 

I giggled and played with his hair. “Does this diner have French toast?”

“If it doesn't I'll take you to another, I'll take you anywhere you want.”

-

[derridoid]

Hetalia Food/Drink Headcanons: Main Ensemble Edition

We all know North Italy has a love for pasta. One might imagine that he has a love for the "fancier" or more "complex" pasta dishes his home has to offer - and he does! - his absolute favorite dish is cacio e pepe. It reminds him of what Grandpa Rome would make for him when he was younger and needed a pick-me-up. Nobody makes it as good as Grandpa Rome, of course.

Germany has been coming around to IPA's over the last few centuries. If a world meeting is held at America's house, and if he and some of the other nations will go out for drinks afterward, he'll order one. He'd rather have a lager any day, but given that he's not a huge fan of America's take on lagers, he'll take the lesser of two evils. You might even get him to admit he kinda-sorta-almost likes them if he's tipsy enough - yes, even the hipster-y ones.

Japan has gone to every Ramen Jiro in Japan dozens of times over. He'd consider himself a Jirorian, doing his best to blend in with the students and salarymen who frequent the shops, and he likes to invite Greece and Prussia to accompany him on his trips to the "sacred" shop in Mita. (ie, the original Ramen Jiro) His go-to is the tonkatsu.

(more under the cut)

While America is and always be a fan of a good all-beef patty, he's become a fan of the "impossible," plant-based meats that are growing in popularity. He says eating plant-based burgers and hot dogs make him feel like he's living in a sci-fi movie - "in the future, people will GROW their meat!" - and appreciates the fact that most plant-based meat companies' environmental footprints are much smaller.

England is, of course, something of a tea aficionado, at least in the Western world. His "usual" is a nice Earl Grey, usually the Twinings brand - a fan since the beginning! - but he's been known to drink green or oolong, with China giving him suggestions on which blends he'd like best. Canada has been trying to get him to come around to the London fog variant of Earl Grey, but England is staunchly against trying it.

It actually took France a few decades to get his recipe for macarons right - they're finnicky little pastries! - but now that he's got it down, he loves making them. Watching him make these confections is like watching an artist at the easel or the marble block. In the last century or so, he's also gotten really creative with the flavors he uses for each batch, both successfully and unsuccessfully. He's gotten into the practice of making a batch of two dozen with unique flavors for each nation on their "birthday" - his favorite to date are the cherry blossom ones he made for Japan some time ago.

Russia has a tendency to over-season his food. If he's following a recipe with specific measurements provided - half a teaspoon of celery seed, a teaspoon of tarragon - it's not a problem. However, if he's going off of sight and feel alone, he puts in way too much, because "it never looks like there's enough!" By the time he gets around to tasting the food to check the seasoning, it's often too late. The worst offender is usually pepper, but most people are too intimidated? nice to complain.

There's a long-standing agreement that the nation whose house a World Meeting is held at is the nation who decides where everyone goes out for dinner - if the meeting is hosted in New York, America usually takes the nations to a steakhouse; if the meeting is hosted in Rome, North and South usually take people to a local pizza place; so on and so forth. When meetings are hosted at China's house, he, almost without fail, takes everyone out for hot pot. Everybody loves it, and they look forward to when meetings are hosted in Beijing. China is personally is a huge fan of the mutton, and has been for centuries.

South Italy makes the most unbelievable pizza ever known to man or nation. His favorite is the Pizza Margherita, which he perfected with Rafaele Esposito (the father of modern pizza) and has been eating since it first dropped at the Risorgimento in the 1860s, thank you very much. In fact, he used to work at Esposito's tavern Pizzeria di Pietro e basta così when he wasn't engaged with nation-y activities. In recent history, he grows his own San Marzano tomatoes and basil for the Margherita pizzas he makes, and he still uses the original dough recipe he picked up from Esposito. He could share it with you, but he'd have to kill you.

Prussia has swapped recipes with Poland for like, the past few hundred years, and much of the food he ate was influenced by Poland and, to some extent, Russia. His favorite thing to make, even after all these years, is Königsberger Klopse. He does tend to go a little heavy on the capers. Unrelated - one time, he accidentally ate some of Gilbird's gourmet seed blend, thinking it was snack seed mix, and didn't notice until about three handfuls in that it was not human/nation-grade product. Germany was there to see it, and is the only person that knows. He's been sworn to secrecy on the matter under the threat of blackmail.

Canada, as we know, is a fiend for ice cream, and he'll eat just about any brand of it that you offer to him. His favorite for "binging" is Chapman's, mostly because it comes in a cardboard box that can be deconstructed and laid out near-flat - no spoonfuls lost in the corners! He's also a fan of some of his brother's brands of ice cream, particularly Ben & Jerry's. He's been known to make the near 5-hour trek from his place to the factory in Waterbury, Vermont for a tour and free samples...multiple times a year, even...don't tell America this, or he'll get teased.

[69why-am-i-doing-this69]

Someplace Quieter

Aesop Sharp x OC

Description:

An American auror transferring to the British Ministry of magic for some peace of mind. She first has to undergo supervision under oath of not meddling in the British affairs. It was only a benefit to the ministry to place her under the supervision of the former auror now potions professor.

Notes:

Screaming in so many swear jars.

Chapter 3

Chapter 4 - Burn

I pace around my bedroom, trying to find my belt. Looking through every crevasse and bag that I could find. My attention was into my bag, digging into every nook in an attempt to find it. A scratch of ceramic across the floor floods my ears. I look up to see my potted devil’s ivy using it’s leaves to push itself on the floor. I follow the line it was trailing to see my belt in front of the foot of the bed. Oolong perched by the windowsill, attentively watching the shrub as it moves.

“Thank you,” I said to the plant, grabbing it from the floor and wrapping it around my waist. I took a glance in the full-length mirror, littered with clothing around it that I still need to organize. Wearing a comfortable ivy green sweater, a white blouse worn under, and a yellow tie poking from the v-line. I fasten the belt, turning back to my shrub, looking completely withered. “Why are you always so dramatic?” I sigh, picking the plant from the floor to find a suitable spot with some ounce of light. It starts to shake like it was whimpering. I place it on the table in front of the window, trying to get it to soak in the dimming sunlight, Oolong flapping away from it. The shrub immediately reverts to a healthy look in content. I pet it’s leaves before placing Oolong in the comforts of my arms, turning to make my way down the stairs.

I was met with what looked like an explosion of greenery. Pots and plants were at a forefront in every place you looked. Still needed to be placed accordingly. I shift Oolong into my left arm to take off my broom, a silver arrow, from its mount. I took note to find the time to properly organize my new living space before continuing my path beside the dining table, a letter to Silas sitting neatly on it. I took the letter, putting it carefully in Oolongs beak as I exit into Hogsmeade.

“Make sure they both get this or it’s my head,” I lovingly say to Oolong before releasing her, watching her fly away before attempting to mount my broom. My neighbor’s door suddenly opens for an elderly lady, dressed in a simple blue gown with floral patterns, to pass through.

“Mrs. Sepony, anything I can do for you this evening?” I beam, lifting my broom from its position to stand beside me as I greet her. She looks back at me and smiles. She lives alone with her husband, though he doesn’t get out much anymore. Often coming by to talk about plants along with various sweets she makes herself, wonderfully paired with the blends of tea Silas has given me.

“Nani dear, good evening,” she says with delight. She gestures to her small garden, once barren now filled with beautiful moonflowers that I grew not long ago, “I must thank you for planting them for me.”

“No need, I needed to make room for growing new plants anyways,” I respond, “I can help manage them if you need it.”

“Oh no, I’m happy to take care of them, dear. I thought I had to part with gardening entirely with my bad back. thankfully, you moved in and did the hard part for me,” she chatters, “but enough about the moonflowers, where are you off to this evening, dear?”

“Ah, just doing some work, but I’m sure I won’t be out too late,” I respond, deciding not to explain any further for time.

“I see. Will you be working Friday evening as well?” she inquires further. I look at her questionably, wondering if there’s any important events going on at Hogsmeade. Then I wonder if she needed any help with the plants or any manual work.

“I’m not sure, what for?”

“Ever since my husband has gotten his bad knees, he hasn’t been too eager to go mingle at The Three Broomsticks anymore. We would welcome your presence if you’re free.”

“We?” I quickly ask, unsure of this third person.

“This lovely gentleman Jacob, just around your age, and he’s been just as helpful to as you are dear. We’ve known him since he was little. Now that he’s grown, we’d share a drink every so often,” she describes. I put on a kind smile at the notion of her setting me up with a guy. It's a kind gesture but one I’m not too eager to accept.

“I’ll have to look at my schedule, but I’ll let you know,” I say, trying my best to evade her offer, “I hate to cut this off short, but I do need to get going.”

“My apologies dear, don’t be out too late,” she concludes, cupping my cheeks with her hands before walking away from me, assuming whatever plan she had as she left her little home. I reassumed my position on my broom before quickly lifting off in the direction of Hogwarts.

It wasn’t hard to miss, but I wanted to familiarize myself with the landscape. Noting various things on my path, either ones that I knew or ones I’m going to have to learn. I spent some attention on the plants I could spot, thinking about whether I wanted to grow them. When crossing the waters of Hogwarts, I couldn’t help myself from lowering to the surface. I Switch my position on my broom like I was kneeling on it to get even closer. One hand gripping the stem of the broom to keep balance while the other moves to dip into the water below, creating a ripple from where it touched. I lift myself away from the water once I feel satisfied.

I land at the same entrance from the first time I came here, taking a deep breath in the hopes that I’ll remember the same path that minister Spavin and Black took. After a couple of moments and some wrong turns, I arrive at the potion’s classroom. I hesitate to open the door; a nervous pit fills in my stomach. I shake it off by the need to fulfill the wants of the ministry and slowly turn the knob. It opens with a slight creak, and I pass through, walking to him.

He sits at his desk, scrolls littered all over it. His jacket has been abandoned on his body, and the sleeves of his dress shirt rolled up to his forearms. Body hunched over, barely snaking a glance at me before returning to his work, “I see you’ve managed to arrive, Ms. Davis.”

“Is it that hard to call me Nani?” I raise the question. Stopping at the front of his desk, I lean over to see what he’s grading. Essays about the draught of the living dead potion.

“It’s highly unprofessional,” he starts, “It’s also a violation to be reading my students' assignments.”

My head jumps up from looking at the essays to his face, “Sorry,” I mutter. He never took an eye off the parchment. I took a moment to study his face. His brows scrunched together, trying to piece together the logic behind his student’s paper. So that’s how he has so many wrinkles. I smile slightly at it. I turn my body to lean my backside on the edge of his desk to hide my growing flush, “We’re going to be doing this for at least a couple months so might as well just forget that aspect. I’ve already been calling you Aesop.”

“I assume you’re not going to make any efforts to call me anything else,” he harshly scrapes against the paper with a fury. I slightly grimace at whoever’s parchment is being abused by his ink and quill.

“And you’d be correct with that assessment,” I grin, turning to him, which caused him to glance at me. Proudly displaying my persistence, “And I’ll continue to correct you every time you refer to me by my surname, so might as well just call me by my name.” A silent pause fell upon us. The only noise present is his scribbles and scratches on the parchment. Turning back to my original position, I tried to clear the air, “So what do you think is happening in the ministry?”

“Something serious, I presume, especially if they’re placing their new recruits under supervision of former employees,” he states, I chuckle pathetically at his answer. He doesn’t know much about it either. I start to think about the unwanted sacrifice he’s making for me, feeling guilty if I’m taking away time from anyone important.

“I’m sure the missus must be upset from this predicament,” I remark, turning to look at him again, still entranced with his work. He quickly raises his left hand, wiggling his fingers to garner my attention. No ring. My face litters with a mixture of surprise and embarrassment. Thank Merlin that he’s too focused on grading. “I’m sorry,” I sputter, “I just thought that you—."

“It’s none of your concern to worry about my marital status,” he says, visibly frustrated. I assume from the essay he’s been grading. I’ve been an auror for multiple years. How could I let something that simple as looking for a ring slip from me? A small part of me is partly delighted at that fact, but it didn’t matter currently.

I got up from the desk, standing firmly on my feet, I quickly tried to change the subject out of embarrassment, “So what will I be doing for you then?”

“Professor Black didn’t have a terrible idea so I made an effort to put a short list of items I’m running low on, figured it would be best to get a grasp of our geography from it. Shouldn’t be too difficult to obtain, which would help start off on the ministry’s primary concerns with your combat skills,” he explains, lifting various rolls of parchments, looking for something.

