#happy early valentines day everyone!!

[danyartlife]

aftermath

(part 2)

[massivementalitynut]

My Valentine's Day comm of Adam from @iwanttobeaseme

[puccafangirl]

Scratte used Attract!

Scrat fell in love!

[reformedmercymain]

it's dangerous to go alone take this

I heard that there would be an overwatch dating sim but I honestly thought it was fake??? LMAO

[coldasyou]

send asks if u guys want im home from work, bored, and need a distraction???

[todayisafridaynight]

I love how I only just started Yakuza 7 but I recognized Aoki when he first appears on the TV screen when Ichiban walks into Kamurocho because of you.

HEHEHE yeah das him.........

[therealbeachfox]

Twenty years ago, February 15th, 2004, I got married for the first time.

It was twenty years earlier than I ever expected to.

To celebrate/comemorate the date, I'm sitting down to write out everything I remember as I remember it. No checking all the pictures I took or all the times I've written about this before. I'm not going to turn to my husband (of twenty years, how the f'ing hell) to remember a detail for me.

This is not a 100% accurate recounting of that first wild weekend in San Francisco. But it -is- a 100% accurate recounting of how I remember it today, twenty years after the fact.

Join me below, if you would.

2004 was an election year, and much like conservatives are whipping up anti-trans hysteria and anti-trans bills and propositions to drive out the vote today, in 2004 it was all anti-gay stuff. Specifically, preventing the evil scourge of same-sex marriage from destroying everything good and decent in the world.

Enter Gavin Newstrom. At the time, he was the newly elected mayor of San Francisco. Despite living next door to the city all my life, I hadn’t even heard of the man until Valentines Day 2004 when he announced that gay marriage was legal in San Francisco and started marrying people at city hall.

It was a political stunt. It was very obviously a political stunt. That shit was illegal, after all. But it was a very sweet political stunt. I still remember the front page photo of two ancient women hugging each other forehead to forehead and crying happy tears.

But it was only going to last for as long as it took for the California legal system to come in and make them knock it off.

The next day, we’re on the phone with an acquaintance, and she casually mentions that she’s surprised the two of us aren’t up at San Francisco getting married with everyone else.

“Everyone else?” Goes I, “I thought they would’ve shut that down already?”

“Oh no!” goes she, “The courts aren’t open until Tuesday. Presidents Day on Monday and all. They’re doing them all weekend long!”

We didn’t know because social media wasn’t a thing yet. I only knew as much about it as I’d read on CNN, and most of the blogs I was following were more focused on what bullshit President George W Bush was up to that day.

"Well shit", me and my man go, "do you wanna?" I mean, it’s a political stunt, it wont really mean anything, but we’re not going to get another chance like this for at least 20 years. Why not?

The next day, Sunday, we get up early. We drive north to the southern-most BART station. We load onto Bay Area Rapid Transit, and rattle back and forth all the way to the San Francisco City Hall stop.

We had slightly miscalculated.

Apparently, demand for marriages was far outstripping the staff they had on hand to process them. Who knew. Everyone who’d gotten turned away Saturday had been given tickets with times to show up Sunday to get their marriages done. My babe and I, we could either wait to see if there was a space that opened up, or come back the next day, Monday.

“Isn’t City Hall closed on Monday?” I asked. “It’s a holiday”

“Oh sure,” they reply, “but people are allowed to volunteer their time to come in and work on stuff anyways. And we have a lot of people who want to volunteer their time to have the marriage licensing offices open tomorrow.”

“Oh cool,” we go, “Backup.”

“Make sure you’re here if you do,” they say, “because the California Supreme Court is back in session Tuesday, and will be reviewing the motion that got filed to shut us down.”

And all this shit is super not-legal, so they’ll totally be shutting us down goes unsaid.

00000

We don’t get in Saturday. We wind up hanging out most of the day, though.

It’s… incredible. I can say, without hyperbole, that I have never experienced so much concentrated joy and happiness and celebration of others’ joy and happiness in all my life before or since. My face literally ached from grinning. Every other minute, a new couple was coming out of City Hall, waving their paperwork to the crowd and cheering and leaping and skipping. Two glorious Latina women in full Mariachi band outfits came out, one in the arms of another. A pair of Jewish boys with their families and Rabbi. One couple managed to get a Just Married convertible arranged complete with tin-cans tied to the bumper to drive off in. More than once I was giving some rice to throw at whoever was coming out next.

At some point in the mid-afternoon, there was a sudden wave of extra cheering from the several hundred of us gathered at the steps, even though no one was coming out. There was a group going up the steps to head inside, with some generic black-haired shiny guy at the front. My not-yet-husband nudged me, “That’s Newsom.” He said, because he knew I was hopeless about matching names and people.

Ooooooh, I go. That explains it. Then I joined in the cheers. He waved and ducked inside.

So dusk is starting to fall. It’s February, so it’s only six or so, but it’s getting dark.

“Should we just try getting in line for tomorrow -now-?” we ask.

“Yeah, I’m afraid that’s not going to be possible.” One of the volunteers tells us. “We’re not allowed to have people hang out overnight like this unless there are facilities for them and security. We’d need Porta-Poties for a thousand people and police patrols and the whole lot, and no one had time to get all that organized. Your best bet is to get home, sleep, and then catch the first BART train up at 5am and keep your fingers crossed.

Monday is the last day to do this, after all.

00000

So we go home. We crash out early. We wake up at 4:00. We drive an hour to hit the BART station. We get the first train up. We arrive at City Hall at 6:30AM.

The line stretches around the entirety of San Francisco City Hall. You could toss a can of Coke from the end of the line to the people who’re up to be first through the doors and not have to worry about cracking it open after.

“Uh.” We go. “What the fuck is -this-?”

So.

Remember why they weren’t going to be able to have people hang out overnight?

Turns out, enough SF cops were willing to volunteer unpaid time to do patrols to cover security. And some anonymous person delivered over a dozen Porta-Poties that’d gotten dropped off around 8 the night before.

It’s 6:30 am, there are almost a thousand people in front of us in line to get this literal once in a lifetime marriage, the last chance we expect to have for at least 15 more years (it was 2004, gay rights were getting shoved back on every front. It was not looking good. We were just happy we lived in California were we at least weren’t likely to loose job protections any time soon.).

Then it starts to rain.

We had not dressed for rain.

00000

Here is how the next six hours go.

We’re in line. Once the doors open at 7am, it will creep forward at a slow crawl. It’s around 7 when someone shows up with garbage bags for everyone. Cut holes for the head and arms and you’ve got a makeshift raincoat! So you’ve got hundreds of gays and lesbians decked out in the nicest shit they could get on short notice wearing trashbags over it.

Everyone is so happy.

Everyone is so nervous/scared/frantic that we wont be able to get through the doors before they close for the day.

People online start making delivery orders.

Coffee and bagels are ordered in bulk and delivered to City Hall for whoever needs it. We get pizza. We get roses. Random people come by who just want to give hugs to people in line because they’re just so happy for us. The tour busses make detours to go past the lines. Chinese tourists lean out with their cameras and shout GOOD LUCK while car horns honk.

A single sad man holding a Bible tries to talk people out of doing this, tells us all we’re sinning and to please don’t. He gives up after an hour. A nun replaces him with a small sign about how this is against God’s will. She leaves after it disintegrates in the rain.

The day before, when it was sunny, there had been a lot of protestors. Including a large Muslim group with their signs about how “Not even DOGS do such things!” Which… Yes they do.

A lot of snide words are said (by me) about how the fact that we’re willing to come out in the rain to do this while they’re not willing to come out in the rain to protest it proves who actually gives an actual shit about the topic.

Time passes. I measure it based on which side of City Hall we’re on. The doors face East. We start on Northside. Coffee and trashbags are delivered when we’re on the North Side. Pizza first starts showing up when we’re on Westside, which is also where I see Bible Man and Nun. Roses are delivered on Southside. And so forth.

00000

We have Line Neighbors.

Ahead of us are a gay couple a decade or two older than us. They’ve been together for eight years. The older one is a school teacher. He has his coat collar up and turns away from any news cameras that come near while we reposition ourselves between the lenses and him. He’s worried about the parents of one of his students seeing him on the news and getting him fired. The younger one will step away to get interviewed on his own later on. They drove down for the weekend once they heard what was going on. They’d started around the same time we did, coming from the Northeast, and are parked in a nearby garage.

The most perky energetic joyful woman I’ve ever met shows up right after we turned the corner to Southside to tackle the younger of the two into a hug. She’s their local friend who’d just gotten their message about what they’re doing and she will NOT be missing this. She is -so- happy for them. Her friends cry on her shoulders at her unconditional joy.

Behind us are a lesbian couple who’d been up in San Francisco to celebrate their 12th anniversary together. “We met here Valentines Day weekend! We live down in San Diego, now, but we like to come up for the weekend because it’s our first love city.”

“Then they announced -this-,” the other one says, “and we can’t leave until we get married. I called work Sunday and told them I calling in sick until Wednesday.”

“I told them why,” her partner says, “I don’t care if they want to give me trouble for it. This is worth it. Fuck them.”

My husband-to-be and I look at each other. We’ve been together for not even two years at this point. Less than two years. Is it right for us to be here? We’re potentially taking a spot from another couple that’d been together longer, who needed it more, who deserved it more.”

“Don’t you fucking dare.” Says the 40-something gay couple in front of us.

“This is as much for you as it is for us!” says the lesbian couple who’ve been together for over a decade behind us.

“You kids are too cute together,” says the gay couple’s friend. “you -have- to. Someday -you’re- going to be the old gay couple that’s been together for years and years, and you deserve to have been married by then.”

We stay in line.

It’s while we’re on the Southside of City Hall, just about to turn the corner to Eastside at long last that we pick up our own companions. A white woman who reminds me an awful lot of my aunt with a four year old black boy riding on her shoulders. “Can we say we’re with you? His uncles are already inside and they’re not letting anyone in who isn’t with a couple right there.” “Of course!” we say.

The kid is so very confused about what all the big deal is, but there’s free pizza and the busses keep driving by and honking, so he’s having a great time.

We pass by a statue of Lincoln with ‘Marriage for All!’ and "Gay Rights are Human Rights!" flags tucked in the crooks of his arms and hanging off his hat.

It’s about noon, noon-thirty when we finally make it through the doors and out of the rain.

They’ve promised that anyone who’s inside when the doors shut will get married. We made it. We’re safe.

We still have a -long- way to go.

00000

They’re trying to fit as many people into City Hall as possible. Partially to get people out of the rain, mostly to get as many people indoors as possible. The line now stretches down into the basement and up side stairs and through hallways I’m not entirely sure the public should ever be given access to. We crawl along slowly but surely.

It’s after we’ve gone through the low-ceiling basement hallways past offices and storage and back up another set of staircases and are going through a back hallway of low-ranked functionary offices that someone comes along handing out the paperwork. “It’s an hour or so until you hit the office, but take the time to fill these out so you don’t have to do it there!”

We spend our time filling out the paperwork against walls, against backs, on stone floors, on books.

We enter one of the public areas, filled with displays and photos of City Hall Demonstrations of years past.

I take pictures of the big black and white photo of the Abraham Lincoln statue holding banners and signs against segregation and for civil rights.

The four year old boy we helped get inside runs past us around this time, chased by a blond haired girl about his own age, both perused by an exhausted looking teenager helplessly begging them to stop running.

Everyone is wet and exhausted and vibrating with anticipation and the building-wide aura of happiness that infuses everything.

The line goes into the marriage office. A dozen people are at the desk, shoulder to shoulder, far more than it was built to have working it at once.

A Sister of Perpetual Indulgence is directing people to city officials the moment they open up. She’s done up in her nun getup with all her makeup on and her beard is fluffed and be-glittered and on point. “Oh, I was here yesterday getting married myself, but today I’m acting as your guide. Number 4 sweeties, and -Congradulatiooooons!-“

The guy behind the counter has been there since six. It’s now 1:30. He’s still giddy with joy. He counts our money. He takes our paperwork, reviews it, stamps it, sends off the parts he needs to, and hands the rest back to us. “Alright, go to the Rotunda, they’ll direct you to someone who’ll do the ceremony. Then, if you want the certificate, they’ll direct you to -that- line.” “Can’t you just mail it to us?” “Normally, yeah, but the moment the courts shut us down, we’re not going to be allowed to.”

We take our paperwork and join the line to the Rotunda.

If you’ve seen James Bond: A View to a Kill, you’ve seen the San Francisco City Hall Rotunda. There are literally a dozen spots set up along the balconies that overlook the open area where marriage officials and witnesses are gathered and are just processing people through as fast as they can.

That’s for the people who didn’t bring their own wedding officials.

There’s a Catholic-adjacent couple there who seem to have brought their entire families -and- the priest on the main steps. They’re doing the whole damn thing. There’s at least one more Rabbi at work, I can’t remember what else. Just that there was a -lot-.

We get directed to the second story, northside. The San Francisco City Treasurer is one of our two witnesses. Our marriage officient is some other elected official I cannot remember for the life of me (and I'm only writing down what I can actively remember, so I can't turn to my husband next to me and ask, but he'll have remembered because that's what he does.)

I have a wilting lily flower tucked into my shirt pocket. My pants have water stains up to the knees. My hair is still wet from the rain, I am blubbering, and I can’t get the ring on my husband’s finger. The picture is a treat, I tell you.

There really isn’t a word for the mix of emotions I had at that time. Complete disbelief that this was reality and was happening. Relief that we’d made it. Awe at how many dozens of people had personally cheered for us along the way and the hundreds to thousands who’d cheered for us generally.

Then we're married.

Then we get in line to get our license.

It’s another hour. This time, the line goes through the higher stories. Then snakes around and goes past the doorway to the mayor’s office.

Mayor Newsom is not in today. And will be having trouble getting into his office on Tuesday because of the absolute barricade of letters and flowers and folded up notes and stuffed animals and City Hall maps with black marked “THANK YOU!”s that have been piled up against it.

We make it to the marriage records office.

I take a picture of my now husband standing in front of a case of the marriage records for 1902-1912. Numerous kids are curled up in corners sleeping. My own memory is spotty. I just know we got the papers, and then we’re done with lines. We get out, we head to the front entrance, and we walk out onto the City Hall steps.

It's almost 3PM.

00000

There are cheers, there’s rice thrown at us, there are hundreds of people celebrating us with unconditional love and joy and I had never before felt the goodness that exists in humanity to such an extent. It’s no longer raining, just a light sprinkle, but there are still no protestors. There’s barely even any news vans.

We make our way through the gauntlet, we get hands shaked, people with signs reading ”Congratulations!” jump up and down for us. We hit the sidewalks, and we begin to limp our way back to the BART station.

I’m at the BART station, we’re waiting for our train back south, and I’m sitting on the ground leaning against a pillar and in danger of falling asleep when a nondescript young man stops in front of me and shuffles his feet nervously. “Hey. I just- I saw you guys, down at City Hall, and I just… I’m so happy for you. I’m so proud of what you could do. I’m- I’m just really glad, glad you could get to do this.”

He shakes my hand, clasps it with both of his and shakes it. I thank him and he smiles and then hurries away as fast as he can without running.

Our train arrives and the trip south passes in a semilucid blur.

We get back to our car and climb in.

It’s 4:30 and we are starving.

There’s a Carls Jr near the station that we stop off at and have our first official meal as a married couple. We sit by the window and watch people walking past and pick out others who are returning from San Francisco. We're all easy to pick out, what with the combination of giddiness and water damage.

We get home about 6-7. We take the dog out for a good long walk after being left alone for two days in a row. We shower. We bundle ourselves up. We bury ourselves in blankets and curl up and just sort of sit adrift in the surrealness of what we’d just done.

We wake up the next day, Tuesday, to read that the California State Supreme Court has rejected the petition to shut down the San Francisco weddings because the paperwork had a misplaced comma that made the meaning of one phrase unclear.

The State Supreme Court would proceed to play similar bureaucratic tricks to drag the process out for nearly a full month before they have nothing left and finally shut down Mayor Newsom’s marriages.

My parents had been out of state at the time at a convention. They were flying into SFO about the same moment we were walking out of City Hall. I apologized to them later for not waiting and my mom all but shook me by the shoulders. “No! No one knew that they’d go on for so long! You did what you needed to do! I’ll just be there for the next one!”

00000

It was just a piece of paper. Legally, it didn’t even hold any weight thirty days later. My philosophy at the time was “marriage really isn’t that important, aside from the legal benefits. It’s just confirming what you already have.”

But maybe it’s just societal weight, or ingrained culture, or something, but it was different after. The way I described it at the time, and I’ve never really come up with a better metaphor is, “It’s like we were both holding onto each other in the middle of the ocean in the middle of a storm. We were keeping each other above water, we were each other’s support. But then we got this piece of paper. And it was like the ground rose up to meet our feet. We were still in an ocean, still in the middle of a storm, but there was a solid foundation beneath our feet. We still supported each other, but there was this other thing that was also keeping our heads above the water.

It was different. It was better. It made things more solid and real.

I am forever grateful for all the forces and all the people who came together to make it possible. It’s been twenty years and we’re still together and still married.

We did a domestic partnership a year later to get the legal paperwork. We’d done a private ceremony with proper rings (not just ones grabbed out of the husband’s collection hours before) before then. And in 2008, we did a legal marriage again.

Rushed. In a hurry. Because there was Proposition 13 to be voted on which would make them all illegal again if it passed.

It did, but we were already married at that point, and they couldn’t negate it that time.

Another few years after that, the Supreme Court finally threw up their hands and said "Fine! It's been legal in places and nothing's caught on fire or been devoured by locusts. It's legal everywhere. Shut up about it!"

And that was that.

00000

When I was in highschool, in the late 90s, I didn’t expect to see legal gay marriage until I was in my 50s. I just couldn’t see how the American public as it was would ever be okay with it.

I never expected to be getting married within five years. I never expected it to be legal nationwide before I’d barely started by 30s. I never thought I’d be in my 40s and it’d be such a non-issue that the conservative rabble rousers would’ve had to move onto other wedge issues altogether.

I never thought that I could introduce another man as my husband and absolutely no one involved would so much as blink.

I never thought I’d live in this world.

And it’s twenty years later today. I wonder how our line buddies are doing. Those babies who were running around the wide open rooms playing tag will have graduated college by now. The kids whose parents the one line-buddy was worried would see him are probably married too now. Some of them to others of the same gender.

I don’t have some greater message to make with all this. Other then, culture can shift suddenly in ways you can’t predict. For good or ill. Mainly this is just me remembering the craziest fucking 36 hours of my life twenty years after the fact and sharing them with all of you.

The future we’re resigned to doesn’t have to be the one we live in. Society can shift faster than you think. The unimaginable of twenty years ago is the baseline reality of today.

And always remember that the people who want to get married will show up by the thousands in rain that none of those who’re against it will brave.

[malfoys-demigod]

The Valentine's Day Dance

☆⋆｡𖦹°‧★ Logan Howlett x Reader

Summary: A banter between you and Logan on the topic of Valentine's Day leads to an unexpected connection, revealing hidden feelings and new beginnings. A/N: I truly do believe we need more Wolverine fluff! I just love reading fluffs on him because he can be such an adorable cat! Word Count: Around 2k

·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:· ·:*¨༺ ♱✮♱ ༻¨*:·

The X Mansion had a cozy, community-like feel, especially around the holidays. The holiday that was coming up so soon was Valentine’s day. 

You were a literature teacher who secretly loved the idea of love, but found Valentine’s day too commercialized and corny. Why? Because you believed that love should be celebrated every day, not just on a specific date dictated by tradition. You kind of felt that the holiday puts unnecessary pressure on people to express their love in a particular way, rather than allowing for spontaneous genuine expressions of affection. 

You had seen the school decorations starting to overfill around the mansion as early as your first class of the day had started. There were pink and red hearts everywhere. You were secretly pleased that love was all around, but maybe the over-the-top decorations were a little too much. 

While during lunch break, you were carrying a few Valentine’s day cards from your students, reading them on the way to the kitchen. 

Logan, who had just finished his classes as well, came out of his classroom and passed you in the hallway. He smirks and says, “You actually celebrate this corny day?”

You looked up to see Logan taking a peek at one of your cards, assuming he was jealous since he wasn’t holding any cards at all. “Sounds like you’re lonely and have no one to spend it with,” you resorted. 

Logan had moved on a long time ago from the fact that Jean and Scott were meant to be, and he healed from that, knowing it was fine. While you walked into the kitchen, you left Logan slightly annoyed but also intrigued by your comment. 

You were now in the kitchen along with Jean and Storm, sitting around the dining table, enjoying a cup of tea and reading through Valentine’s Day cards they’ve received from students. 