“Does he usually have terrible ideas?” I pick up the rolls parchments he was lifting to help him look for it, holding them in the arms of my hands. He looks up at me for a moment, trying to ponder what he should say about it.

“It wouldn’t be wise to speak how I feel about my boss here,” he brushes off my question. I become pensive at his words. He lifts one final parchment to reveal the list placed below it.

“Why is that?” I neatly place all the parchments I’ve been holding on the desk.

He lifts the list for me to take, “You haven’t met Peeves yet, have you?”

“Does he normally make an appearance?” I question back, hesitantly taking the parchment from him. His face slightly turns into a small smirk. I slowly look away from him to peruse the list, slightly pacing left and right from his desk.

“You’ll know once he does, but I guess I have to warn you,” I look up from the list to him, “he likes doing tricks with fire.” I blink at him in wonder at how he is allowed to be at a school for children. He focuses his attention back on his grading. He explains, “He has as big as a mouth as he does his tricks and he’s rather known to be quite the antagonist for both the staff and the students.”

“You certainly have a variety of characters at Hogwarts, though I still haven’t seen the giant squid unfortunately,” I turn my attention to the parchment. Mostly a variety of plants to be collected, inspiring to expand my variety in my house. I hear a small chuckle behind me.

“Is that why you transferred?” He jokes, which causes me to look up and smile at him, slightly glad he remembered our brief conversation.

“It would be a lie if it wasn’t a part of it,” I answered honestly. I finish reading the short list, ending off with horned slugs. I stop in my tracks, trying to rattle the usage of them. I’m unsure how often they’re used or what they’re even used for.

“Horned slugs?” I ask, looking to Aesop. His head snaps up to look at me. My attention is completely fascinated in his reaction.

He says with apprehension, “You read that correctly.”

“I don’t remember what they’re used for. Can you enlighten me?” I grin. He needs it for a particular reason, and I would like to know why.

“I thought potions weren’t favorable?” He remarks, I stare at him with a slightly offended expression.

“And this is your chance to start changing my mind about it,” I shot back, fighting a smile, “You already have my attention.”

“Horned slugs are primarily used for medicinal purposes,” he explains briefly.

I respond with a dull expression, “I had my fair share of medicinal potions,” he looks at me in question, “ones made with horned slugs were never present.”

“That’s because you’re not getting boils every other month,” he slips. So that’s what it’s for.

A smile crept up on my face at the revelation, trying to contain my laughter, “A cure for boils?”

“In my defense it’s not for me,” He withdraws from his grading, leaning back in his chair, smirking. My smile spreads onto him. He’s just as ecstatic about the situation as I am.

“Am I allowed to ask who then?” I pry.

“It would be unwise,” he simply states while I look at him, furrowing my brows for a second. It only took that second for me to understand who he’s referring to.

“Professor Black is really using his headmaster status to dry out the horned slug supply?” I laugh, bringing my hand to cover the extent of my smile.

“A surprising usage of his status, I will say,” He leans on the desk. My eyes couldn’t help but glance at his forearms as he rests them on the desk.

“I guess I better start my endeavor before Professor Black is littered with boils,” I joke, making my way to the door, I hear a distant chuckle behind me.

“I’ll see you in a few hours then,” he responds as I open the door.

I stop, “And if I don’t, will you come find me?” I ask with a playful smile, slightly caressing the door awaiting his response.

“I’ll have to,” he answers, and I exit, still grinning as I walk down the hall.

                                                           …

It didn’t take a lot to find the ingredients. The extent of my knowledge of plants certainly helped spot them along with extracting them. Before I knew it, I finally secured the last horned slug, securing the jar and placing it in a satchel along with the other things I collected. I look up from my position to see two men walking by the path, their face covered with masks with a heaping number of shining rocks in their arms. It sparks my suspicion, and I quickly move to avoid their sight inside a bush.

“Is this really not enough?” One young voice pique.

“I don’t really ask questions in regard to my clients. It’s better if you don’t either,” a hoarser voice replies.

“But I mean, there’s enough moonstone in our arms to last a lifetime. What could anyone be doing with it?” He inquires, not understanding his partner’s last statement. So, it’s moonstone. The conversation slowly lessens to a faint noise in my ear. I remove myself from my hiding spot, seeing their faint silhouettes on the path. I mount my broom before slowly trailing them to a small campsite. Landing on a tree branch slightly bordering it, if they were to look up, they might see me, but they’re too entranced at their task to check their parameters. The older man, dressed in green, points to the carriage, seemingly to instruct his inexperienced partner to load the materials on it. He then walks to the tattered table to focus his attention into a small black leather bounded book.

I try to my focus on the younger man, loading the moonstone into a carriage, but the creature drawing it catches my eye. It was like a black horse with the skin of a lizard. Its wings took a similar shape to those of a bat. It’s body frail and hollow, a nightmarish creature at first glance. I’ve never seen such a thing before, I’m sure I read about it somewhere, though. I should ask Aesop about it.

The young man finishes, securing the moonstone in a box before making his way to the other, colliding with the horse-like creature in the process. He frantically collects himself before trying to pet the mount on the creature, placing his hand on random areas before finally hitting his target. My face twists in confusion by the action, I find it hard for him to miss such a mesmerizing steed. He speaks to the other gentleman, engross in the notebook in front of him before pointing at the firepit below me.

I froze. hoping that the young man wasn’t astute enough to look up from the firepit, revealing my presence. The young man walks to the pit, placing a concerning amount of firewood in it, not even lifting his gaze a little. Is he trying to create a bonfire? Seems counterintuitive to what they’re doing.

He lights it all using confringo. I mount my broom, quickly removing myself from view. I watch from above, seeing the older man snaps from the book and to the recent explosion. He quickly makes his way to the other man in an angry fashion. My attention turns to the fire as they engage in some conversation. It burns brightly, catching onto the branch I was perched on, which quickly spreads to another. I’m sure I’m contributing to the spread from my presence.

The thought that I should leave pervades my mind, but my interest in their activities and the small book sitting on the table prevails. The fire quickly spreads throughout the plant life in the area surrounding the firepit, which catches the attention of the men. The older man quickly tries to cast a spell, water spouting out of his wand onto the expanding flames to try to calm it while the other secures all the items on the carriage. Once the fire became too overwhelming, the man quits trying to suppress the flames in favor of the products he gathered.

They both get on the carriage, hastily whipping the reigns so they can move, neglecting the little black book on the table. The horses quickly react, galloping a little before flying away, I made sure to avoid their sight during their departure. I lower myself back to the ground, ignoring the flames emitting around me as I made my way to the book. I lift it from the table. It felt like worn leather and even looked like such.

The cackle of multiple branches falling as the fire continues to consume causes my attention to break from the book. I look over to what looks like a mountain of flame, taking that as my queue to finally leave. I pocket the book in my waist, pulling my blouse and vest over it before mounting my broom. Lifting myself out of the area, making sure to cast a raincloud, that Maria begrudgingly taught me, above the area. I didn’t dally on my way back, filled with anticipation to look inside.

I immediately pace the journey to the potions classroom after I land. Taking the book out of my waist, I open to a random page. It was a list filled with random ingredients followed by a single letter and a number, assuming it’s the quantity of the product and a date. I continue to flip through, trying to find something of meaning, but it was pointless as I soon stood in front of the potion’s classroom. I stare at the door, unsure of how I managed to get to this part of the massive castle without thinking. I put the book back in my waist, adjusting to make it less noticeable. I walk through the door, small satchel in tow in one hand, while carrying my broom in the other. Aesop, not at all moved an inch from where I left him, glances up from the parchment he’s working on.

“You’re back already?” he checks the time. It should be about a couple hours since I left, beating his estimation by at least an hour.

“I’m decent with a broom,” I explain. Wiggling my broom out in front of him. “I made sure to gather extra slugs for Professor Black,” I smile.

“It certainly will save me a month or two on my part,” He remarks back, both sharing a quiet laugh. I place my broom against one of the stoves and the satchel on his desk, opening it to reveal it’s ingredients.

“Can I do anything else for you?” I ask, removing its contents.

“Wouldn’t you like to be back home?” he replies, removing himself from his work to look at me.

“I’m in no rush to leave,” I reply, grinning at him, “plus you still have a roll of parchment to scratch through.”

“If you insist, you could place the plant ingredients in their respective jars,” he suggests, pointing to the general area of where I could find it. I immediately walk over, picking them out from their color and lack in quantities. I grab the jars, making my way over to the front of his desk. Organizing the ingredients. During the process, I remembered the creature from the campsite.

“Aesop, I saw this horse,” I quip. Immediately being met with his signature unamused expression. I continue mindlessly sorting each ingredient, “Well, it was more like an abraxan but from a nightmare. It was black, and its skin was like a reptile. It looked incredibly frail, unlike an abraxans' full figure. I’ve never seen such a thing before. Do you know what it is?”

His face drops a little, “You saw a thestral.”

“Thestral?” I inquire, stopping my movements. Face contorts with weary from his expression.

“Yes, however, they are usually not seen unless you’ve witnessed death,” He speaks slowly. The fact that I’m describing it means that I’ve seen someone die, and he’s unsure how to approach the topic. My face softens with apprehension from his words. He looks at me with concern, “May I ask?”

My mind goes to debate how I wanted to phrase it. Mindlessly picking at the belladonna I’m holding for a moment. I decide not to risk it, “Someone who took care of me when I was young, he uh…got a fever that he never recovered from.”

“You haven’t considered a pepperup potion?” A question that I wish he didn’t ask, despite his well intentions.

"It was already too late,” I murmur, expressing nothing but guilt with a twinge of frustration. I wasn’t exactly wrong. It would be around five years after his death before I learned about it and what its capabilities are. Though it couldn’t be helped at that point. I continue to place the ingredients in the jars.

“My apologies,” he says quietly. Not daring to make a move with his quill.

“It was a long time ago, I made sure he’s resting peacefully,” I force a grin. I turn the conversation, not caring if he notices or not, “Is that essay being difficult?”

“That’s most essays, Nani,” he comments, making a couple of scribbles in the middle of the parchment. My grin turns genuine as my name came out of his mouth.

“See, it wasn’t that hard,” I chime, immediately reverting back to the same tone as when our conversation started.

“I’m going to revoke it,” he threatens, and my face drops to a comical pained expression. Placing my hand, holding a sage, to my chest dramatically.

“You wouldn’t. We’ve already come so far,” he subtly grins at my theatrical gesture. I place the last belladonna in its respective jar, securing them and placing them back on their original shelfs. I walk back to the desk, “Is that all I can do for you?”

“That will be all for today, thank you,” he dismisses me. I take my broom before making my way to the door, opening it.

“Oh, Aesop?” I exclaim, peering back at him, “Will you need me Friday?” I ask, hoping he’ll say yes.

He looks at me questionably, “Are you asking me to find something for you to do on Friday?” I smile at him, already reading my intentions.

“Precisely,” I nod. My smile spreads to him as he looks at me with a smirk.

“Then I’ll need you the same time Friday,” he says. I finally leave his classroom, keeping him on my sights as long as I can before the door closes. The feeling of delight spreads through me as I continue my leave.

[mournfulminds]

╱ starter for ❪ @lavenderrpages​ ❫ .

As the days arose in a tepid wind that blew in from the south, so did the flora around them, marking the ground in vital shades of pastel purples and greens, and the distillery owner could no longer deny the sense she was awash with. Whether it be from the spring allergies or simply the midwife's presence making her sway, Marlowe felt elated at the prospect of spending the whole summer by Joelle's side. Mindful fingers would wrap themselves in wheat locks of her lover and pull her ever so close, as the sun peeks in from the panes, bathing them in an ephemeral knowledge. Set out to start the season off right, the brunette told the other woman of her plans to go to a small cabin by the sea, just for the two of them, and only for a few nights as she knew both could not be away from work for too long. But this would be their time to reset and have some much-needed relaxation since both babies and beer did not stop in the portending months. Rocky gravel dusted under her rain boot-clad feet as she went back and forth, packing up the car for their trip. The sound disrupted the nature of the street as a feathery sprinkle started for that morn, Marlowe was just glad Joelle was attending to some work matters (as she too had been responding to some emails and answering some calls in the midst), and she hoped the sun would poke out of the clouds when they arrived.

A satin black Aston Martin DBX pulled across the street from the house of a client when Marlowe was sent the okay to pick her up, an iced peach oolong tea in a travel mug, a change of Joelle's routine hot tea since the weather was glowing out. Leaning against the hood, she could not help the smile that broke the usual blank grimace that painted her canvas as she saw the other, pulling her into a quick hug, her hand resting on Joelle's head before she opened the passenger door for her. "How did it go? Were they so in awe of your skills that they quickly decided to name it Joelle even though it was a boy ─ even though names don't have genders."