“Dear Ms. Grey,” Jean read a card out loud, “You’re the best teacher ever. Happy Valentines’ Day!” “These kids are too sweet.”

Storm smiled, “I’ve got a few myself. It’s nice to feel appreciated, even if it’s just for one day.”

“I agree. I love today,” you grinned, “It’s like everyone’s a little more open with their feelings, you know?”

Logan walked into the kitchen, grabbing a cup of coffee, overhearing the conversation. “Feelings. Great. Just what we need more of around here.”

“Oh, come on, Logan, don’t tell me you didn’t get any Valentine’s day cards?” you asked, playfully, knowing quite well he didn’t. 

“I’m here to teach history, not to win a popularity contest, bub,” he said, smirking. 

“Maybe you’d get a few cards if you lightened up a bit,” Jean recommended. 

With mock seriousness, Logan replied, “I’ll leave the charm to you, Jean. After all, you’ve got Scott to shower you with affection.”

There was no hint of hurt when Logan said that, but you looked up at him with a small show of concern. Even if it was ages ago when Logan accepted things, this was a joke you wouldn’t sit well with if you were in his shoes. But maybe he was really okay with things and this was a way of showing it?

“Real funny, Logan,” Scott laughed, coming into the kitchen, “Speaking of which, we’ve got the Valentine’s Day dance coming up, and guess who’s chaperoning?”

“Oh, I love chaperoning! It’s always so much fun!” you said excitedly

Logan groaned, rolling his eyes. “Please tell me I’m not on that list.”

“Actually, you are,” Jean said, “We just got the assignments earlier and since Scott and I are a team, and Storm’s with the professor…”

“That leaves you two as partners for the night,” Storm finishes for her, pointing at you and Logan.

You were up for the challenge actually. It felt like it was Christmas and you were paired up with the grinch, whom you wanted to un-grinch for the night. “Looks like you’re stuck with me, Logan,” you smirked at him. 

Logan sighed, “Fantastic. My favorite holiday, and now I get to spend it surrounded by hormone-crazed teenagers… and you.” He looked at you with a deadbeat face.

You sat up from your chair, taking a step towards Logan. “Look, just say you’re jealous since you didn’t get any cards.” You teased him again with that fact. 

Logan raised his eyebrow, “Jealous? Please. I’m just looking forward to watching you try to keep up with those kids on the dance floor.” He said, taking a closer step towards you. 

“Oh, I can keep up just fine. The question is,” you said, making a bold move, “Can you?” The two of you were just inches away from each other, and possibly a verbal match. 

Jean started laughing lightly at Storm, “This is going to be an interesting night.”

“I’ll make sure to bring popcorn,” Storm smiled.

Logan, with his super-hearing senses, grumbled, “Great. Just what I needed. A front-row seat to the Valentine’s day circus.” He said, taking a step back from you, drinking from his cup. 

“Don’t worry, Logan. I’ll make sure you have fun, whether you like it or not.” You had a hint of challenge in your voice. 

A few days later, the dance commenced. 

As the students start to dance, along with Jean and Scott slowly swaying their way into the center of the dance floor while Storm and Charles are making conversation… 

You found yourself standing alone near the back. I mean, that was part of being a chaperone right? You were just having a punch, taking small sips from time to time. That was when Logan, who saw you from the other side of the room, alone as well, approached you. 

He tried to keep up with his usual snarky attitude. “I’m surprised you’re not out there dancing with the kids, spreading all that ‘love’ you believe in.”

You were secretly thankful that there was company now, even if it meant it was from Logan. You grew a smirk on your face, which Logan noticed. It was starting to become something he didn’t mind getting used to - and to his surprise, doesn’t mind getting used to.

“Maybe I’m just waiting for someone worth dancing with.”

Logan pauses, not expecting that response from you. It was as if his snark falters. He looks around, and seeing no one is watching, boldly offers you his hand. 

“Or maybe you’re just bad at dancing,” he joked. 

The sight of his hand out surprised you. There was a moment of hesitance from you, but you had to do something. You took his hand, and you both stepped into the dance floor. 

The swaying at first is awkward, as expected. There’s a tension between you, a mix of uncertainty and something unspoken. But gradually, after a few sways, you both fall into a comfortable rhythm, moving together more naturally.

“Hm, you’re not as bad at this as I thought, darl,” Logan softened, almost without realizing it. 

“Careful, Logan, that almost sounded like a compliment.”

Logan chuckles softly, shaking his head in mock exasperation. He then smirks, “Don’t get used to it, Y/N. I’m just trying not to step on your feet.”

Now, there was a brief pause as the banter between the two of you started fading as the music slowed down. The closeness between you and Logan… felt different, more real. His grip on your hand tightens slightly, and you notice the way he’s looking at you. It was not with the usual teasing glint you were used to, but it was with something gentler… something almost vulnerable. 

“This isn’t so bad, is it?” You said quietly, meeting his gaze. 

Logan was shaking his head. “No… it’s not,” he replied, barely above a whisper. 

As the song ends, the air between you and Logan had changed with something unspoken. It was as if the room suddenly felt too crowded, too loud. 

“Do you want to…” you spoke softly, almost hesitant, “step outside for a bit? The garden’s always so quiet this time of the night.”

Logan nods, not breaking eye contact. His hand was still loosely holding ours as you both made your way toward the exit. The sounds of the dance had faded behind the two of you as you stepped into the cool night air, for the garden was waiting for whatever comes next. 

You both find a quiet spot in the garden, away from the noise of the dance. You felt the cool air refreshing you, after the warmth of the mansion inside, and the two of you both stood in silence for a moment, taking it in. 

“You know, this whole Valentine’s Day thing... maybe it’s not as ridiculous as I thought.” Logan broke the silence. 

You laughed at his comment softly, “I’m shocked to hear that from you.”

“Don’t get too excited. It doesn’t mean I’m about to start throwing rose petals around, Y/N.” He said with a teasing smirk.

“I wouldn’t dream of it. But you have to admit, it has its charms.”

“Maybe... or maybe I’ve just never had a reason to see it differently... until now.”

You looked at Logan, surprised by the sincerity in his voice. For the first time, you saw a different side to The Wolverine, one that was not hidden behind sarcasm and snark. 

“Are you saying you’re not as cynical as you pretend to be?” you asked gently

Logan flashed you a smile, a real one this time. “Maybe I’m just tired of being lonely.”

Logan’s smile starts fading, turning into a more thoughtful expression with the silence between you two growed heavy with unspoken emotions. You both stand close, the cool night air wrapping around you. 

There’s a moment of hesitation from both of you, as if neither wants to be the first to break the silence or the tension. But then, almost instinctively, Logan’s hand reaches out, brushing a stray strand of hair away from your face. His touch is surprisingly gentle, considering the tough exterior he usually presents.

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d say you were waiting for this all night, sweetheart.” Logan softly said with a teasing edge. 

“And what if I was? Would that make you run the other way?” You replied playfully

He chuckles softly, the sound low and rumbling, before his hand moves to cup your cheek. The world seems to narrow down to just the two of you at that moment, the space between you growing smaller until there’s none left at all.

Then, slowly, he leans in, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative kiss. It’s hesitant at first, as if both of you are testing the waters, unsure of what this meant. But as the kiss deepens, there’s a shared realization of how much you’ve both been denying. The kiss turns into something more intense, filled with the unspoken feelings that have been simmering beneath the surface for so long.

When you finally pull back, your foreheads rest against each other, both of you slightly breathless. Logan’s thumb gently caresses your cheek, and there’s a soft smile on his face that you’ve never seen before—one of pure, unguarded affection.

“You know, I think this might be the first Valentine’s Day I actually don’t mind.” He whispered

“Maybe there’s hope for you yet, Logan.” 

The next morning at school, the usual routine feels different. You’re both back in your respective classrooms, but the memory of the previous night lingers in your thoughts.

In the hallway between classes, you spot Logan. There’s an undeniable warmth in his eyes as he catches your gaze. The teasing smirk is still there, but it’s softer now, more playful than sarcastic.

“Try not to get too distracted by thoughts of me today, Y/N.” He passed by with a low murmur

“I’ll try, but no promises.” You smirked back and as you walked away, you felt a flutter of excitement in your chest, realizing that something big had changed between the two of you. The banter continues, but now it’s underscored by a mutual understanding and a shared affection.

Later that day, as you’re packing up your things in your classroom, Logan approaches you. There’s a slight awkwardness to his movements, as if he’s debating something internally.

He then handed you a small, slightly crumpled Valentine’s card. It’s nothing fancy, just a simple card, but the gesture makes your heart skip a beat. 

You open it, finding a short, handwritten note inside: “You were right. Maybe next year, I won’t be so lonely.”

You look up at him, a smile spreading across your face. Logan’s usual tough demeanor is nowhere to be seen; instead, he’s looking at you with an expression that’s almost vulnerable, like he’s just taken a leap of faith.

“I’ll hold you to that, Logan.”

“You’re on, doll.” He nods, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of his lips. As you both leave the classroom together, there’s a sense of a new beginning, a promise of something more. The banter may continue, but now it’s laced with a mutual respect and an undeniable attraction that neither of you can ignore.

'*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*''*•.¸♡ ♡¸.•*'

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[familyvideostevie]

it's your turn for choosing

this was born out of a prompt request from my dear, dear, @softlyspector. this is for you, becca!

getting asked out via a smudgy scribble on a coffee cup | valentine's day prompts

joel miller x reader

summary/warnings: joel stops by your coffee shack every day. it's not your fault you're a little in love with him because of it. | modern au, fluff, flirting, jesse and cat and ellie cameos, game!joel in my head. i have not been a barista so sorry to all baristas if this reads wildly off-base. | 5.6k

a/n: it's giving rom-com! happy valentine's day. a bit different from my usual fare but hopefully it makes your heart warm. love u. thank u always to @macfrog and @bageldaddy for your eyes.

___

7:32 am. It’s helpful in this line of work to know exactly when you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine has been on the fritz all week and despite how much you want your current method of fixing it to work – banging a fist on the top until it stops wheezing – all signs point to today being a very bad day indeed. 

You’ve only been open for two hours. 

Here for three, awake for four. God, you’re tired.

Anyway – you’re fucked. And there’s nothing you can do about it. 

You call the time of death on the machine and search for something you can write on.

The Zone – a stupid name, but you can’t be bothered to change the sign that came with the place – is a coffee shop that sits between towns. 