[mochi-coffee]

When the remote working first started, roommate wakasa was home a lot due to the government restrictions on gym closures. Your old schedules hardly overlap with you working in the office and him running a gym, so with this work from home situation, you got to spend more time with your roommate wakasa.

You no longer have to worry about lunch, as roommate wakasa would always offer to pick up something for lunch for you, either on the way back from his jog or from the convenience store downstairs if he woke up late. Wakasa never explicitly mentions it, but he'd always wait till it's your lunch break so he could eat lunch with you. Even when you gestured to him that your meeting is going to run late and told him to eat first without you, he'd wave it off with a "not hungry".

roommate wakasa would notice your tendency to lose track of time when you work, and would leave a drink or a snack on your desk every time he walks past. He would often have to physically wheel you and your chair away from the desk in order to stop you from overworking.

Working from home has been great, but it does mean you are also stuck in the same house with a very bored wakasa.

roommate wakasa would pop himself onto the sofa next to you, completely relaxed and taking a sip from the bottle of oolong tea in his hand while watching you as you furiously typing to finish the report that is due soon. Occasionally he'd point at a section on your screen and said "typo" with a very serious voice. And you'd lean in closer to the screen, eyes furrowed slightly trying to see where the mistake was. Seeing your focused face, he'd then let out a chuckle and a "just kidding" as he runs away, dodging the cushion you sent flying towards him.

roommate wakasa would also occasionally forget that you have meetings. The first time it happened, it was during a department wide meeting. The meeting was boring as usual, so you were confused when some of your colleagues' faces lid up and some with their hands covering their mouths. It definitely wasn't the presentation, so you switched to the gallery view to see all the participants on the call, thinking something interesting must have been caught on someone's camera.

That's when you saw your roommate wakasa walking past in your own video background - straight out of shower with nothing but a towel, with water still dripping from his hair. His head tilted to the side, his hand at the back of his neck as he tries to crack his neck - completely unaware of the fact that he's completely stolen everyone's attention from whomever was presenting.

By the time you realized that everyone's focus was on the man in your background, it was too late. It doesn't matter how far your chair was knocked back by the speed you stood up or how fast your hands went flying to cover the webcam at the speed of light, people already saw it. A stream of notification sound came nonstop from your laptop as your work chat got bombarded with direct messages from your coworkers.

"WAIT WHAT?! WHO WAS THAT"

"NOOOO KEEP YOUR CAMERA ON"

"IS HE SINGLE"

"ASHGKFGSAFJK Y/N?! WHY HAVEN'T YOU TOLD US YOU HAVE A HOT GUY IN YOUR HOUSE"

"BRING HIM TO THE NEXT OFFICE GATHERING"

Let's just say, the productivity that day was pretty low.

From then on, you've learnt to always have your virtual background on, but even that doesn't stop roommate wakasa from popping into the camera's view and waving occasionally when he's bored.

-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x

The latest chapter got me sad.... so I decided to counter it with some wakasa brainrot 🤣

Not proofread/pure brain dump to get this out of my system!

This hc definitely fueled by ara-mitsue's wakasa fic - 'by Christmas'! 🥺

[rosie-zia]

A/N: Greetings! I am Zia and I usually only read stuff on tumblr but since I really love Finn from Yuurivoice so much, why not write a fanfic about him! Happy birthday to our cottagecore boyfriend, Finn! This is inspired by the Finn scenario that I once commented to @talkfloraltome. Enjoy!

Wordcount: 1.4k

~The greatest gift of all~

It was 3:19 in the afternoon when you arrived at Finn’s house, already passed out on the couch. You didn’t bother to change clothes nor sleep on the bed from exhaustion. No, you weren’t exhausted from work, it was from planning and setting up your date in the park. Since it is Finn’s birthday, August 14, you decided to do something nice for him and surprise him on a date in your favorite spot at the park with Jack’s help.

You felt a bit guilty this morning when you told Finn you were going to work, but the truth is you asked a day off to really plan this. The original plan was to get dressed and wait for Finn to come home, but you were already too tired. “Sleeping for a few minutes won’t hurt right?” you said as you doze off.

Finn arrived at home shortly. As he entered the house, he looked at any sign if you had come home already. He was a bit surprised when he saw you sleeping on the couch. He then smiled at your sleeping form and gently picked you up bridal style to place you on your shared bed. Finn then tucked you in and kissed your forehead. Something about you makes his heart squeeze a bit, so he stayed to admire you and look at your features more. He really felt like the luckiest person in the world to have you.

“Sigh, sometimes I wonder if I really deserve someone beautiful and hardworking like you. You must be really tired from working so hard today, you should rest more often.” Finn said as he sat at the edge of the bed. “I never had the chance to say this but thank you. You are really one of the best things that has ever happened to me, my sunflower.” He then rant about his day at the shop.

After an hour of Finn ranting to you in your sleep, you finally woke up. As you sat up, your vision got clearer and saw your boyfriend in front of you. “Finny? You’re home so early.” you said hazily. “No, I already arrived an hour ago. Do you want me to brew you some tea?” “Yes please, thank youuu.” Finn stood up and went out to brew some tea. He then came back with some oolong tea and handed it to you carefully. You then proceed to drink the tea he made.

“So, how was your work?” you asked him, letting him rant about his day at the shop. He rant away for the second time, but well this time you are awake. You can’t help but love and admire him. “It’s the usual but I received many orders today, maybe because of the increasing popularity of the shop.” Finn said as he helped you set aside your teacup at the night stand. “Oh really? That’s great! Anyway, thank you for carrying me to bed, you don’t have to.” “Well I don’t want to make your sleep more uncomfortable, so I carried you to bed.” if it was possible to fall in love with him more, then that’s your answer.

It was silent for a bit, but then Finn remembered something. “O-oh, I got something for you! I saw this while passing by at one shop. I thought you’ll like it. It reminded me of you, so I bought it for you.” Finn gave the present to you which was neatly wrapped in a small box. It was ironic for you because today is his birthday and yet he got you something. You opened it and it was… “Ta-da! It’s a pink crystal rose. I know it’s a bit cheesy and cliche but the meaning can say itself what I wanted to tell you.”

From the past flower lessons with Finn, pink rose symbolizes admiration, gentleness, and sweetness. It was a bit embarrassing because he may or may not have seen you looking at that crystal rose one time when you both visited the store. You didn’t buy it that time because it was a bit expensive, but seeing Finn bought it for you made you really happy.

Without thinking, you launched yourself to Finn and gave him so many kisses on his face. This flustered him so much he turned red. No words were uttered but from the hugs you both shared between you two expressed enough appreciation to each other. You two cuddled for a bit, wishing this moment could last forever but it didn’t when you suddenly remembered the plan you had in mind.

“Finn, what time is it already?” you asked him. “It’s already 4:35, why’d you ask?” He replied. You immediately get out of bed, already getting some formal clothes and heading to the bathroom. “H-hey! Where are you going?” “We’re going to the park, get dressed, Finn.” you shouted from the bathroom. He did what you instructed him. By the time you were done fixing yourself, he was done as well.

“You look absolutely stunning.” Finn commented. “You’re so sweet, thank you! Now let’s go before we get late.” As you walk with your boyfriend, Finn asks some questions on the way to the park, and you answer them. “Why are we going to the park? Is it a date, perhaps?” “You’ll see for yourself when we’ll get there.” “Then, I’ll be looking forward to it.”

By 6:00 p.m., you both got to the special part of the park where you two have picnics occasionally; however, this time, it was way different. Lights were flashing brightly, a picnic was already set with food along with rose petals around it, and flowers were blooming with the meaning of love. Finn was really amazed by the beautiful scenery in front of him. “Did you do all of this?” “Hahaha yep! I also got some help from Jack. I’ll thank him later.” you mentally in your mind to thank Jack tomorrow for guarding your favorite spot.

“It’s amazing, Orchid! But what’s the special occasion?” you cannot believe this gorgeous man had forgotten his own birthday. Maybe he’s pretending? “It’s your birthday, silly haha. Happy birthday, Finn!” What he said next put you in disbelief.

“Wait… is it my birthday today?” This made you cry a bit because he forgot his own birthday from working super hard to making flower arrangements in the shop. “Yes, it’s your birthday!” “I’m so sorry, I haven’t checked my phone since this morning! It was a busy day at the shop.” Even on his birthday, Finn is willing to fulfill his customers’ orders…

“But thank you for not forgetting it. This makes me really happy.” What Finn said made you look up to him. You can see him smile with tears of joy in his face. This really made you worry a bit, you reached your handkerchief and tried to tiptoe and wipe his tears. Small laughs were shared at that moment. After that, you both sat on the picnic cloth and just celebrated the night away.

“Happy Birthday, Finn! Now, make a wish.” you said after you lit up the candle on his cake. Finn closes his eyes for a bit before opening them and blowing the flame off the candle. You two then ate the food, especially the cake. The night was not so eerie and lonely anymore by the laughter you both shared. The very highlight of this night is that you two danced under the stars while vintage music was playing in the background.

“You know…” Finn started. “The wish I made—” “You don’t have to tell me or else it won’t come true!” you interrupted him before he could even tell you his wish. Finn softly laughed while shaking his head. “Actually, my wish came true. My wish was you, my love.” You become speechless from what he said. He continued, “You’re the greatest gift I could’ve asked for. You made me feel special and loved. I hope I could do the same for you, and I wish our love will last for a lifetime. They say if you told your wish to someone, it won’t come true but with you, I know we will last. I love you, my sunflower.” A hint of red spread across your cheeks from the confession. Finally, you both closed the gap between you two.

A kiss was then shared between two lovebirds under the stars.

•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•~•

A/N: Again, Happy Birthday to our beloved cottagecore boyfriend, Finn! Thank you for making us happy with your cute smile <33

[tickly-trashcan]

Welcome to the Boba Shop!

Waah okay here’s the event! It’s kind of silly jnkdf but I wanted to do something themed and I’ve been in a boba mood lately so I decided to do this! Everything is explained below, feel free to read!

Welcome to the Boba Shop! We’re serving up lots of different flavors this week, so make sure to grab it while you can! Below is our menu, we have lots to choose from! Customize your order however you like, and be sure to send it here!

Menu! ◃:✮.❃⭒

Tea!  ◃:✮.❃⭒

Milk Tea - “Bold words from someone within tickling distance.”

Brown Sugar Milk Tea - “You’re awfully cocky for someone who’s so ticklish.”

Strawberry Fruit Tea - “I love seeing you laugh!”

Mango Fruit Tea - “I really want to tickle you right now.”

Taro Milk Tea - “Did you just snort?”

Thai Milk Tea - “I’ll tickle it out of you!”

Matcha Milk Tea - “Your laugh is so cute!”

Peach Fruit Tea - “If you’re not ticklish, then why are you laughing?”

Guava Green Tea - “Sorry, I forgot how ticklish you are.”

Honey Lemon Oolong Tea - “You want me to tickle you that bad?”

Toppings!  ◃:✮.❃⭒

Classic Boba Pearls - Tickling in an inconvenient situation

Mini Boba Pearls - Sleepy tickles

Lychee Jelly - A lee asking for tickles

Coffee Jelly - A competition on who’s the better ler

Strawberry Jelly - Tickles + Cuddles

Popping Boba - A tickle fight!

Red Bean - Tickle revenge!

Grass Jelly - A tickle chase!

Pudding - Reward tickles for the lee/ler

Cheese Foam - A lee having to say “tickle”

Pick a tea and pick a topping! Or just pick a tea, or just pick a topping! We also accept custom requests! Our boba is quality guaranteed, and will be short and sweet! Our only rule is that you stick to the fandom list below when ordering your boba, and pick a pairing that you enjoy! If you need any clarifications on how our shop works, feel free to ask! The shop will be open until February 8th 7 PM PST so make sure to order before then!

Arcane | The Arcana | Bungou Stray Dogs | Beyond the Boundary | Cookie Run: Kingdom | Demon Slayer | Fruits Basket | Genshin Impact | Haikyuu!! | Harry Potter | The Legend of Zelda | The Lunar Chronicles | Persona 5 | She-Ra | Soul Eater | Stardew Valley | Xenoblade Chronicles 2

Happy Ordering!!

(Note: These are going to be short drabbles, so roughly 500 words or less! The “toppings” are some of my favorite tickle tropes that could be paired with the “tea”! Feel free to customize how you like, and remember to have fun! :D These are also mostly just things from my prompt lists so if there’s something that you wanna send in that’s custom that’s totally fine!)

[sleepyowlwrites]

Hello, hello and happy day of storytelling to you, my sleepy friend. I hope it has found you well.

Out of curiosity, what are some of your favorite moments of Dirt in the Doing? And also, is there a flavor of tea you associate with it?

gingerbread! I had a really good day, and it's always so lovely to see you.

I'm going to reverse the questions. thank you for asking such an important one. for tea I think it's a few different kinds. because it's (as per usual) SUCH a character-driven story, I think each character might be their own tea? I will now decide.

Rune is oolong, absolutely. florally, light, but can be robust depending on how you prepare it. I also like fruit flavored oolongs, which I think suits Rune really well.

Jet is chai, sometimes spicy, sometimes mild. he's probably a masala most of the time, he could be chocolate chai too.

Moss is green tea, and not because moss is green, but because he's a gentle energizer and good for you.

Hawk is assam, a strong black tea with lots of flavor underneath just waiting to be noticed.

Yarrow is fruity herbal teas, and the bouncier the taste the better.

Copper is any tea but the latte version.

Shadow is pu-erh. it's strong and deep and unexpected.

and now to the bits I especially love.

the scene where Jet comes to check on Rune after they fought and she takes care of him because he got in another fight on the way there:

“You’re bleeding, dumbass,” Rune sighs. “Any other injuries?”

Jet knows he shouldn’t have expected her to not have this reaction, even after such a vicious interaction just that morning. Rune is better than he is. Maybe she hasn’t forgiven him, but here she is with bandages in her hands because he showed up to check on her with new wounds.

He sits.

any of the scenes where Jet and Copper are having conversations that go straight to the ocean floor:

“I’m not scared of anything,” Jet says, the humor falling rather flat.

“Everyone is scared of something.” Copper plants both hands on Jet’s head and tilts it up so they’re looking at each other. The hands slide down to cradle Jet’s cheeks. “And you are scared of me. You’re scared I’ll see you. I don’t know why, maybe because you don’t like to look at yourself.”

“I’m looking at me right now.” Jet’s voice sounds feeble in comparison to his brother’s.

Copper smiles. “We might be identical, but we’re far from the same person. You’re only looking at me.”

the scene where Rune and Jet sleep together (literally) for the first time and it feel so natural for them:

“You don’t need this,” he murmurs, stating a fact. “We’re strong and can live without each other. But it’s too early, and I can hold you.”

“So why not?” Rune finishes the thought, her breath meeting his collarbones. “Feels good, actually.”

“Will we talk about it later?” The day might be slowly approaching but so is sleep.

“No. We don’t need to. We know what this is.”

Jet feels the world start to slip away but whispers, “What is it?”

Rune sighs against him, contentedly. “Home.”

Jet going into instant rage mode when he sees the guy that scared Rune and is only tempered by the fact that he's trying to be less reckless these days because he's got people waiting for him now:

He isn’t surprised that he picks Cam out from a crowd in a second. The guy’s face is branded onto his brain after their first and only encounter. Jet needs to be aware and able to defend Rune from the right people. He’ll fight anyone, really, but this is a face he’d really like to bruise.

It seems that Cam recognizes him as well, but the dumbass doesn’t recognize a predatory face when he sees one, because he actually detaches from his group of friends and comes over closer to Jet with just the most punchable expression.

“I shouldn’t be talking to you,” is what Cam leads with.

Jet agrees. “You shouldn’t. I’m very ready to just punch your lights out.”

I love this whole wip, even the very dumb scenes, but here are some definite highlights. thanks for asking, ren-rill-ren!

[leighistired]

Out Loud

A Martin character study AO3 Link

“G’night mum, love you.”

“Make sure you put the trash out, don’t want it stinking up the house.”

At 12 it occurs to Martin, he can’t recall the last time his mother said “I love you” to him. She must have. He knows she loves him, so why can’t he remember her saying it? Was it before dad left? It can’t have been that long ago. He knows if he brings it up she’ll just tell him off for being silly so he just decides to not say it unless she says it first. She doesn’t say it.

“Look how nice our neighbor’s garden is,” she says instead. “If only we could have such a nice garden.”

“The neighbors hire a man-” Martin tries to explain. He had just done law maintenance over the weekend; he would have to bring up memory issues next time they saw a doctor.

“Aren’t you happy with how I provide for you?” She snaps. “Ever since your lousy father left us I have done my best even with my health and all you can talk about is getting a bloody gardener.”

“Sorry, mum,” he says. It’s better not to argue when she gets like this.

“Forget it. Just get me my tea.”

He goes and brews her a cup of Oolong tea. It’s far too bitter for his tastes but it’s all he buys when he does the shopping. Perhaps that was it, instead of saying she loved him she just provided for him.

Martin tells himself that until she gets too sick to work and begins needling him to get a job at 14. Suddenly he’s providing for her on top of school and everything else but that didn’t mean she didn’t love him. She was just sick and the medication she was on made her tired most of the time so it wasn’t like he could expect her to be excited to see him; especially not when he’s the one bringing it to her.

“Is soup the only thing you buy?” She asks one evening when he brings her dinner.

“You didn’t have soup last night,” he reminds her patiently after a long day of school and work.

“Oh, so you think I’m ungrateful? I am your mother! I gave birth to you! You should be happy to take care of me!”

“It would be nice if you acted like a mum for once!” Martin snaps back. He regrets it as soon as he says it and doesn’t wait to hear her response. He leaves the house and sits in the park near his house for a long time and cries. Of course she loves him. It must be so hard on her to be stuck at home all day with no one to talk to and there he went snapping at her. She’s asleep by the time he comes home and neither of them mentions it in the morning.

Martin doesn’t know what he expects when he starts to transition. He hadn’t even called it a transition at first, he just likes how he looks with short hair, baggy clothes, and a sports bra. His mother disagrees. There are days she won’t even look at him and when she does it’s usually even worse.

“You cut your hair again,” she mentions one morning over breakfast. “Just when you were starting to look like a girl.”

“Yup,” Martin replies tight-lipped. He had been thinking it over for a while and he’s slowly coming to terms with the fact that he isn’t a girl. The way she says it hits him sharply. If she was never going to say “I love you” to a daughter, why would she say it to a son? He doesn’t bother coming out to her properly because he can already see the disgust on her face when he gets a proper binder.

When she decides to move into a full-time care facility, it’s almost a relief. He feels foolish for expecting her to say it when she leaves. He feels even more foolish when he says it in goodbye. The receptionist gives him a sympathetic look when she doesn’t say it back but the receptionist probably assumes his mother has memory issues and forgot who he was. She doesn’t. Still, he appreciates the gesture.

Dating is nearly impossible for most of his life. It’s easiest to blame his busy schedule; he doesn’t even have time for friends outside of school. The fact that no one even asks him out isn’t something he wants to think about. After he drops out of school and his mother leaves, dating and friendship don’t get any easier. He can’t let anyone he works with get close enough or they’ll find out his real age and utter lack of qualifications. Online dating is also out of the question for similar reasons. If one of his coworkers saw him with the age 19 in his profile they would either know he wasn’t actually 25 or they would think he was a creep and he didn’t exactly feel comfortable lying about his age to potential dates. Meeting people organically isn’t the worst thing in the world but it’s difficult. He makes a few passing friends at a local trans support group but even then, he can’t get close to anyone without risking someone discovering his falsified CV.

He doesn’t have his first real boyfriend until he’s 23 years old. They meet at a Holloween party thrown by a mutual acquaintance and date for almost five months before Martin ruins it.

“Happy Valentine’s Day, Dominick, I love you,” Martin says as he serves dinner.

“Oh, uh, it’s a little fast to say that, don’t you think?” Dominick had stammered awkwardly. Was it? It didn’t seem like it to Martin and even if it was, it was true. He loved Dominick.

“I-I don’t think so,” Martin replies nervously. Some distant part of himself starts to berate him for being so needy.

“It kind of is. Let’s just pretend you never said it and we’ll see how we feel in a few more months, ok?”

“You mean we’ll see how you feel,” Martin says a little bitterly.

“Why can’t you just relax and enjoy the holiday?”

Martin had sighed in resignation and picked at the rest of his plate. They broke up a week later because Dominick felt like they were “looking for different things.”

Martin doesn’t have another serious boyfriend after that. He goes on a few more dates over the years but nothing that lasts longer than five months. Nothing that lasts long enough to say “I love you.” In some deep dark part of him, he wonders if he was ever meant for love. His father hadn’t loved him enough to stay, his mother hadn’t said she loved him in over a decade, and he’s not even sure he was in love with Dominick. He gets crushes, sure, but he just throws himself into his work at the Magnus Institute instead.

Working in the library isn’t bad. He gets along with his coworkers well enough but he can never get close to them. Not close enough to love them as friends or be loved in return.

Then he gets transferred to the Archives.

Jonathan Sims is not the first asshole boss Martin has ever had. He doesn’t understand why Mr. Bouchard sent him down to work in the Archive in the first place and his first impression with his new boss is less than stellar when a dog follows him into the building. It doesn’t help that Jon is good-looking and every once in a while Martin catches glimpses of a version of the Archivist without a stick up his ass. Like when he spends Martin’s ice cream birthday talking about emulsifiers. If only he would be clearer about what he actually wants from Martin. No report or follow-up seems to be good enough, even with the help of Tim and Sasha.

Martin works hard for Jon’s approval. He doesn’t know why he wants the recognition but it’s either this or quit and he really, really can’t quit. So he spends three full days looking for every woman named Angela over fifty in Bexley only to be berated for actually talking to one of them and then he offers to look into a case about spiders that clearly upsets Jon only to get trapped in his flat by a zombie worm woman.

When he finally escapes, he takes a few worm corpses with him and he dumps them on Jon’s desk while he’s in the middle of a statement. Let Jon try and disprove that When he gives his own statement he makes special emphasis on reminding Jon how hard he worked to meet his exacting standards. He refuses to be yelled at for this.

Except Jon believes him. More than believes him, in fact. He offers Martin a place to stay. Of course that would be enough to ignite a crush in Martin.

As soon as they get to document storage Martin sits on the cot and begins to cry with exhaustion. He expects Jon to leave but again he surprises him.

“I-it’s alright, Martin,” he says awkwardly as he pats Martin’s shoulder. “You’ll be safe here and I’m certain Elias will respond promptly to my request for extra security.”

“Thanks,” Martin sniffs. He can’t remember the last time he cried in front of another person.

“Would...would you like me to stay until you fall asleep? If- if you think it will help.”

“Oh, er...no...I’ll be fine, thank you. You should be getting home, anyway. It’s Saturday, Jon.”

Martin blacks out as soon as Jon shuts the door to document storage. When he wakes up he finds his crush on Jon stubbornly still in place.

He can’t help himself after that. He starts taking special care of Jon in hopes of encouraging the kind man he saw that night into emerging. At the very least Jon doesn’t yell at him as much and he even thanks Martin for the tea he brings. It’s then that he notices other things about Jon, like how rattled he gets by certain statements and how he’ll often go an entire day without eating or drinking anything unless someone brings him something. That someone being Martin. He also notices how late Jon leaves, if he leaves at all.

It’s on one such night of Jon still being in his office at 11 o’clock that Martin knocks on Jon’s office door.

“Jon?” He calls gently.

“Hzzmt! Martin?” Jon responds, having been startled awake from dozing at his desk. “You should be asleep.”

“And you should be home.”

“I see your point,” Jon sighs. “I’ll finish up here and head home. Unless you need something?”

“Actually….I-I was thinking,” Martin beings. “Since I sort of kicked you off your cot...D’you want to come back to document storage with me? You know, get some sleep?”

“What?”

“Er...forget I-”

“The cot would be rather cramped with both of us,” Jon warns as he gets up from his desk. “If...if you’re sure you want me to join you.”

“Yeah...I thought you had work to do?”

“It can wait until morning, no use keeping you up longer than necessary.”

Martin only half regrets offering to share a bed with his crush. Jon was right, the only way to fit both of them on the cot is for both of them to sleep on their sides (or for Jon to sleep on top of Martin but even the thought has his face burning) and it’s difficult for him to fall asleep with Jon’s back pressed against his. It’s good to hear Jon fall asleep, though, and as time wears on it’s easier for Martin to goad Jon away from work to sleep a few hours.