Your coffee shop. 

It's more shack than shop, not really a zone of anything, just an order window and a five-drink menu. It's the kind of place that appears like a mirage for tourists right before they get on the highway at an ungodly hour and serves as a quick stop for everyone else. You open earlier than any other place around to get the truckers and the farmers and close when you stop being able to keep your eyes open.

The faded brown clapboard building is no bigger than an RV. The paint is chipped and the roof is a too-bright shade of green and you serve your drinks and the occasional sweet treat when you can get a good deal off of the baker two towns over through a window. It’s not a fancy chain, it’s not a drive-thru. You’ve got a bathroom and a few rickety cafe tables and chairs and no fucking common sense since you like it. 

You even love it, some days.

And the craziest part is that it works. Even on mornings like this one, when your espresso machine breaks during the lull between rushes and your part-time help calls in sick and you’ve spilled coffee all over your apron twice – it works. 

You tear off the lip of a cardboard box and write in big block letters: NO ESPRESSO TODAY. Maybe Tess, the baker, knows someone who can fix it. She knows everyone.

“Fuck you, you piece of junk,” you say. You give the machine another smack for good measure. 

Someone clears their throat and you whirl around, makeshift sign in hand. 

You’ve been doing this long enough that a handsome customer doesn’t phase you, but the man standing at your order window makes your stomach swoop for just a second.

“Morning,” you say, summoning your smile. “Hold on a sec, let me just –”

You lean out the window and wedge the piece of cardboard against the napkin holder on the ledge.

The man’s gaze drops to read. You take the opportunity to look at him. 

He’s tall and broad – if you had to guess, you’d say he works on one of the farms around here. He’s tan, dark hair threaded through with grey. His arms are crossed and you wish he wasn’t wearing a jacket so you could see his forearms. His denim shirt is undone at the top and you fixate on the chorded column of his throat, on the teasing glimpse of chest hair underneath.

The guy looks tired. 

Bone-tired, the kind of exhaustion you see when you look in the mirror. It comes from hundreds of early mornings and late nights, from hours on your feet and plenty of worry. He’s got lines at the corners of his eyes and a few around his mouth and you find yourself hoping they’re from laughter. 

“No espresso,” he reads, slow and unhurried. His drawl fits in with most of the folks around here, but you’re sure you haven’t seen him before. You’d remember. 

“Hope that doesn't scare you off,” you say. “Still got everything else.”

“Everything else being…” He glances at the chalkboard that serves as your menu.

DRIP COFFEE. LATTE. CAPPUCCINO. TEA. HOT CHOCOLATE. All written in your blocky hand in white paint. 

“Three options.”

Trial and error have taught you that simple works best. You’ll make anything people ask for, so long as you know how and have the supplies, and if they’re nice about it you won’t charge too much extra.

“Can I get you one of those three options?”

You’re not trying to rush him, but the next wave of people is bound to show up any minute.

“Black coffee will do,” he says. His mouth tugs up at the corner into a smirk that makes your face feel hot. “If you have that.”

“Thank you for taking pity on me,” you say, going for teasing and missing the mark by a mile. You just sound tired and genuine. “You just made my morning.”

He looks amused and you turn from him, unable to hide your grin. You pour a steaming cup and snap the lid on.

“Pretty shit morning if this is makin’ it,” he drawls.

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush. 

“You have no idea.”

He eyes the sign again and then your stained apron. “I got some notion.” He tugs his wallet from his back pocket and pulls out a $5 bill. “Keep the change,” he says.

You want to refuse, to thank him, but a few more cars pull up and Mr. Black Coffee just raises his cup to you and heads back to his truck.

Well, shit. You hope he comes back. A tipper like that, and hot? You sure wouldn’t mind if he became a regular customer. __

You call Tess that afternoon and she does know a guy, so the espresso machine gets fixed and things go back to normal. Your part-time help returns in the morning and nothing else breaks. 

Today is uncharacteristically warm for the season. The inside of The Zone is almost stifling, always at least 15 degrees warmer than outside, and you keep wiping your sweaty hands on your apron as you make espresso after espresso for the lunch crowd.

Cat, a spunky girl who likes to practice her latte art when it’s slow, takes orders at the register. You keep half of your attention on her and half on the four drinks you’re working on. 

“Black coffee, please,” someone says to her. Someone whose voice you recognize. 

“Can I get a name for that?” Cat asks. It’s busy enough that calling names is easier than calling orders, no matter how small your menu is.

“Joel,” he says. You let the milk steam on its own and pour the black coffee before Cat can do it.

“I’ve got it,” you tell her. “Can you finish up those drinks?”

She shrugs and you swap places. You know you’re sweaty and coffee-stained but you smile at him and hand over his coffee.

“Hot coffee on a day like this?” you tease. He – Joel – is sweaty, too. The collar of his work shirt is dark with sweat and his hair is a mess. He must be here on his lunch break. He takes the cup from you and slurps a long sip as a reply to your question. 

You laugh. Joel looks pleased. 

“Operatin’ a full menu, I see,” he says, pulling out another $5. “Glad you got it fixed.”

“It’s still a piece of junk,” you shrug. “Just don’t tell anyone I said that.”

He waves off your offer of change and raises his cup at you, taking a few steps backward towards his truck.

“Thank you,” he says. He eyes the tag on your chest and tacks your name on at the end. It sounds good from his mouth.

“Bye, Joel,” you say. His lips twitch but you barely have time to think about it before you have to take the next few orders. 

The line dies down and you step away from the register to help Cat with some cappuccinos – your least favorite drink by far due to all the damn foam they require – and she eyes you.

“Dude,” Cat says. “What the hell was that?”

If it wasn’t already a billion degrees in here you know your face would feel hot. 

“What the hell was what?”

She can’t reply for a few seconds while you grind beans for some espresso.

“I didn’t even know you knew how to flirt,” she muses, tapping a frother full of milk a few times. “That was pretty bad flirting if you ask me –”

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” you yell. She rolls her eyes at you until you turn off the machine.

You tamp down the grounds and slot them into the machine.

“I mean, not my type at all, for like, so many reasons,” she says, wrinkling her nose. “Way too old for me, for one. Man, for another. But I see the appeal, I guess. Seems like he likes you. And was that a five-dollar bill? Black coffee is two bucks, last time I checked –”

“Can we get back to steaming milk, please?” you snap, more embarrassed than mad. “I am not taking flirting advice from a teenager.”

“I’m twenty!” she sputters. “Wait, so you admit that you like him?”

“Milk.”

Cat is right, though, and you know it. You just don’t see any harm in having a crush on some guy who comes to your coffee shop. Running this place means you see hundreds of people every day. You know their names, you ask them about their kids and their pets and their jobs, and you smile at them even on your bad days. It’s just part of the job. The daily interactions keep you afloat, make you feel more solid in your own life. People see you, they recognize you, they know you – even if it’s just because you make them coffee. 

Maybe Joel will keep coming back. Maybe he’ll become one of the regulars you know things about.

And if you have a crush on him? 

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

__

Joel stops by again. 

And again. 

And again.

He comes in every morning – sometimes at lunch – and orders the same thing. You learn the rumble of his truck by ear alone, the crunch of his boots on the gravel. Sometimes people in line say hi to him and a smile works its way onto your face on instinct when his voice reaches your ear. It’s never slow enough to have a proper conversation but he smiles at you, tells you he likes the flowers, your new apron. 

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting. 

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying. 

One day, almost a month since you first saw him, he doesn’t come in the morning.  When you don’t see him in line at lunch, either, you’re a little disappointed. The weather is perfect – not too hot, not too cold, the sun shining – and you want to see him in the sunlight.

The day crowd is long gone and you’re only an hour or two from closing when his truck pulls up.

“I was getting worried,” you call as he walks over. Usually, he’s got some kind of dust or paint or something on them – Joel is a contractor, you’ve learned through your brief encounters, not a farmer – but today his clothes are clean and un-ripped. 

“I’m honored,” he says. 

You have his cup ready by the time he reaches the window. 

“I’m just surprised you can get through the day without a cup of coffee.”

He snorts and hands you his cash. 

“I can’t,” he says. “Had shitty home brew this morning.”

He takes a sip of your coffee and sighs. Your heart picks up and you don’t hide your grin.

“What’s with the schedule change?” you ask. 

He smirks. “Miss me?” 

You scoff and cross your arms. Heat rises in your chest and you feel almost giddy. 

“Just curious,” you say. “Don’t let it go to your head, but you’re my favorite customer.”

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck. 

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

“Actually, ordering a cup of black coffee is the way to any barista’s heart.”

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead. 

“Ah,” he says. He takes another sip, his eyes dancing with mirth. “‘Course.”

“Nah,” you say with a teasing smile. “I’d never be so shallow.”

There’s no line behind him but you expect him to go back to his truck, anyway. But here he is. Talking to you.

You grab a rag and wipe down the counter to keep your hands busy. 

“I’m, uh. Meetin’ one of my kids here,” Joel says. The sudden shyness that accompanies his admission is a surprise. 

Your eyes dart to his hand but you see no ring, nor the pale shadow of one. 

“Both of ‘em moved to the city recently. Ellie – she’s comin’ up for the night.”

“I’ll bet you miss them,” you offer. You’re not sure why he’d want to bring his daughter to your coffee shack, but you’re not complaining.

Joel smiles at you. It’s a sad smile but still a good one. The affection in his eyes is raw. 

“Sure do,” he says. He tucks one hand in his pocket and takes another sip of his coffee. “But it’s good for them. Sarah – she’s a little older – is in school and Ellie is workin’ on her music and whatever else she’s into these days.” The pride in his voice is clear. 

“Well, I’m honored you want to bring her here.” You gesture to your slightly sad sitting area and the empty lot behind him. 

Joel looks ready to argue with you when a faded, older version of his truck pulls up. Music leaks from the open windows and the driver bops her head to the beat a few times before shutting it off and hoping out, thumbs flying on the screen of her phone. 

“That’ll be her,” he says drily. “Hey, kiddo.”

Ellie looks up from her hands, tucks her phone in her back pocket, and grins at Joel.

She doesn’t look a thing like him, but the connection is obvious. She moves like him, her shoulders set like she’s ready for a challenge at any moment. Joel sets his coffee down at the window and meets her halfway for a hug.

You look away and busy yourself with restocking whatever you can get your hands on.

“Dude, you come here every day?” Ellie asks. “Joel, this is so far from –”

Joel talks over her.

“Drive go okay? Sarah said they’re doin’ shit on the 35 –”

Ellie huffs.

“Yeah, yeah, some traffic getting out of the city ‘cause of the fucking lane closure, but otherwise fine.”

“Good.”

You turn to face them, a genuine smile firmly in place. 

“Hi,” you say. Joel picks up his coffee again, which Ellie eyes with a scowl. You introduce yourself to her. “You’re Ellie, right? I’ve heard a lot about you.” 

Ellie frowns. Behind her, Joel’s mouth twitches but he says nothing. It’s a lie, obviously, but something tells you he doesn’t mind and she believes it.

“Really?” She throws him a glare and then rolls her eyes. “You gotta stop telling strangers about me, man.”

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says. 

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

“Only good stuff,” you say. You like her. “Joel says you’re working on your music?”

Ellie’s eyes light up. “Oh, yeah,” she says. “I’ve got an audition next week.” She turns to Joel. “I brought my guitar ‘cause I have a fuck ton of songs to play for you.”

He puts a hand on her shoulder and she settles a little.

“I bet they’re real good.”

Ellie flushes and rolls her eyes. “Yeah, well. You have to hear them first.”

You feel a little off-balance again, like you’re on the fringes of something you shouldn’t be seeing. The love on Joel’s face is clear as day. 

“Do you want some coffee?” you ask her.

Joel winces. Ellie gags. 

“No offense,” she starts, eyes darting between you and Joel. “I know Joel is fifty percent coffee on a good day, but it’s not my thing.” She looks at the menu and narrows her eyes. “I had a mocha the other day and didn’t hate it. Do you make those?”

“Look at that,” Joel says. “You’re convertin’.”

“Am not,” Ellie says. “It’s got chocolate in it, dude. No shit, I like it.”

“Yeah, give me a few minutes,” you laugh. “I’ll put lots of chocolate in it.”

They sit at one of your tables and you hear their laughter in the background as you make her drink.

It’s strange to see Joel like this – to build up on the man you’ve imagined him to be in your mind. Father never occurred to you. It makes sense, though, like a missing piece of him slotted into place. But it also makes the crush feel a little more real. Now that he’s more than your favorite regular customer. Now that you know a piece of him, of who he really is. 

It makes you want to know more.

You finish her drink and call Ellie’s name. They both stand and Joel digs in his wallet again.

“Don’t you dare pay me, Joel,” you say. You direct your next words at Ellie. “Really. I’m just honored you stopped by.”

She eyes Joel and he eyes her right back with the same look. She must have learned it from him.

“Yeah,” she says. “Me too.” She grins at you with all of her teeth. “Joel loves this place. Talks about it all the time.”

She takes a sip of her mocha and her eyes go wide.

“Wait, this is fucking good. Man, I see why you drive –”

Joel clears his throat.

“We’re off,” he says. “Thank you, as always.” He sounds softer than usual as if being nice to his daughter is the best thing you could do for him.

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.” 

Ellie knocks her shoulder with Joel’s as they head back to their trucks. She must be whispering something to him because he swats her away with a groan and she cackles. 

They both wave at you as they drive away. 

__

Joel keeps coming in the mornings, and your conversations return to their fleeting cadence. Even so, it’s hard to deny that your crush on him has kicked into high gear.

You try not to let your gaze linger on his lips, on his throat. On his hands when he takes the cup from you, how your skin brushes and it makes you warm all over. You think about how he laughed, how relaxed he was around Ellie. You want to know what he’s like outside of your small daily interaction. You want to know what he eats for dinner, how he spends his weekends, what he listens to on the radio.

You want him.

Business is busy, which helps. A kid from a few towns over – Jesse, he’s called – signs on to work part-time, mostly for the second half of the day. He’s been a barista before so the training is minimal, but it still changes the flow of things. He’s a charming guy and the regulars take to him easy enough.

It’s you who is distracted. 

One morning, Joel comes in as expected. Jesse is working, too, trying to clock some extra hours this week.

Joel is on the phone in line, his attention somewhere else. He’s frowning, a deep crease between his brows as he waits in line. All it would take to smooth it away is the press of your thumb. 

You try not to stare and probably fail, but manage to take and make the orders ahead of him without making any mistakes, though your whole body feels alight.

He hangs up right as he gets to the window and sighs, giving you a tired smile.

“Howdy,” he says. You set his coffee down in front of him and he pulls out a ten-dollar bill instead of a five.

“Joel –” you say, but he interrupts you.

“My brother called and said he needs breakfast,” Joel grumbles. “Y’got any of Tess’s bear claws?”

Right, they work together, you remember. He’s mentioned Tommy in passing. 

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

“Take your time,” Joel says. It sounds like he means it, even though there’s a line behind him and he probably needs to get to work. 

You do find a few bear claws in the box Tess gave you early this morning when you stopped by the bakery.

“You’re in luck,” you say, putting it in a paper bag. “Well, Tommy is.”

“Savin’ my ass,” he tells you when you hand it to him. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

The word sends a jolt of lightning through your whole body. He doesn’t even seem to realize he’s said it but your world shifts slightly on its axis. Sweetheart.

He turns on his heel before you can give him change for his cash, his phone ringing.

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

You let him fade into the distance and smile at your next customer.

“How can I help you?”

A few orders later you end up next to Jesse making some lattes.

“Was that Joel Miller?” Jesse asks. “Before. The guy with the black coffee and bear claw?”

You startle. “Um. It was. How do you –”

“I didn’t know he was a customer here,” Jesse says. “Does he come in a lot?”

You unpack a few more cinnamon buns that Tess gave you this morning. “Yeah, every day.”

“Damn,” he says. “He must really like your coffee.”

“Are you trying to say it’s bad coffee, Jesse?”

He huffs a laugh. “No, boss, ‘course not.” He grinds beans for a few seconds but continues once he’s done, steady hands tamping down the results. “I just know he lives like, a half-hour away. And that there are plenty of coffee shops there, too.”

You narrow your eyes. “How do you know him, Jesse?”

“His daughter, Ellie, is a friend of mine,” he shrugs. “Went over to their house plenty of times in high school.”

“Well. He’s a contractor, right? I bet he has a job out here.”

Jesse clips the espresso into the machine and starts on some milk. 

“I’m not saying he doesn’t,” he muses. “I am saying that it takes at least 30 minutes to get here from where he lives.”

It’s silly. You’re half-flattered, half-confused. Yeah, you like Joel, and yeah, you’re pretty sure you’ve been flirting every day for over a month. But you figure it’s convenient for him. Coffee and an ego boost all in one. 

But if he’s going out of his way to come to The Zone? Well, maybe it’s not just for the coffee.

“Your coffee is good,” Jesse stresses, seeing the gears in your mind turning. It looks like he’s trying to hide a grin. You need to stop hiring young people who have keen eyes and big mouths.

“I think the ice needs a refill,” you say, snapping back into focus. 

“He might be here for something else, too -”

“Go refill the ice.”

He throws up his hands with a smirk. “I’m going!”

__

7:24 am. You’re on your own again and you’re fucked. 

The espresso machine is working perfectly and the early rush has ended. The weather is beyond shitty. Rain falls in sheets and the sky is so dark it feels like the sun didn’t bother to rise. It pounds on the roof and blows in the window every time you open it. The awning does nothing to shield customers as they shout their orders over the wind at you. Your fingers are going numb and your front is damp enough to set your teeth chattering. 

Joel’s truck pulls up and – well. You’re fucked. And he’s why.

You’re fucked because you can’t stop thinking about him. You can’t stop thinking about what Jesse said. What Joel said. Sweetheart.

A harmless crush turned into something more intense, something heavy in your stomach. You want him earnestly, fully, with every piece of you. 

And you still barely know him. But you want to. 

Maybe it’s the weather, maybe it’s the fact that you’re damp and cold and frustrated with your own heart and brain. But you see his truck and you decide to do something about this stupid crush.

You write your phone number on a cup with steady hands and set it aside for Joel. You scrawl on it as neatly as you can: Want to get a drink somewhere else sometime? 

It’s a bit of a coward’s way out. You should just ask him, say how you feel to his face. He’d probably like that better, anyway. But, well, this just feels safer. He could ignore it, he could throw it out, he could see it and decide to never come back. 

Sweetheart.

Somehow you don’t think he’ll do any of those.

The rain lashes against the window so hard you don’t open it until you see the lonely figure approach. The morning rush has been a morning trickle, a few brave souls venturing out for something from you.

Joel, it seems, is one.

You open the window and are greeted with a spray of mist.

“Gimme a sec,” you tell him. It’s so windy he leans in close to hear you. He’s wearing a jacket that’s ill-suited for the rain, his hair plastered to his forehead. Your fingers twitch with the need to brush it back. 

You quickly fill the cup you’ve set aside and pass it to him with two hands so it doesn’t blow over.

“Brave of you,” you say. He’s in the rain and you’re both getting soaked but you want to talk to him desperately. It’s a buzzing need at the front of your brain. “Thought the weather would get you, too.”

“Told you,” he all but yells over the wind with a flash of white teeth. “Shitty coffee at home.”

“Drive safe, Joel,” you tell him. He nods at you and jogs back to the truck, cup in hand. You won’t be able to see if he reads it from here, but you hope so. All you have to do is wait.

And wait.

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

Sunshine peeks through the clouds with a slightly surreal post-storm glow. A few more folks have made their way to The Zone but today has been slow. The clock ticks slowly towards 3 pm and your phone does not ring.

“Don’t be stupid,” you mutter. “He’s working.” 

You step out of the shack and into the slightly humid air, the gravel under your feet shifting wetly. The tables you’d set out this morning are, mercifully, still there, though they’re spattered with rain. You might as well close up now.

You’re bent over the last of the chairs, wiping them down with an old rag. You’re focused, so much so that you don’t pay much attention to the hum of an engine and the crunch of tires behind you.

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

“Sorry,” you call over your shoulder. “We just closed.”

“Shame,” he says. 

You whip around and find Joel, hands in his pockets. He’s in a different shirt than this morning and his jeans don’t look soaked. You’re still damp, water stains on your pants and shirt.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

He smirks. “Don’t think I’ve ever seen you outside of that window,” he says, before jutting his chin towards the tables. “Can I help?”

You’re very aware of your whole body all at once. He’s looking at you, drinking you in like you’re his morning cup of coffee.