The more of himself Jon reveals the harder Martin falls for him. Especially after Jon accuses him of being a ghost during the Prentiss attack. Even with the guilt Martin feels every time he looks at Jon mummified in bandages. That was Martin’s fault. If he had just paid more attention then he wouldn’t have lost Jon and Tim in the tunnels. He does everything he can to try and make up for it; despite Jon becoming more and more closed off by the day. Intellectually, Martin knows that Jon has gotten like that with everyone, but something deep down makes Martin feel like it’s his fault Jon’s gotten so cold. It doesn’t help that Jon seems to have gotten friendly with the policewoman investigating the murder of the previous Archivist. Tim even seems to think they’re having an affair which does wonders for Martin’s self-esteem. Jon wouldn’t be the first straight man Martin has ever had a crush on but Martin was pretty sure Jon wasn’t straight. Again, he wonders if he’s done something wrong to push Jon away.

After Jon stumbles out of his office covered in blood claiming to have had an accident with a bread knife Martin finds all the excuse he needs to regularly drag Jon to the canteen to make sure he eats something. The silences during those lunches are hard. They had eaten together before but now Jon wasn’t talking to him. The most Martin could get out of him were a few one-word answers. He tries not to think about how it reminds him of his mum.

“So,” he tries for the millionth time while Jon picks at his sandwich. “Did I tell you what happened while you were at physical therapy the other day?”

Jon doesn’t say anything but he looks up with a gaze that bores into Martin.

“Uh...A little girl came in alone with a statement, she must’ve only been eight years old,” Martin says. Jon looks at him with an expression that almost seems afraid. “Don’t worry, it recorded fine on digital. She walked right down into the Archive, walked up to my desk, and said ‘Excuse me. My name is Beatrice Walker and I’d like to make a statement about a supernatural occurrence.’ She sounded so grown up and she refused to leave until I had recorded her statement. Turns out her dad was using the library for research and she had just wandered off.”

“What was her statement about?” Jon asks to Martin’s surprise.

“Oh, a hamster with mysteriously changing spots.”

“Ah,” Jon replies thoughtfully. “Not much need for follow-up there, I suppose.”

“Not unless you really need me to track down the shop where her parents picked up the new hamster.”

He catches the briefest of smirks from Jon before the conversation dies again.

After that Jon’s coldness and paranoia comes out in the form of a screaming accusation over letters Jon found in the trash. Martin barely manages to make it to the bathroom before he bursts into tears after coming clean about his CV. Tim thankfully doesn’t check on him while he silently curses his taste in men. Jon doesn’t meet his eye for the next week in what he bitterly hopes is guilt. He does seem slightly more willing to talk with Martin at lunch, though.

Then Jon goes missing. After trying to get Martin and Tim to go home early because Jon was feeling under the weather; he disappears. Not before apparently bludgeoning someone with a pipe and isn’t that exactly what he and Tim need to see as soon as they get back from a two-week kidnapping by a spooky door monster?

With Sasha gone, Jon missing, and Melanie King being suddenly hired by Elias, whatever’s left of Martin’s relationship with Tim deteriorates. More so when Martin becomes the only one in the world to believe Jon could be innocent. It’s probably that that makes the police detective “investigating” Jon so actively hostile toward him. Apparently, people say he and Jon are “close” and that probably only means the lunch thing but he wants to imagine it’s something more. Like people are somehow picking up that Jon likes him back.

When Jon comes back to confront Elias it’s all Martin can think to do to fall back on his tea-making. He ducks into Jon’s office with a piping cup of the overly sweet tea he spent months perfecting to Jon’s taste and finds him with his face buried in his one non-bandaged hand.

“Jon?” He calls as gently as he can while he closes the door behind him. “I brought you some tea.”

It’s when Jon looks up that Martin notices the bloody mess down the front of his shirt.

“You’re hurt. Let me go get the first aid-”

“No!” Jon interrupts frantically. “Just...Could you just stay with me for a moment?”

Martin acquiesces and they sit side by side on the sofa in Jon’s office in silence until Jon starts sniffling into his tea. He offers Jon a hug and Jon all but dives into his chest to cry. It’s the saddest most broken thing Martin has ever heard and it’s all he can do not to pull Jon into his lap and curl around him protectively.

“Martin...I-I...I’m sorry,” he says quietly. “For everything. For Sasha and Prentiss and...and for the way I treated you. You didn’t….no one deserves that.”

“None of that was your fault and I sort of deserved it. I didn’t actually know what I was doing.”

“You didn’t deserve it,” Jon insists before going back to quietly crying into Martin’s jumper. Martin doesn’t respond. He can’t recall the last time someone’s apologized to him. At least not like that. He’d been told off most of his life for not doing things up to people’s standards. A few people over the years had told him he didn’t deserve it but Jon was the first person to apologize. No wonder Martin was falling in love with him.

Damn it.

Cuddling doesn’t become a regular occurrence for them by any means but Jon begins doing more to seek Martin out after that. They eat lunch together more often and Martin stays up late to talk to Jon while he’s abroad. It drives home how deeply buried into Martin’s heart Jon has become. Especially after he comes back after going missing for a month and has the audacity to joke about being moisturized by a clown mannequin for a month.

He wonders if Jon feels the same way. Sometimes Jon will smile shyly at him, and he can almost believe that Jon would be interested in a relationship if the world wasn’t ending. The last time they speak before the Unknowing they’re in document storage.

“Are you ready?” Jon asks as he shifts nervously.

“As ready as I’ll ever be,” Martin signs. He heard what happened to Melanie. He knows what’s likely to happen to him. Some small part of him is screaming to just tell Jon his feelings like it’s the climax of an action movie.

“Stay safe,” Jon says.

“Come back,” Martin replies. Jon offers him a hug. It’s no movie kiss but it allows Martin to hold Jon as close as possible. Jon himself is hanging off of Martin’s neck and it feels like a final goodbye.

Then Elias confirms what Martin has always suspected deep down. That his mother never loved him or if there was a time when she did, she stopped when his father left. Even after everything. After he spent years taking care of her. After he had to quit school to care for her. All she ever saw was his father. All his transition did was to remind her further of how much he looked like his father’s son. At least it was worth it. To distract Elias so Melanie could find evidence to arrest him.

Then Peter Lukas shows up and reveals that Elias planned to get arrested. Worse than that, he offers Martin a promotion of sorts.

Then they get the news from Yarmouth. Tim’s body is found in a charred heap, Daisy is missing, and Jon is dead in all but brain activity. At least Basira is physically alive.

Martin spends as much time as he can next to Jon. He’s used to loving someone who can’t love him back. Maybe this is all he’s destined for. Love unrequited. He talks to Jon’s dreaming corpse. Tells him about his day, reads him poetry, even a statement, but nothing draws Jon out of his coma.

Then his mother dies. He barely has the emotional strength to mourn her. Instead, he scatters her ashes and mourns his childhood lost to trying impossibly to earn her love.

After the Flesh attacks, Martin makes a decision. He’ll join Lukas. It’ll probably lead to his death but what did that matter? His mother was gone and didn’t care about him anyway. Tim and Sasha were gone. Jon was basically gone. Basira and Melanie were the only people left that he vaguely cared about and by doing this he could at least protect them.

He visits Jon one last time in the hospital. He’s still covered in wires and his eyes still flit around violently behind his lids as Martin sits down next to him and takes his hand.

“Hey Jon,” he says quietly. “I...This is the last time I’m going to see you...Probably ever. I know, I know old dramatic Martin surely he’s exaggerating. I’m not. The Institute is in danger and...I have a way to keep Melanie and Basira a little safer, so I’m doing it. I just came by one last time to say...Jon, I...I love you. Goodbye.”

He gets up and presses a kiss on a part of Jon’s forehead not covered in wires before leaving. It’s alright that he doesn’t say it back. No one ever says it back to Martin.

When Jon wakes up everything becomes that much harder. Suddenly he had a reason to live and the way Jon pursues him makes him almost believe...No, even completing the thought would be dangerous for all of them. Jon trusts him enough not to be constantly badgering and that makes it worse. When Jon is there the Lonely makes Martin resent his presence and when Jon’s gone Martin resents his absence.

The final, most excruciating pain is when Jon comes after him in the Lonely. He’s excepted his fate in the chilling numbness of the Lonely. Maybe that’s why he says it. The certain, inevitable rejection would be numbed utterly. So he says it.

“I really loved you, you know?”

And Jon looks broken. Even after he rips Peter’s statement from him. Even when he reaches for Martin’s face with hands that seem far too warm and makes him See. Knowing Jon loves him isn’t like “knowing” his mother loves him. Instead of a lie born in Martin’s mind to stamp down the fear of rejection, it’s a reality pouring from Jon’s mind mingled with Jon’s fears of rejection.

Jon’s hands still feel too warm compared to the icy chill of the Lonely as he leads Martin out. Still, he refuses to let go all the way through the tunnels, the Institute, talking to Basira, packing at each other’s flats, and on to the train. The way to Daisy’s safe house feels like a blur and when they finally arrive it’s all Martin can do to remember to take off his binder before collapsing into bed with Jon’s warm arms around him.

He wakes to Jon’s quiet crying. The awful, stifled thing that breaks Martin’s heart.

“Jon,” he whispers.

“Martin? Did I wake you? I’m sorry, I’ll-”

“It’s alright, Jon,” he assures as he swaps their positions so Jon is tucked firmly against him. Jon makes another broken noise and Martin can’t stop himself from crying, too.

“I-I’m here, Martin. You aren’t on your own,” Jon soothes and Martin almost has to laugh. They lay crying and comforting each other until they both fall back asleep.

When they wake up properly they take stock of the safe house’s pantry and make a list of things to pick up in the village after breakfast. Martin gives in to the temptation to buy a new notebook to try and write poetry in. They have enough canned food to survive to the next ice age so they pick up perishable items like milk, bread, butter, and eggs. Jon also picks up fresh peaches and a box of Martin’s preferred tea. It’s easy to pretend like they going on a normal shopping trip as they walk up and down the aisles to check things off their list.

They return to the cabin and settle in. Martin sits on the sofa and tries to write out a poem while Jon tries to read a book from Daisy’s personal collection. After a while, Martin beings to feel Jon’s gaze on him.

“Is there something on my face?” He tries casually as he’s met with an expression he’s never been on the receiving end of.

“I was just thinking about how much I love you,” Jon sighs. Martin can’t stop the noise that comes out of him. All his life trying to earn love and Jon just says it while Martin’s thinking of a synonym for ‘yellow.’

“I-I don’t expect you to reciprocate,” Jon says quickly, his soft expression suddenly turning worried.

“But I do.”

“Oh…Oh!”

“Yeah.”

Jon starts giggling and it’s impossible for Martin not to follow suit until happy tears stream down both of their faces.

[bluejayblueskies]

peaches and roses

happy international asexual awareness day! this doesn't deal directly with asexuality (though jon and martin are both ace in this)--it's a follow-up to one of my aspec archives week fics, agape, but can be read as a standalone!

ao3 link in the source

.

The bell that hangs above the door to the bookshop—hung there by Gerry and too high up for Jon to reach without significant effort—jingles, and Jon immediately snaps the book he was thumbing through shut like he’s been caught committing a crime.

“Hi!” Martin says cheerily, his cheeks red and wind-bitten from the chill of the October air, and Jon’s never been more thankful for a dark complexion that doesn’t give away the fact that his face is burning up at the moment as well. He subtly slides the book to the side and covers it with another as Martin steps fully into the shop, a travel mug of tea in each hand. He approaches the counter and hands one of the mugs to Jon with a smile before saying, a bit playfully, “Got any new poetry books?”

“No,” Jon says, too-quickly. “No, uh. Just the usual.” He thinks he should probably say something along the lines of We’ve already got too many books of poetry for any self-respecting bookshop or You would just complain about their excessive use of metaphors anyway, but all he manages is, “Any, er. Any new blends this week?”

Martin hums and gestures to the mug Jon’s holding. It must be quite cold outside—Martin’s cheeks are still bright red. Jon makes a mental note to dig his gloves and hat out of the back of his closet. “It’s, er. It’s not really a new blend? I- I mean, it’s- it’s new, it’s just not… it’s not something I’m serving in the shop yet.”

“Oh,” Jon says, looking at the mug in front of him with growing curiosity and, beneath it, something warmer that curls in the pit of his stomach. “I… what is it?”

“Oh, just- just some, uh—you know, it- it’s a combination of things—well, of course it is, all blends are—just some, er, you know, a- a bit of rosehip and dried peach, Lady Grey and- and oolong—”

“You hate oolong,” Jon says, amused.