“Uh, sure,” you say. You want to ask why he’s here but the words won’t come. “They go in there, in the little closet on the right.” You point to the open door to the shack.

He dips his chin low just once and then crosses the distance between you in three big strides. He grabs the chair closest to you. The t-shirt he’s wearing shows his arms and you feel what he’s just said – it’s weird to be in the same space like this. You’re outside but he feels so big.

Joel’s arms flex and you swallow, following him with another chair. He stacks his in the right place and holds a hand out for yours.

“What did you write on it?” he asks, casually. 

The words don’t totally register. “What?”

He doesn’t answer. His arms are crossed, brow furrowed. Your mouth goes dry.

“On my cup. This mornin’.” He keeps his gaze on yours and for some reason, you can’t look away.

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?” 

He shakes his head. “Was rainin’, remember? Got smudged before I got in my truck.”

“Right.” 

You tear yourself away and leave him standing there. Maybe you should just lie.

But then you think about the way his eyes crinkle at the corners when you make him laugh, and how he asks you how you are and how he brought his daughter here and how he tips and how he drives all this way for your – for you.

Joel waits, his footsteps the only indication he’s followed you.

You turn around.

“I wrote my phone number,” you say. “And I asked you on a date.”

The corner of his mouth pulls up and you think he’s…blushing?

He rubs a hand over his beard and you hope he’s hiding a smile. Your heart is in your throat, beating so loud you worry that he can hear it. All of your bravado sinks into the damp ground at your feet. Maybe you’ve read this totally wrong. Maybe he’s just a nice guy, maybe your coffee is just really good and your employees are fucking with you. He’s here to let you down easy, to tell you he’s not even available, not interested, not –

“Alright,” Joel says. He walks towards you and tugs his phone from his back pocket. “I’ll take that number.”

Oh.

He hands it over and you type it in, heart jackhammering in your chest. But you watch his face, see the quirk of his mouth and his blush and it makes you brave.

“And the date?” you ask, giving it back. Your fingers brush and your heart keeps pounding but your nerves take a sharp turn away from doubt and towards excitement.

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

You both seem to have found your footing with whatever this is. The flirt in him is back full force, and he’s looking at you in that way of his. You want to know all of his expressions. There is so much to learn.

“Are you going to say yes?”

“S’why I came back,” he admits. “Figured you’d be closin’. Hoped you’d be free.”

“So you could read the cup?”

Joel takes the other two chairs and heads for the door again. You trail him. God, his arms are distracting. 

“Most of it,” he says. “Couldn’t make out the last few numbers, though.”

“Well, once we’re done here, I’m free. If you wanted to go on a date with me.”

Joel turns and you’re in the small space at the same time, your chests almost pressed together. You must smell like sweat and stale coffee but you watch as Joel inhales, eyes on yours.

“I do,” he says. 

It would be so easy to kiss him, a quick, chaste press of your lips to see what he tastes like.

His pupils dilate and you sway into him for a breath before you realize what you’re doing and step back outside.

You take a deep breath of fresh air. “Great.”

He rubs the back of his neck with one hand and you head for the tables. 

“Y’know,” he says. “Ellie’s been on my ass about this.”

You laugh, high and bright. “Has she?”

“That girl ain’t capable of missin’ an opportunity to stick her nose in,” he grumbles, but it’s affectionate. 

“Well, I think she’s smart,” you goad. 

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

Joel’s brows furrow and he takes a few quick steps into your space, so close the tips of your shoes almost touch.

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

“Hold still,” he says. He reaches for your face slowly, slow enough that you could pull away but you don’t. He brushes something from your cheek with the pad of his thumb.

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe. 

He smirks but the flush creeping up his neck tells you he’s not wholly unaffected. It makes you feel…it just makes you feel. 

Joel Miller likes you.

“Well, don’t just stand there,” you say.

His eyes widen slightly and he leans in just a little but you slide out of his space with a grin.

“The sooner we finish up the sooner I can buy you a drink.”

Joel laughs, loud and full. “Oh, how generous of you.”

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

“I agree,” he drawls. He taps your chin with one knuckle.

His eyes sparkle and he smiles, looking luminous in the post-storm sunshine. You see a flash of a future – watching him drink coffee in a kitchen instead of through the window of The Zone. Your hands meeting over a shared table, fingers tangling, that smile directed at you in the morning light. 

Giddiness rises in your throat and spills out of you in a delighted laugh of your own. Joel just grins.

“So,” he says. “Where’re you takin’ me?”

thank you for reading <3 reblog, send feedback, general masterlist here!

[under-loch-n-key]

"It may be that you are not yourself luminous, but that you are a conductor of light. Some people without possessing genius have a remarkable power of stimulating it."

Happy Johnlock Day!!!

I know Valentine's isn't here yet, but I wanted to make a drawing for it anyway. So, Happy (very early) Valentine's Day!

I finished my Granada Holmes/Johnlock Valentine's Day drawing!! I hope you enjoy!! 💛💛

Holmes got his beloved poisonous flowers and Watson received some sweets. I love them.

The cafe is a cafe I use in my comics. It's called "Witches Cap - Cafe and Roast". Like I said in my last post, I always enjoy putting characters in it. [:

(Sorry for the wonky lines.)

(Edit: everyone is saying such sweet things, thank you lot so much!! 💛😭)

[sukunas-wife]

Valentines Special

A little something for the masses 🤍💌 Happy Valentines Day everyone 🤍🤍🤍

“Two of whatever just came out.” Sukuna knew what came out, it was Friday on Friday they made snickerdoodles fresh. The smell always filled the school entrance and shoe locker room pulling students in to buy. He was always there just in time for the old to sell out and the fresh to come out. The same amount every day 143 yen, he kept the exact change daily in the stupid little coin pocket of his wallet. The jingle of his wallet while he took out the coins was always accompanied by the whispers and giggles of girls when Gojo Satoru would make his daily appearance gracing everyone with his cheeky smile, hands stuffed into his pockets, crude remarks being passed off as flirting.

“Thanks for that.” Gojo slid the pack of cookies Sukuna was about to pay for toward himself, “Fuck of Satoru don’t touch my shit unless your looking to lose the hand you jack off with.” Sukuna slammed the coins on the counter, snatching the pack away from him before walking away. He didn’t care to listen to whatever Gojo was screaming back at him, he had his own stuff to worry about, that stuff being finding you before you started running late to your class. Sure he was late to his classes but a teacher wouldn’t say a damn thing once they saw his face. But you, you were a mess. He didn’t understand what you saw in being Student Body President. You show up early to school, skip breakfast because your sense of time is shitty, stay late after school and always look so tired after dealing with incompetent fools. At lunch it’d be a miracle for you to eat on your own, more often than not he’s dragging you to the school's garden and feeding you whatever you packed him for lunch. And when it’s the right season, whatever fruit he can steal from the garden.

Perfect timing as always, he caught you running up the stairs. You stopped smiling up at him, he was at the top staring down at you, eyebrow raised at why you were holding your skirt down like you could flash anyone. Why were you wearing one of those slutty mini skirts anyways, usually only Gojo’s fan girl wore those to catch his eye. He usually saw you in those skirts that were knee length, sometimes ankle length. He liked it like that, you looked different from everyone else, it amused him when you’d grab the front of your skirt hitching it up to run up the stairs, his eyes would always long in your stocking covered squished thighs when you’d raise your skirt too high in a hurry. But this mini skirt, you didn’t miss the change in his face, and you looked down, “My skirt got torn by my desk and this is all the nurse had in the and found.. i don’t know how you lose a skirt really but…”

He sighed, “damnit Y/n you really are a mess ya know.” You watched as he untied the black sweater from his waist. He moved to stand behind you, one step down, “Ya know how many fucking perverts are in this damn school just waiting to get an up shot of some girls underwear.” You felt his arms come around your waist and you moved your hands away watching as he tied a knot with the sleeves, “It’s disgusting.” He didn’t move away, your hands rested on his around your waist, you felt him rest his chin on your shoulder, “What happens if one day I’m not here to take care of you huh?” You turned your face to look at him, his red eyes were staring down at you. You did your best to kiss his cheek, “I’ll just have to suffer alone Kuna.” He scoffed at you, “whatever.”

You couldn’t help the smile when you pressed your lips to his cheek again, your lips lingering and he hummed before moving to face you, catching your lips. You let your head fall back against his shoulder, smiling up at him, his eyes were lidded with a lazy smile. The warning bell pulled you out of your little lovey staring contest, “Change that skirt when you get the chance or I’m killing the first pervert to look up your skirt.” You rushed up the stairs and he leisurely followed behind til you made it to your class. He never failed to eye your class out of judgement, more specifically looking for that dumbass Gojo that was in your class. He was always ready to get into a fight with that prissy twink. You watched him make a face and looked into your class, there was Gojo Satoru, staring right at your boyfriend with a frown of his own. Between the two it was like watching an adolescent Snow Leopard and Tiger getting ready to fight for a fresh meal. What would you expect from two of the most well known families in your city? Satoru’s family was well into being wealthy, their lineage producing world class Models and successful doctors, it was no surprise when on show and tell in elementary school Satoru brought in magazine’s of a white haired blue eyed child saying he was a baby/toddler model. As for Sukuna’s family, they have a much longer history in this city then Satoru’s. Trumping Satoru’s family in wealth, but what would you expect from a family who had long been dedicated to beating the head of a successful and thriving branch of the Yakuza.

You remember the first time you met Sukuna’s father. Sukuna had taken you out to buy a traditional kimono, get your hair done with jade combs and pins. Telling you about how his father was a very traditional man with values such as, respect your elders and those above you, never steal or wrong the everyday man or woman, never disrupt the harmony of your family or those around you, never become involved with drugs and always act chivalrously. You admired the way he talked about his dad, he looked up to him with respect, admiration so you agreed to do the best you could.

His house was not just a house, it was a Shinden Zukuri, it was massive, and glorious. It was exactly what you would have expected from his father from just hearing of him. “It’s…amazing Sukuna.” You turned to look at him and he was smirking down at you, “I know it is.” He led you along the path to one of the entrances and to the Genkan, you slid your shoes off and held onto your bag. Following sukuna further into the house, and out onto the engawa of the home until he stops at another room, he slid the shoji door open telling you to enter. He took your bag, placing it on a shelf against the wall, and you looked around the room. It was almost empty except for the white men's kimono on the kimono rack. You looked at Sukuna. His school shirt was open and he pulled it off, throwing it over your head, “Leave that on.”

you heard the rustle of fabric, all you could see was the white fabric in front of you until we pulled it off of you and you looked up at him, his brow was furrowed as he tried to fix a hair comb that came loose. You could see a part of his chest showing through his Kimono, he leaned closer mumbling something about the comb being difficult. He smelt good, it was masculine but clean, he smelt like a candle he once bought you, Bergamot, Lavender and Cedar. You couldn’t help the little sniff you took and he let out a single laugh pulling away from you, “weirdo.”