“Yes, well, it’s not for me,” Martin says, a bit snappishly in that way Jon adores, where his forehead creases along the middle and his lips purse ever so slightly. “Threw in some dandelions too, I know you’re fond of those, and just a bit of almond because I would never hear the end of it if I left that out—”

“Martin,” Jon says, his stomach twisting into something light and fluttering and fond in a way he doesn’t quite know how to handle. “I’m sure I’ll love it.”

Martin makes a small noise in lieu of finishing his sentence and says, quietly, “Yeah. It’s, er. You- you’re the first to, er… try it, so- so let me know if it’s not—you know what, I’ll just let you… yeah. Should- shouldn’t be too hot.”

This has to be the thousandth cup of tea Martin’s given Jon. It’s certainly not the first that’s been made specifically for him; Jon can still taste the smoke on his tongue, tinged with almond and blueberry, when he thinks back on the day he’d stuttered his way through a poorly-executed coming-out and Martin had taken it with a smile that sent Jon’s heart racing in his chest.

Maybe he’d known before that, that he was a little bit in love with Martin Blackwood. But the first sip of that tea had solidified it into a flower that blossomed within him, growing ever bigger with every smile and cup of tea and teasing remark.

Jon doesn’t think he’ll ever grow tired of the way Martin says his name, like he’s learning it again for the first time. He never, ever wants to stop hearing him say it.

The tea warms Jon from the inside out and tastes like spring mornings and summer sunsets and Martin, Martin, Martin. With the lingering taste of rosehip on his lips, Jon says, “It… it reminds me of you.”

Martin makes a small, choked noise. “Y- yeah? Does… does that mean it’s good?”

Softly, Jon says, “How could it not be?”

“Oh,” Martin says, just as softly. And, well. It seems as good an opening as any.

“You know, I- I never really liked tea before I visited your shop the first time. It served a- a utilitarian function, so to speak, a slightly more palatable caffeinated alternative to coffee. I’d always just get black—whatever was cheapest—and try to pretend like I didn’t hate it.” Jon lets out a small laugh. “Gerry used to joke that I wasn’t a real Englishman.

So—and forgive me when I say this, Martin, I- I really do know better now—I didn’t come into your shop with the… highest expectations. I honestly think I just chose at random from the menu—your selection is quite extensive, Martin, much as you seem insistent on expanding it every other week. But I- well, to say it was a life-changing experience would probably be a touch excessive, but it- it did change me. Er, a bit.”

Jon swallows, ignores the little curl of embarrassment in his stomach, and continues, “I- I made it a mission, if I’m being honest. I thought, maybe it’s just the one. Maybe I- I just got lucky, found the- the one kind of tea that I like. So I came back the next day and got a different one. And it was good.” Jon laughs, a bit breathily, and says, “They’re all good, Martin. Even- even the kinds I don’t like, the- the herbals and anything with peppermint, they… they’re still good, in their own way.” Jon hesitates, only a moment, before deciding that if he’s going to do this, he’s going to do it right. “I still don’t know if I like tea, but… but I like your tea, Martin.”

Martin is staring at him with wide eyes, and Jon curls his fingers around the mug in front of him so he won’t lose his nerve. The warmth seeps through his palms, a comforting presence, and he lets out a small breath to relieve the tension. “I- I like the way you notice what I like, the- the flavors and the kinds of leaves, things I- I don’t really understand. I like the way you smile at me, when- when I tell you I like one of your blends, and- and the way you say my name. I like the way you talk about poetry, and even though I- I’ve never understood the appeal of it before, I… I want to.”

Jon tries not to let his hands shake as he reaches over and retrieves the book he’d been leafing through earlier, the small scrap of paper still stuck in between the pages to mark his place. “I- I’m not very good at…” He trails off and waves his hand in the air, gesturing at Martin and then himself and trying to ignore the pounding of his heart in his chest. “And I- I wanted to write you a poem.” He regrets the words as soon as they leave his mouth, as they bring with them a hot flush of embarrassment, augmented by the way Martin’s mouth parts slightly in shock, and he continues quickly, “But, er. I thought this might be preferable.”

He flips the book open to the marked page, takes a precious few seconds to attempt to steady his breathing, and begins to read.

Sweet, sweet is the greeting of eyes,

And sweet is the voice in its greeting,

When adieus have grown old and goodbyes

Fade away where old Time is retreating.

Warm the nerve of a welcoming hand,

And earnest a kiss on the brow,

When we meet over sea and o’er land

Where furrows are new to the plough.

After he finishes, there’s a few moments of silence before Martin says, quietly, his voice cracking around the words, “But… but that’s Keats. You hate Keats.”

It’s true; Keats is a bit too old-fashioned for even his tastes, and half of his poems sound like frivolous drivel. But even still, Jon had picked up the Keats book as soon as it had arrived, had skimmed it over and over, had carefully chosen the best poem he could find for his purposes, because…

“But you like him. And… and I like you. It’s- it’s not personalized tea blends, but I… I wanted to give you something. To- to show that.” Jon runs his thumb along the edge of the page, a nervous motion prompted by the steady increase of his heartbeat. “And- and maybe to ask if you… wanted to get dinner sometime? With, er. With me.” Of course with you, you’re the one who’s asking him.

Jon opens his mouth again, not entirely sure what he’s planning on saying but certain that it’ll end in another stuttering mess of embarrassment, when Martin’s voice cuts him off.

“Yes.”

Jon’s mouth snaps shut so quickly his teeth click together. “Yes?” he says, so quietly it’s barely audible over the pounding of his own heartbeat in his ears.

Martin laughs; it’s a beautiful sound, like the twinkling of wind chimes and the tweeting of birds at dawn and the whistling of the wind through tree branches. “Yes, Jon, I- I’d love to get dinner with you.” He laughs again before pressing his hand over his mouth, hiding that smile that Jon adores so much. His words devolve into giggles a few more times before he manages to say, “Christ, sorry, I- I’m just… happy.” He removes his hand then and looks at Jon, a new, shy smile upon his lips that Jon’s never seen before but that he immediately holds close to his chest to treasure forever. “I’m just happy.”

Martin leaves eventually, and Jon presses the Keats book into his hands as he goes, letting his fingers linger on Martin’s skin for a moment before they part. The tea is still hot when Jon takes another sip, rose and peach and almond blooming across his tongue, and he feels his lips curl into a smile, wide and giddy, against the lip of the mug.

The bookshop smells like roses and paper and ink and Martin, Martin, Martin.

It smells like home.

[earlgreymon]

breaking dawn

enlightenmonth // [day 1-4] morning or evening summary: the reason why koushiro loves oolong tea. …or so i wished. this story was written in 02 timeline, and my mind kept telling me that koushiro’s association with oolong tea only started in tri. and when I almost finished the story, i just remembered that koushiro actually first drank oolong tea in our war game :||| i would love to ignore that little details, but… i decided not to eventually, so i hope this story doesn’t feel too forced. but hey, i’ve only just begun! you’re gonna see me with a lot of koukari stuff this whole month!

___

Ever since The Kaiser came and chaos returned to The Digital World, Koushiro couldn’t help but immersing himself so deeply in this matter. Once the school finished, he would run into his grade school to meet Miyako and the others before staying at the computer room just like he used to when he was still the club president. After the group had returned from The Digital World, he went home to rush with his dinner and homework and then glued himself back to his computer. He made a map of the Dark Towers, analysed the evil ring, discussed the Digital Gate disruption with his friend in the US, and studied ancient Digimon’s lore related to the Digimental.

That was why the most frequent question he got lately was, “did you have enough sleep?” He got one from Taichi after they returned from school earlier this week, also another one from Sora—being the mother hen as always—through a phone call. Even Mimi once emailed him asking why he was still awake when it was already the afternoon in New York.

Yet again, they should have figured the answer by themselves, especially since they had been on an adventure together where they often witnessed this kind of situation. Taking a break was never in Koushiro’s dictionary if he was too engrossed in his own exploration. He would totally forget about sleeping, just like he forgot the entire world and stuck in the one he created himself. Of course he noticed some alerts thanks to this rather bad habit, but they weren’t really alarming. Usually, he just got very drowsy in the class, but that was that.

That Saturday (or Sunday, he wasn’t sure), the alert came as a grumble in the stomach. That was when he remembered he had been sitting for hours without either a full meal or a light snack. He even dared to skip his dinner.

The hallway was dark when he opened the door; another reminder for him that his parents were out of town for the whole weekend to visit a relative. His mother usually left him some food on the fridge, but without her presence at home, he knew going to the kitchen would be useless, so he grabbed his jacket and key before heading out of the apartment. The sky outside was still as dark as his hallway, so he assumed it was still somewhere around midnight because he didn’t bring his phone. However, as he made a turn in the direction of konbini, he wasn’t expecting a hint of dark blue and golden hue at the eastern skyline—marking the arrival of the dawn along with the new day.

He made a calculation inside his head, counting how many hours had passed since the last time he went to bed. No wonder his stomach was upset.

There was a short, familiar chime as he entered the konbini. He immediately squinted because the lights inside were too bright—like how the guy behind the cashier welcomed him in a very joyous tone even though it was still very early. Koushiro went to the bakery section in the middle, picking up a melon bread only to think it wouldn’t be enough. For that reason, he then scouted himself to one rack full of ready-to-eat meals. Unfortunately, it seemed like he came before the restock schedule, so he had no option but to grab a cod roe onigiri.

The only thing left was a drink, so Koushiro moved a few steps to the right and inspected all the available beverages in the chiller. He would usually go with a can of latte or a small carton of milk, but knowing the current condition of his stomach, he didn’t think it would be a wise decision.

“Oolong tea is a good option.”

He was startled because of three reasons: one, the thought of someone just mind-reading him. Two, the voice came so sudden from behind that it made him reflectively turn around. Three, the one behind him was actually someone he knew.

“H, Hikari-san?” he yelped. “What are you doing here?”

“Buying myself a drink, of course,” she joked, picking up a bottle of oolong tea with a black label in the centre. “This one’s the best brand, in my opinion. It has a light, refreshing taste but still very decadent.”

She acted like a salesgirl by handing out the bottle to him with a marketing smile on her face, so he had no choice but to accept. Contradicting to her words, however, she then proceeded to grab a bottle of honey green tea, saying that she was actually in the mood for a slight sweet. They walked to the cashier together, where Koushiro allowed Hikari to pay first while he stood waiting on her back, cursing in silence. If only he knew that he would bump into a friend, the least he could do before leaving the house was washing his face and making an effort to fix his hair so it wouldn’t look this scruffy.

“Would you mind accompanying me for breakfast, Koushiro-san?” she asked after they both exited the konbini, and Koushiro didn’t see the reason to reject. It was a short walk to the beach, where they sat next to each other facing the west side of Odaiba Island—meaning they only got to see the silhouette of Tokyo mainland bathed in orange glow instead of a full sunrise view. Hikari’s definition of breakfast was a croquette and a small cup of pudding, but she looked so pleased when she took her first bite of the fritter.

Koushiro decided to open his bottle first, and as the first drop of tea ran through his throat, his eyes jolted in surprise. “Whoa!” he exclaimed. “This is so good!”

“Is it really your first time drinking oolong tea?” Hikari chuckled, sounded surprised herself seeing such an enthusiastic reaction.

“No, but the taste never really clicked for me,” Koushiro couldn’t help but joined the laughter. His mother always had her tea time somewhere around four in the afternoon, and he remembered it only took one sip for him to stick his tongue out. That summer on Yagami residence when they tried to fight Diaboromon, he thought it was too impolite to reject Taichi’s mother’s offer, so he just chugged all the oolong tea without complaining. The weather was scorching, and he was so nervous that he needed something to wash away the tension.

“I usually go with milk. It’s a kind of funny story.” His tone gradually became bashful. “You know I was really short, so I tried to drink more and more milk so I could get taller. I understand that boys tend to grow up slower than girls when it comes to height, but I pushed my luck, and somehow it becomes a habit.”

“And it worked, didn’t it?” Hikari straightened her posture, trying to measure their height’s difference with her hand. Even in the sitting position, it was apparent that Koushiro won in this department. “You look alive, by the way.”

Koushiro frowned, even though he was kind of used to her enigmatic choice of words. “Alive?”

“When I saw you at the konbini, you had this gloomy aura that I could sense even from the other aisle. It was as if you haven’t slept for twenty-four hours straight.”

He didn’t dare to say it was more than twenty-four hours.

Noticing his silence, she lowered her head and peeked straight to his face, checking the thickness of his eye bags. “Were you even sleeping?”

He smiled apologetically, refusing to answer the question straightforwardly. “The Digital World is facing a threat right now, and I can’t just sit still without doing any investigation,” he said. “I can’t go to the Digital World that often, so this is the best I can do.”

Koushiro took the momentary pause to gulp his oolong tea again, but he twisted the cap back when Hikari opened her mouth to say, “Hey, Koushiro-san?”

A flock of birds flew above them, and it was as if she made way for them to pass before she continued. “We are all agree that you’ve done your best, and we can’t thank you enough. But Daisuke-kun, Iori-kun, Miyako-san, and Takeru-kun are also trying their best.” Koushiro was aware she didn’t mention herself and knowing her modest personality, it was reasonable.

“I’m not saying that you should stop doing what you’re doing right now because I know you are passionate about it anyway. But you should take a break and keep yourself in the best condition,” she smiled. “You can make resting a habit just like how you drink your milk.”

They shared a glance before Hikari turned to face the bed of water with its glimmering surface. “I mean, this is also a break in one way or another, right? Enjoying a meal while sitting idly under the sunrise. Don’t you think it’s very peaceful?” It was the breeze’s turn to pass as if they wanted to express their agreement with her thoughts. “I often come here on weekends, sometimes with Tailmon too. But if you want… I can always be your company.”

His mind was painting a picture of them, sitting together as the sky slowly turned blue, and the golden rays kissed the sea. He could also see Tailmon and Tentomon in some opportunities, along with some snacks and bottles of oolong tea. They would have a light chat about the Digital World and their dear friends, maybe even talk about their own self—because he understood it was a difficult thing to do for people like them.

A tiny smile bloomed on his lips with such a serene imagination.

“…I can try.”

“You have to try.”

“I will try, then.”

There was a light chuckle before they proceed with their meal (including Koushiro who emptied his bottle pretty quickly). They then returned to the direction of the konbini, which happened to be the point where they should part ways. Hikari was the one who walked away first after exchanging a small wave, but she stopped midway and turned back to Koushiro.

She then exclaimed, “Go to sleep, Koushiro-san! The sun won’t ever rise if it doesn’t set first!”

For a moment, he stood in awe as he watched the morning light consumed her before she made a turn. He let her words reverberated inside his mind, and then he made a mental note to go to sleep once he was home.

(But first, he should go back inside the konbini and buy as many oolong teas as he could.)

[ellemany]

The ____ date of my life - Chapter 10

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Resilience

Recommended music: Easily - Bruno Major

While Sova was totally burned-out, Sage used a regeneration orb to eliminate her leg pain and regain her strength. That was better than any energy drink. She took off her makeup and changed her clothes quickly. She picks up the clothes that she left on the floor and put everything on her wardrobe. She cleaned the space, you know, just for precaution, and leave the room.  She thought the apartment got much bigger without Sova's presence there, even though he only stayed for a short time. She decided to start arranging dinner, but every time she took a pot for a reason she didn't even remember, she would come back to the door. Getting on tiptoe to peek through the peephole if he had arrived. Sage wondered when she decided to throw her dignity into space. She was relieved when finally saw Sova in the peephole, feigning surprise when she opened the door. The plan was to drag Sova in and kiss him, even if it cost the base's power grid. But she knew he was hungry, so she went straight into the kitchen with him. The kiss would be for later, much to her displeasure.

- I don't have much food. - She put the towel on a bench near the countertop, going to the fridge. - But I think that's enough for both of us. - She opened the fridge and lowered herself, picking up some pans and stacking it in Sova's arms. - Mapo tofu, mifàn, chow mein, chăo qinghuā, baozi... - The Russian held the pans carefully, confused about all the names that Sage said and he didn’t recognize. She held the last pan, made of bamboo, looking at him. - Do you mind being all vegetarian?

Sova denied it with his head, balancing the pans to the stove. He looked at Sage, who had taken two more pans.

- Your concept of little is different from mine. - He joked, helping Sage with the pans.

- Do you think so? – She wrinkled her nose, supporting one hand on the countertop. - It's not much at all... - She made a peck, opening some pans.

Sova raised an eyebrow, realizing that Sage was talking serious. He wondered what much would mean to her.

- How can I help you? - He approached her, looking at the food he recognized. Rice, fried noodles, a strange soup with cubes floating on it, broccoli, and some whitish dumplings. With the hunger that he was, Sova was quite capable of eating all that raw.

- Um... Stir the sauce for don't grab it. - She gave Sova a wooden spoon, indicating the pans while she turned on their fire. - I'm going to prepare the baozi and... Do you like tea? - Sage turned to Sova, scratching behind her leg with her toes.

Sova nodded, stirring in the pan.

- Okay! - Sage made a thoughtful face by pulling a bamboo pot near. - Oolong or yellow? I can make white too. - The Chinese smiled at Sova, going to the fireplace in the room that Sova realized was serving as a grill too. He found it very useful and potentially dangerous.

-Ouh... Yellow? - The Russian smiled awkwardly.

Sage put the pan with the baozi on the grill.

- You have no idea what it is, right?

- I don't understand anything since you made that list of Chinese names. - He watched the contents of some pans starting to boil. - I'm just agreeing.

- It's tea. – She stood by Sova’s side. - The real one. Made with Camellia sinensis. - Sage looked at Sova as he stirred in some pots, smiling amused by his confusion feature. - It's the plant you make real tea with. Black, white, green, yellow and red. Other types of drink are infusions or decoctions...

And then Sage started talking about teas and their specifics while they’re doing the food. Sova liked tea, but it wasn't like Sage, who was practically a sommelier of... Honestly, the Russian was even afraid to refer to tea only as tea after she talked so much. He just kept nodding, muttering occasional "umm" and "Oh is it?". She looked beautiful when she talked about what she liked. Sova's eye began working on a simulation of how their children would look like, analyzing genetic probabilities. Sage's genes should be dominant, so most predictions indicated that their children would resemble her. Sova thought that was real lucky.

- Got it? - Sage looked Sova through the corner of her eyes, noticing his face and his constant “umm”. – I talk too much… - She admitted, thinking about how much she had spoken about teas, infusions and decoctions. Sage put a strand of hair that was teasing to escape the bun behind her ear, squeezing her lips.

- I noticed… - Sova commented with amusement, paying back his attention to what she was talking about, discarding the simulations of his eye. - I didn't know that... Tea... Had so many peculiarities. – He smiled – You can talk about tea as much as you want with me. – Sage felt her cheeks getting warm by the way that he talked, as she was the most interesting person in the world. He looked at the contents of the pans, already hot, with mouthwatering. – But now I want to eat.

Sage followed Sova's gaze and smiled, rolling her eyes.

- Will you help me clean up the room so we can eat, cyborg prince? - She turned off the fire, going to the kitchen locker. She opened it, standing on tiptoe to try to reach some porcelain pots on a high shelf.

- Sure. - Sova went to her, hugging her from behind and lifting her, helping her reach the high shelves.

Sage took more pots on that shelf than she planned just to keep more time in Sova's arms. He was strong.

- You can put me down. - She talked looking at Sova over her shoulder.

The Russian nodded, putting her back on the ground, but without releasing her. She turned to him, standing between him and the locker. Sage passed one of her arms around Sova's neck, smiling.

- Thank you... - She mumbled approaching him, standing on tiptoe.

Then another lighting came down from the sky, with the thunder soon reaching them. The lights flashed until they finally turned off. Sage wilted just like a tropical flower in the middle of the desert.

- I didn't think I'd say this. - She spoke sadly, focusing on Sova's cybernetic eye, which shone in the darkness. - But I hate who wrote this fanfic too.

- Look on the good side. - Sova activated his night vision, moving away from Sage and looking around. - The food's already hot. And... I think it's romantic to have dinner by candlelight. - The Russian smiled. If Sage had seen your expression, she'd find it lovely enough to forget her sadness. - Where are the candles?

The Chinese crossed her arms, leaning on the locker.

- In the cabinet on the side of the stove... Do you have night vision too? - She observed Sova's silhouette, distinguishable by the sparse night light.

- Yes... Why wouldn't have? - He took the candles and a lighter, scanning the items. - Being half a cyborg has a lot of advantages. - Sova turned on the lighter, lighting a candle. Sage's eyes automatically turned to the yellowish light, illuminating the place.

- Oh, is it? - She watched him light more candles, tilting her head to the side. - What else can you do that I don't know? Take pictures and videos of what you see? If it's like a cell phone...

Sova thought a little about whether or not to admit that he had that function in his eye and that it worked too much when he was near of Sage.

- I can scan objects and have information about them. Its lighter was fabricated in 2020, for example. - It wasn't wrong to answer anything else, was it?

- Oh… The year of the plague. - Sage nodded slowly with her head, propelling herself toward the stove. She took a pot, putting some sauce on it. - And they thought it couldn't get any worse...

- The poor people were naïve. - Sova joked, giving Sage a pot to put another kind of sauce.

- Fools... - Sage popped her tongue with disapproval and gave the sauce pots to Sova. - Leave it by the grill. And have a seat. I'll take care of the rest.

Sova nodded, almost drooling over the sauces with delicious smells. His belly snored. Sage raised an eyebrow, giving a fun smile.

- Let's eat soon, cyborg prince.

Sova gave an embarrassed smile and went into the living room, putting the pots on the table. The bamboo pan on the grill released vapors that expired in the air, heating the place. Sova sat on a cushion on the floor, facing the pan and held out his hands toward the grill, warming his fingers. The rain was heavy, with that characteristic stormy noise. Occasionally, a lightning tore through the sky, illuminating the entire room and echoing its roar. The temperature in the apartment was low, so it was much cozier near the grill/fireplace. Even on the floor, Sova felt comfortable.

- Can you eat with kuàizi? - Sage looked at Sova as she put a pot and a candle on the table. The Russian frowned, confused. - Chopsticks. - She explained, smiling gently.

- Oh. - Sova blinked and nodded. He should have turned on his eye function to put subtitles on foreign languages when they were detected. Sova was seriously thinking about learning Chinese.

- Okay. - Sage come back with all the other pots and sat next to Sova, sighing. - Ready. Enjoy the food and make yourself at home.

Sova nodded to Sage and began to attacking the food, eating everything he saw ahead. The body monitoring of his eye popped with warnings about the amount of salts, fats and sugars he was ingesting. Under normal circumstances, he'd be neurotic with the nutritional table. However, he decided to discard the analyses, silencing its notifications. That was the best dining leftover Sova ever had. He wanted to cry because he was basically devouring a delicious food without any decorum. His babushka would be horrified if she saw him.

Sage looked Sova with fun and joined her palms. She muttered a few words in Chinese, thanking her for the food and served herself. She put tea for the two of them, drinking it next. She sighed, relaxing. Why the hell didn't they hadn’t the idea of a simple date like that before? For that moment, when Sage heard the rain and Sova eating by her side... That was a good date. She ate thoughtfully, reflecting on everything they had been through. She wanted to laugh about all the absurdities, but she was more inclined to get... Sad.

They ate everything in silence. Well, Sage ate it while Sova devoured the food. The Russian gorged himself, getting the corners of his mouth dirty. He held one hand to the ground, sighing.

- That was delicious. - Sova looked at Sage, giving a smile. Until he realized how he had just devoured the food and shrank, ashamed. He stood upright again, passing one hand through his hair. - Sorry. I’m not... I'm not like this normally. - He looked away by putting one hand in his coat pocket.

Sage watched his dirty lips and little smile, putting her pot on the table.

- Oh, is it? - She held Sova's face gently, turning hi, to her. - You seem incapable of staying clean when you eat. - Sage wiped his mouth with her thumb, tilting her head slightly to the side.

Sova gave a slight smile, putting his hand over Sage's.

- I think it's you... - He approached her, looking at her lips. - I always want you to help me clean up...

Sage damped her lips, watching Sova and walked away a little from him, giving a smile.

- Wait, hunter. We have a dessert too. - Sage got up, taking their pots and going to the kitchen.

Sova almost fell to the ground without Sage's support. He made a peck, putting his elbow on the table, supporting his cheek on his wrist, sighing dramatically.

- Nothing had happened. - He grumbled, arranging the empty food pots.

Sage came back before Sova got up to help her bring everything to the kitchen. She sat next to him, holding a plate with a brownie.

- That's the only one. - She smiled slightly, taking a piece with the fork and offering it to Sova. - Let's share.

Sova looked at the brownie and then looked at Sage, opening his mouth. She rolled her eyes with a fun smile and gave the brownie in his mouth. Sova nodded, satisfied, making a cute face. He analyzed their proximity. He sat on the ground so he could hug her from behind. Oh, yes, better this way. Much more comfortable. Sage gave a slight smile, resting her head on Sova's pectoral, eating a piece of brownie. The Russian wondered if the indirect kiss for splitting the fork would be the most successful kiss attempt among them. That was depressing.