You just smiled up at him and he led you further into the “home.” Stopping right outside double sliding doors, “alright, if you’re not ready by now, you’ll never be. So if you're not ready and you fail, sorry to break it to you now you’ll probably never see me again.” He gave you a cheeky smile when he saw your scared and worried expression, “Su-alright no backing out now.” He slid the doors open bowing and greeting his father, and there he was, frozen for a second the man was massive in size and he was only sitting. He was shirtless and covered in tattoos, you swallowed before dropping into a deep bow greeting him and introducing yourself in a calm but confident way. You didn’t look back up until you heard him let out a low chuckle and tell you to stand at ease. Your face was still looking down, if that’s what Sukuna was going to look like when he was older, there was already no doubt in your mind you wanted to marry him but if there was even a smidge or shadow it was gone. Sukuna’s father cleared his throat, “Sit, I want to learn more about the little lady who managed to leash my boy.” Sukuna groaned as he put a hand on your lower back, ushering you forward to sit with him across from his dad…. The rest was history.

The Late bell pulled you from your memory, “I’ll see you-at Lunch yeah yeah go before that teacher Yaga comes in and marks you absent.” He nodded with his head finally looking at you, you smiled. You saw the small twitch in the corner of his lips before he stepped back and started walking to his own class with no haste.

——————

It had been a week since that day but more importantly it was the weekend before valentines. Here you were in your kitchen doing everything to make the perfect gift. You’d gone to the store that morning spending a decent amount of your savings on things to make sweets and bake little things for him. There was no doubt in your mind that just like last year, your boyfriend's locker would be filled with love notes and chocolates that he’d either let you have your choice of or throw away. The love letters, you’d read and go though all the candy bullying him about his little secret admirers before he’d crumple them up throwing them into the trash.

But right now! You were focused on making homemade chocolate filled with red velvet cream, smooth white chocolate, or almonds. You had taste tested so many you finally got the right flavour. They weren’t bitter, but not overly sweet like the store chocolate you watched him make a face at, one time. On the other hand, you had little chocolate heart shaped cookies you’d decorated with royal icing trying to make cute valentines designs. The lines weren’t the cleanest or fanciest but you liked them enough to pack them into a little treat bag with a red bow and a name tag. The Chocolate you packed into a gold box with a bright red satin ribbon. And the little cake tin you chose was a gold tin with a clear top. You wanted to make a milky cake with whipped cream and strawberries. You even bought a bigger bento box to make a special lunch for him, you had it all planned out. It was a three layer bento. Your plan was to stuff him and push him into a food coma for his final class. The first was beef and vegetables with white rice with pickled plum and pickled ginger he always ate like it was nothing. The second layer was tempura shrimp, a pickled cucumber salad and fried rice. The final layer was two egg salad onigiri with sesame snap pea salad. On the side was going to be your cake and a little egg pudding. There was no way he’d be cranky in his last class if he was stuffed to the brim.

——————

“no more…” You watched Sukuna as he dramatically fell over into your lap breathing heavily as he huffed. One arm thrown over his eyes, the other hanging down still holding the onigiri he had yet to bite into. Your hand scratching his head gently, “Happy Valentine's Kuna.” You did your best to angle yourself and lean over to kiss his forehead. You didn't miss the smile on his lips when you pulled away, he held the onigiri up blocking the sun when he uncovered his eyes, the little face you worked so diligently on for him. “Maybe one more.” You watched wide eyes when he stuffed half of it in his mouth before holding it up to your lips, his cheeks puffed out while chewing, it was cute for someone who without a doubt could snap your neck or make anyone cry and want to die with just words without having to raise his voice. He hummed offering to feed you some of the onigiri again and you took a small bite. Before your finger came to pick a grain of rice off his cheek, it was cliche and even worse when he eyed your finger and pulled it to his lips licking the grain off. “Happy Valentine’s Day to me.” His cheeky smile made you break out into a smile when he shoved the last of his rice ball into his mouth struggling to sit up, “damnit, I can’t.” He gave up and laid back in your lap, “I live here now.”

“Wait there’s one mo-no I can't I’m full, look at me.” He patted his stomach with his hands, you didn't see a difference in his fit form, that was until he saw the reflective gold and his eyes widened, “wait!” You watched him wiggling and struggling to sit up, putting a hand on his back to push him up, he made grabby hands at the tin when you pulled it away, “I thought you couldn’t- I can! I lied, I do that sometimes.” He tried to lean over you to grab it but you leaned further, so he did what he would never do publicly. He grabbed you and hauled you over into his lap, wrapping his arms around your waist holding you there, “Now feed me y/n.” He rested his chin on your shoulder looking at the cake. Whipped cream and a heart made of strawberry purée and strawberries, “heh, you do all this for me, pretty girl?” Your smile was big and ungraceful when you laughed at his nose grazing your jaw and neck. “Yes, it’s all for you Sukuna, I wouldn’t do this much for anyone else.” You turned and kissed the side of his temple and he smiled, “cmon open it.” You fed him and he hummed, his chin resting on your shoulder tilting it so it rested against yours.

You sat like this for while feeding him and yourself until the bell rang, he squeezed you holding you against him, “C‘mom even little miss perfect can take a break, let’s stay out here a little longer.” You reluctantly agreed and kept feeding him what was left of the box cake. Eventually he just held you there, smiling and laughing at how you told him your story of how you messed up and your poor parents who had to be taste testers.

Soon the last school bell rang, he opened his eyes just barely glaring at the intercom that played the obnoxious chime. One arm was tucked behind his head, the other around your shoulders holding you against him. He was sitting back leaning against the plum tree the school planted. Your head on his chest, eyes closed with soft breaths, arm draped over his chest. His school coat was over you, he almost didn’t want to wake you, but his back and butt were aching from being in this slouched angle for so long. So slowly he started to sit up, trying to gently wake you, your eyes opening to look up at him. He was so beautiful in the setting sun in your eyes, “What time is it?” Your question went almost unanswered until he pulled out his phone, “it’s time to go home is all that matters.” You didn’t look away from his face and he looked back at you, holding eye contact. “Happy Valentine’s Day Kuna.” Your small tires smile and sleepy eyes squeezed his heart. He leaned in nuzzling his head to yours, “it’s not your day yet but Happy Valentine’s Day Brat.” You closed your eyes smiling until you felt his lips, you were delighted to kiss him back before he sat up pulling away, “we gotta get up my ass is starting to hurt.” You laughed getting up with the help of his outstretched hand, “I guess you’ll just have to take these home with you.” You didn’t miss the flash of excitement in his eyes when you pulled out the gold box of Chocolates and red ribbon tied cookies. You smiled and he grinned like a mad man carefully stuffing them into his bag.

“Ya know brat, I never celebrated Valentines before…” he trailed off and you didn’t miss the hint of pink on his cheeks, it made you smile and take his hand. “Guess I’ll just have to spoil you next year too.” He scoffed looking away but you didn’t miss the way he held on tighter to your hand, “Good because if you think you can just leave your dead wrong.”

It was the full bloom of red on his shocked face when you kissed his cheek so innocently and said “If I leave anything it’ll be my last name,” that assured you in a way he wouldn’t fight you on that subject.

Tag: @sad-darksoul @satorisgirl @bontensbabygirl @lupita97lm @queen-luna-007 @venus-seeks

@cyder-puff @bofadeezs

@sakuxxi @mercymccann @certainduckanchor @najiiix @bakugou-katsukis-wife @amitiel-truth @souyasplushie @mylovelessnightmare @ynjimenez @dolliira

[totothewolff]

The Lonely Hearts Party

Toto x reader fem!merc!employee, boss|Toto, Valentine's Day | Fluff, romance, and comedy.

Summary: For weeks now, you have been receiving the most gorgeous flowers every Wednesday morning at your desk at the Brackley Headquarters, as a mysterious admirer seems so in love with you. The entire factory, your besties at work, and you all wonder who he is. Could it be the one you truly wish for? Author's note: Happy Valentine's Day to all of you! Send you lots of love. Masterlist: Here

The most beautiful flowers have been arriving at your desk every Wednesday morning for almost a month now. Every week, as you reach your office in the early hours, they are already in place to welcome you. 

You love smelling them; they are always fresh and sweet-scented, and you love to look at them even more.

You feel a rush of excitement to read the handwritten note that always comes attached, filled with a different poem paragraph each time, something along the lines of "She walks in beauty, like the night, of cloudless climes and starry skies; and all that's best of dark and bright."

Every girl in your department finds it so romantic, the mysterious admirer, but you and your besties at work, Rose and Oliver, who work in the same station that you, joke about finding it a bit creepy. 

"The Creepy Flower Guy" is a nickname you came up with to refer to him as an inside joke, being the three of you true crime enthusiasts.

—Maybe it's one of those garden gnomes HR placed outside —Oliver jokes as he finishes eating his scrambled eggs after you told them about the new Lilacs you received that morning at the breakfast quick break. —Perhaps he fell in love with you by watching you walk past —he jokes.

The hilarious idea of a tiny plastic guy sneaking into the headquarters, wearing his little red hat and fast feet to get incognito to your office, and on his tiptoes, placing the flowers on your desk makes you giggle.

You have to give it to HR this time; those gnomes were a great addition to the garden's pond; every time you sit on the benches near it, you enjoy the new scene the mechanics or engineers put together every few days, having fun moving the gnomes around or placing them in the funniest scenes, even someone during winter knitted them Christmas sweaters.

—Or maybe one day we'll find you dead on the floor, poisoned in your desk after inhaling azaleas for too long —Rose adds with the most casual tone as she bites her sandwich.

—Or you go missing! Kidnapped at the parking lot by "The Creep" —Oliver adds. 

—GUYS! —Ava turns around after overhearing the conversation; she is sitting at the same long table in the cafeteria, not getting your usual dark humor, a bit concerned, and creeped out. —You three need to cool it down with those goddamn crime podcasts!

—NEVER! —all of you answer at the same time.

—You freaks!