- Hey... - He spoke low, squeezing her a little. - What's the matter?

Sage stopped chewing the brownie for a moment. He was perceptive.

- Nothing. - Sage swallowed the brownie, taking another piece of it. - I'm fine.

- You wouldn't say this if you were. - Sova leaned his chin on Sage's shoulder, looking her. He wanted his bionic eye to be able to discover her thoughts for him. - You haven't been fine since it started raining.

She denied with her head, moving the piece of brownie from side to side. Sova watched her closely, loosening his arms around her.

- It's... The date, isn't it? - He looked away, wetting his lips. - It's all right. I... I will go… - Sova let Sage go, walking away from her.

Sage has shrunk. It was cold without Sova.

- What? - She turned to him. - What are you talking about?

- You hated everything. You can admit. I… - Sova put one of his hands in his coat pocket, without looking at Sage. - It was a bad day. I am sorry... I didn't want to put you through all this. I should have insisted on staying home and... - He swallowed it dry, running his hand down his throat. - It would have been better if we hadn't left.

Sage spent about two seconds looking at Sova as if trying to decide if he was too dumb or if he had serious judgement problems.

- Why do you think this, Sasha? - She wrinkled her nose, putting the brownie plate on the table.

- You’re...

- Sova, I loved spending time with you today. - She held Sova's face with both hands, forcing him to look at her. - I already told you I like you. - Sova looked at her with a happy face, but that soon turned into a puppy face. Sage said before he said something like " Are you sure?" - I like to spend time with you. I like to talk and stay with you. It's just... - Sage let go of Sova's face, gesturing with her hands. She made an angry face, like she was fighting with something. She snore, throwing her hands up as if she had lost the imaginary discussion. She put her hands on Sova's shoulders, lowering her head, defeated. - So... Everything happened today...

The Russian watched all of her actions carefully. Definitely, Sage had attitudes that made him confused, besides she was... Strange. No function of his bionic eye was prepared to understand someone so... Frustrated? Confused? Sage's micro expressions revealed different emotions. Sova had to work hard to do an analysis of Sage for himself. He held one of her hands, stroking her with his thumb.

- The… - Sova thought a little, trying to name the set of chaotic episodes of the day. - Tragedies?

- Not so dramatic but... - She shrugged, nodding. - And if it is... - Sage blushed a little. - I don't know. A warning of fate? Or the universe trying to say something?

Sova watched Sage for a few seconds, pulling a strand of hair from the front of her face. Yep. She was crazy.

- You mean whoever wrote the fanfic doesn't want us to be together?

No. No, yes. Yes. No.

Come on, I'm confused.

- What? Oh. Sova, forget the fanfic.

Yes, forget the fanfic. There's no fanfic.

No, wait.

- You said you hated who wrote the fanfic, too.

It hurt, by the way.

- I was just kidding. No. Forget. - Sage turned to the brownie, eating several pieces with angry.

Sova did a thoughtful peck. He hugged Sage again, leaning his chin on her shoulder.

- But... You like me...?

- I already said I like you, damn it! - The Chinese woman exclaimed with her mouth full of brownie.

- And I like you. - He frowned. - What does the universe have to do with it?

- I don't know. Cosmic entities trying to send a signal that… - Sage swallowed it, taking a few more pieces of brownie. She didn't want to say what she was about to say. - We're not meant to be. Did you understand? - She spoke low and fast, sticking more brownie in her mouth. Just the possibility of something goes wrong between her and Sova was making her anxious.

- Oh… - Sova raised his eyebrows and then made a confused face. – You… - The Russian cleared his throat, swallowing dry. - Do you care about the universe’s opinion? - He spoke simply, with a curious look.

Sage stopped the fork midway into her mouth, thinking. It was such a simple question that it was ridiculous.

- It's kind of... - She lowered her fork, looking at Sova. - The universe, right? - Sage made a big gesture with her free hand.

- The universe has tried to kill me more than once. - The blonde watched Sage's face, with brownie crumbs. He smirked, pulling out the crumbs. He cleared his throat again. - I think... I don't know. The universe seems a little big to be so committed to separating us. - Sova shrugged.

She took a deep breath, thinking about too many things at the same time. Sage's mind was turning into a whirlwind.

- So how do you explain everything that happened today? - Sova gave a mischievous smile, opening his mouth to talk. However, Sage placed the indicator finger on his lips. - You're not going to say whoever who wrote the fanfic.

I wash my hands.

- Ling Ying... - Sova held Sage's hand affectionately, intertwining their fingers. - I have no idea how to explain why everything bad happened today. - He swallowed it dry again, wetting his lips. – Bad… - Sova scratched his throat, wrinkling his nose a little. - Things... Happen... But... - He smiled. – If you like me… - Sova said it like it was the greatest privilege of his life, causing Sage to turn red by his intonation. - I don't care for the universe’s opinion.

Sage struggled to calm her thoughts, focusing her attention on Sova. On his bicolor eyes and in the tone of his skin. Although, here was a lot of things running through her mind. The possibilities of something going wrong, of having her heart broken. She tried to remember about her concentration training. She should let her thoughts flow through her mind until they become one. Sage should be calm, compassionate and patient, with complete control over her body and emotions. That was her goal and Sage struggled to remember about it. However, with Sova there, everything seemed vain, because of so many things that he made her feel and think at the same time.

Sage chose to give up focus, doing the thing she wanted most since the beginning of that day.

- Fuck it. - She pulled Sova close, kissing him, no matter if the two of them would blow themselves up for it.

In fact, something happened. Everything happened. Clear and sudden like the flash of a lightning, Sage knew. It was there, in that kiss, that her thoughts calmed down. They've become an understandable straight line. Something safe and sound. Where it all made sense. There was the perfect match. Him. Sasha Novikov. The strange name walked through her mind as if it belonged to that place. It was simple. Obvious. As when you finish a puzzle that had left itself aside because it was very difficult and, after being assembled, you wonders how it had never found the solution before. There was the logic.

"Where have you been all my life?" Sage thought, curling her hand in his blond hair, keeping him close.

Sova used his free hand to hold Sage's waist, pulling her closer. He was happy to know that his feelings for her were reciprocal. It was a better feeling than he could’ve imagined. The Russian wondered why it took so long to reunite the courage to ask Sage to go on a date with him. All the time he spent away from her now seemed like a waste of time.

"We should have done this before..." He thought, already out of breath.

But no. They shouldn't have done this sooner.

Sova knew Sage was a certain since her laugh in the street. He knew she was the one he wanted. But Sage only knew that Sova was a sure in that exact kiss, which could not occur before or after. You know, some things have the right day, place and time to happen. Events that would never occur in minimally different situations.

I told you to trust me.

Sage turned away from Sova to breathe, giving him some affectionate pecks. She opened her eyes and smiled at him. That proud and satisfied smile, of whom had successfully gone through a life trial and finally would have peace. And, let's face it, they had been through a lot that day to wouldn't enjoy every second of that moment. Sage noticed that Sova's faces were reddish, leaving him looking fluffy. She wanted to make a comment about finally seeing him blushed. However, she was more inclined to kiss him again. For heaven's sake, that man was a good kisser. Sage bit her lower lip slightly and returned to approach him, ready to seal their lips again.

Then he walked away, turning his head to the side, making a grimace.

Say that Sage's heart has plummeted would be an understatement in the face of what she felt with his expression.

- What is? - The Chinese whispered, almost stuttering. She was about to cry. It wasn't possible that after that hell they went through until they had a decent kiss, he hadn't liked it. Sage could imagine herself drunk, hugging a bottle of Baiju, catching rain in a gutter if that were the case. - You didn't like it?

Sova made a face of someone who thought Sage was completely insane. He pulled her close again, giving her a quick and intense kiss that definitely said he wanted more. Sage relaxed, even as he walked away again. Sova ran his hand down his throat, trying to swallow dry.

- What... - He spoke with difficulty, with a hoarse voice. - Was... In... - Sova gave up talking, pointing to the empty plate of brownie.

Sage looked from Sova to the plate, beginning to get worried.

- Well... Chocolate, vanilla, eggs, butter, flour... Of nuts... I didn’t had the normal. - She turned to him, who wide his eyes when he heard the last ingredient of the brownie. - Oh, no. Don’t tell me you’re… - Sage remembered the ice cream shop. The ice cream flavors that Sova hadn't tasted. All with nuts. - Shit.

He was allergic to nuts.

And was having an anaphylactic shock.

Sage got up in a jump, going to her room.

- Wait! Wait! I'll handle this! - She opened the drawers of her dressing table, looking for her regenerative orbs. She had spent some of it that day and should manufacture more. It didn't make it easy to search for a usable orb being in the dark and desperate. - Oh, damn it! - Sage whimpered, running to her dresser. She slipped and almost fell, but leaned on the bed, avoiding the fall. - Not again! - She made a grimace, taking several things from her dresser, in search of her emergency orb, which she was almost sure where it would be. - Where's it? Where? WHERE?

Sova staggered to the kitchen, leaning on the countertop. He struggled to breathe, feeling his throat close. He went to the sink, opening the spout and drinking water, trying to lessen the effect of the allergic crisis. He hadn’t that since he was nine, and couldn't even remember what to do if ate nuts by accident. The Russian slipped on the floor, with his hand on his throat, opening his mouth in search of air.

- FOUND IT! - Sage pulled a little blue ball from her dresser as if it were the greatest discovery of the century. She ran back into the living room, searching for Sova until she found him in the kitchen. - I'm here! Got you! - She slipped on the floor, stopping kneeling in front of him. He was already turning purple, with his eyes closing. Sage unleashed her radiant power on him. – Healing you! - She held his face between her hands, watching him worried.

Only two seconds passed until Sova was able to breathe again, feeling very relieved. The same seconds passed like an eternity for Sage, where she was already thinking about how she would find radiant energy to resurrect him. It was never a pleasant experience to use her power like that. She was afraid she wouldn't be able to use her ability or be too late. She didn't want that their date turns into a funeral, even it was a catastrophic date. And of all the possibilities, the one that terrified her most was stay without Sova. That couldn't happen. Not after all.

He coughed when he managed to breathe again. He snagged, feeling his lungs begging for air. Sage let her shoulders fall, but she kept in alert.

- Hey hey, look at me. - She turned Sova's face to herself, looking at him carefully. – Are you feeling anything else? Dizziness, nausea?

Sova looked at her, groggy, trying to understand what she was talking about.

- Ahw? - He managed to grumble, blinking his eyes slowly. Sage repeated a list of symptoms that Sova might be feeling, and he simply narrowed his eyes, trying to assimilate every word to what he felt. - Just... Sleepy...

Sage watched him and sighed, supporting her forehead on his.

- It was an anesthetic orb... You must get sleepy... - She sought Sova's lips with hers, giving him several peck. – Sorry. I'm sorry. – Sage whimpered, thinking that she had almost poisoned him earlier. If it wasn’t by the accident with the little girl…-  I didn't know... I am so sorry! I didn't know...

Sova struggled to focus on Sage. From that angle, illuminated by the sparse candlelight about to end, she looked like an angel.

- It’s okay… - He spoke slowly, hugging her. – I’m fine...

She hugged him tightly by the neck, holding him close. As if to stay close to him would keep him alive. Or she'd be alive next to him. It was already on a confusing threshold. Sage only knew that hug seemed like a matter of survival.

- I was worried…

Sova's lips trembled in a smile as he heard her statement, feeling her arms around him. Yes, he could live in that hug. However, he was closer to dying there.

- You’re choking me... - He mumbled. Sage might not look, but she was pretty strong.

- Oh! - She let him go, walking away from him. – Sorry! - Sage blushed, watching his faces still reddish.

Sova gave a gentle smile, holding Sage's face with one hand. He approached her, depositing a light kiss on her mouth.

- Thank you… - He muttered against her lips, leaning his forehead on hers.

Somehow, Sage knew that “thank you” wasn't just for the heal. It was for more. It was for that strangely exceptional day.

It was for her.

Sage had never really thought she could be a reason for gratitude. And that was worth all night. No. Actually, it wasn't being the target of gratitude.

It was to have Sova there to be grateful too. To make her effort and tiredness worthwhile. Because he's a perfect reason to keep going. Sage was with someone who made it worth a terrible day.

- Thank you... - She whispered, extremely happy, returning to kiss him without worrying if the world was going to explode.

And honestly, as long as they were with each other, an exploding world would be just an insignificant detail to them. What mattered was the two of them and what was between them

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