As you all finish breakfast, in a rush because the "off-season" is always the busiest time at the factory, you ask out loud. —Who do you think it is? 

—It's evident! It's... —Grace from the control room team starts saying.

—Lewis Hamilton! —and she finishes along with the other five people on the table now. 

Oh, the classic joke.

The entire table burst into laughter. It's a common joke to do about Lewis since almost every family member or friend thinks that working in the Mercedes racing team instantly makes you Lewis's best friend and that you always hang out with the guy, which couldn't be further away from reality. 

Most of you only see him in corporate gatherings or pass by from building to building, usually on his way to the simulator or in the hallways on a lucky day. 

He is always sweet and polite with the team and staff but quite distant; he still is Lewis fucking Hamilton. Unless you are part of his immediate team or Toto's, you get that privilege reserved for the key players only. 

Even so, almost everyone has a Lewis or Bottas story, and ALL of you have Niki's anecdotes cause that man is bonkers and a LEGEND. 

Most of them go hilarious as all of you try to act human around them, like the one Oliver has where he bumped into Lewis one day as Oliver was getting out of the bathroom and Lewis was on his way in, offering him a completely wet hand to introduce himself, which Hamilton noticed and sweetly and quickly patted Oliver on the shoulder with a "nice meeting you, man" and quickly got in.

—REAL theories only, guys! —you address the table. —Is my life a joke to you all? —you mess around, getting on your feet and closing the lid of your topper. —Please don't answer that.

-

Another week goes by, and a new stunning bouquet arrives. 

—Oh, how exquisite! That man is so into you. Those blue mophead hydrangeas sure are expensive! —the receptionist points out to you because you are a total flower ignorant who only goes: "Oh, pretty, colorful, smell cute" without giving it much thought. 

Most of the time, you have no idea what you are looking at, but you have fun googling it and trying to decipher; in your defense, no one has pampered you like this before. 

You are brand new at the getting flowers game.

-

The following week, a couple of bets start happening at the building as the word spreads, and many wonder who the mysterious guy is. 

Some think it's not a guy but a girl, as one day after a meeting, as you all are leaving, one of the engineers approaches you and makes the clever remark that the attention to detail about the type of flowers, the color palettes, and the scented notes is too much for a simple guy. —Either he is getting advised, or it's not a guy! Maybe you could obtain a reference from the company that delivers it.

This entire thing feels surreal and truly takes you by surprise since you have always considered yourself the most average girl, especially in looks and more so in the sea of beautiful blondes working at Mercedes.

Which, for some weird reason, reminded you of when you dropped your resume after one of your buddies from college - who still works there at the machine shop - gave you the heads up there was a job opening that suited you perfectly; he even had to insist you a couple of times, because you were almost sure they wouldn't give you a callback. 

To your eyes, Mercedes was one of those companies that cared about looks or looked for a specific ethnic type; it turns out you judged too soon; they care about skills, productivity, and professionalism, too, and it ended up being a bit more diverse than you expected the place to be.

It still has many areas for improvement, but it's become your favorite job ever.

-

By the end of the day, you wait for Rose to come out of her meeting to leave together, standing in the perfectly lit hallway leaning on the impeccable white wall; it's "Cheap Thursday" at your favorite local pub, and you two desperately need fuel to finish the heavy week, so nachos and a couple of pints sound like heaven.

After what feels like an eternity, a group of people comes out of the double doors by the end of the corridor facing you, and you catch a glimpse of a very hurried-up Toto getting out, too, looking handsome and elegant as ever.

You feel his dark eyes looking you up for the briefest moment, making you shiver and blush like a teenager in front of her crush.

Thank god he doesn't stop his pace and gets out of your view within seconds but leaves you distracted enough not to notice Rose approaching you till she is by your side, looking almost pale as a ghost, whispering in your ear. 

—I swear it's Toto's handwriting! I just saw him writing on the board for over an hour, and his calligraphy looks exactly like the one of "Creepy Flower Guy"!

—Come on?! Toto? Shut up! —a crackle comes out of your mouth, thinking it's the most ridiculous idea. —The billionaire smocking-hot boss falls in love with the average employee; what do you think this is? An 80s telenovela? Fuck off...

—Well, his handwriting is the same cursive style, and the "r" and "t" are almost identical —Rose starts to overexplain, trying to justify herself, looking timid and embarrassed now, and you instantly feel awful at your reaction.

—I'm so sorry, Rose, I overreacted; I tend to be too blunt! —you quickly wrap her into a hug.

—It's just that I have been seeing that calligraphy for a while now, and I found it freaky similar.

—Now, how can we make sure, Rose? Any ideas?

She shakes her head. —I'm not friends with his assistants or anyone on Toto's team.

—No one is friends with his assistants. I wouldn't be surprised if they turn out to be ex-MI5 agents or worked for the KGB —Rose starts to laugh hard, agreeing. —I think getting to the Prime Minister is easier than reaching Toto under their hands!

—You are screwed then. 

—Let's rule Toto out for the moment —you add.

—Yeah.

-

That night at your flat, a crazy thought comes to your mind as you brush your teeth; the wackiest thoughts tend to happen to you when you brush your teeth; you need to make yourself with a piece of paper handwritten by Toto to compare it with one of your notes.

You know Toto places sticky notes on the far wall inside his office; you have noticed those on your many and regular trips to the CFO's office as your boss always sends you to deliver the reports in person by the end of every week, always passing in front of Toto's office on you way there, which most of the time it's empty since he spends the year traveling, but you try to do your best when he is in, slowing your steps a little bit more to enjoy the view and fixing your appearance a little bit too before crossing in front of him. 

Still, his assistants are always at their front desk near there, making it impossible to sneak in. 

If only you could make it inside Toto's office without raising questions and with a good excuse. You laugh at the idea; it's wild and ain't going to happen, and if it does, your ass is getting fired. 

As the Mission Impossible cord from the ceiling scene comes to your mind, it's time for you to go to sleep.

-

As you anxiously roll from side to side of the bed, struggling to shut your brain off, you remember that Niki's surprise birthday celebration is scheduled in two weeks; you could volunteer to help organize the event and usher the people around, including Toto.

There is the slightest chance to make it to his office and take a quick photo of the sticky notes on the wall; it's borderline mental, but you really want to find out because Rose sounded so sure!

This is fucking insane. 

-

Two weeks, two new bouquets later.

When you finally reach the upper floor, where the "top-tier people work," almost everyone has left to get to the party on time. 

Being on time in Mercedes is a must, so there are few people you need to usher there.

You got accepted to join the Niki's celebration committee as a helper minion. Weirdly, it will be hosted in the base race of all places instead of the Silver Arrow Lounge, where most celebrations are usually held.

The decor is ready, the cake is at the counter, and the many photo props and snacks inspired by Niki's red cap are in place; even the catering and most of the people invited have arrived.

But Allison and Toto are nowhere to be seen, and the head of HR is on her nerves about it, thinking it could ruin the surprise or that two of the most influential people there are going to miss such an important event.

As you approach the bosses' offices area, you quickly search in the surroundings for them; it helps you that all offices have glass panel walls.

You venture to wander more, but nada, they are not there, and at this point, no one is there. As you return to the stairs, you pass in front of Toto's office once more. 

You just need to snap a quick picture. What could go wrong? No one is near to see you, and there are no cameras around since Toto dislikes that.

"Okay, Y/N, listen, it's just a couple of steps; you have your phone in your hand; it won't take more than a few seconds..."

You feel your body acting on its own and your feet slowly moving ahead. 

You gradually enter the luxurious and immaculate office.

"Okay, like four steps more, and I'm close enough to zoom in the picture." 

When you almost reach his desk and the perfect distance to snap the photo, you sense movement outside, fuck, fuck, fuck. You feel someone standing behind you, right at the door. 

Busted!

—Yes? Can I help you? —Toto's voice comes severe but calm.

You feel your heart in your throat as you slowly turn around. 

—Yes, you can! —you quickly reply, pretending to be looking at the cool helmets and steering wheels at the corner. Is it the best move your mind could come up with? Certainly not —...Sir... —you kind of finish saying, remembering he is the boss.

Toto stares at you, waiting for you to continue as you stand motionless in the middle of the room, looking straight at him. His eyebrows go up a little, and a tiny, amused smile forms on his lips as he moves his hand, gesturing you to continue.

—They are all waiting for you at the race base, sir... to start Niki's surprise reception. He is about to arrive. 

—And they sent you to get me?

—Yes —you feel the need to explain yourself more, feeling nervous. —Niki has no idea who I am, so I'm not blowing the surprise away if I bump into him on my way here! 

—Interesting... —he lets out gradually.

Oh god, Toto has no clue who I am either, right?

Fuck, I'm such an idiot!

—Oh, I, I'm Y/N —your brain starts working again as you quickly introduce yourself to him, offering him a hand to shake.

He looks even more perplexed at you but grabs it; it's awkward, and you want to crawl into a hole or hide beneath the expensive rug you are stepping on.

—We should get going; I have places to go, and I'm on a schedule today.

—Oh yes, of course, sir —you quickly exit his office as he closes its glass door behind you. Well, you literally pass below his muscular arm. 

Toto doesn't move much, so you squeeze in, almost brushing his body as you out, and he simultaneously closes the door, fuck, he is tall and smells so so so good.

-

It's a quiet walk downstairs; just the sound of your steps and breaths fills the room. You feel intimidated by Toto's presence, not used to having him that near you and being a shy-natured girl.

He seems to slow down his step, prolonging your agony. 

Should I say something? But what about? Work? Something casual? You assume he wonders the same since you feel his eyes on you every few steps, but he dares to break the ice before you can.

—So y..

—I'm To... Oh, sorry, go ahead —he says at the same time.

—Oh, no worries —you nervously place a strand of your hair behind your ear. He follows the movement of your hand with his eyes. —What were you saying? —you look straight at him, Jesus; he is way cuter up close; that's some strong jawline, you can't control your eyes going all over his features.

—That I didn't introduce myself upstairs. I'm Toto, by the way —he offers you a kind and unintentionally sexy smile.

You notice, a bit way too much, how all his traits soften and how relaxed and joyful he looks when he smiles.

It turns out that "The Creepy Employee Girl" should be your nickname now.

After perceiving him as less threatening, you joke around to make the air less awkward. —Really? I had no idea! I thought you were that Lewis guy everyone talks about! But nice to meet you Toto By The Way —you fool around.

He laughs a bit. —You never heard of me before? I guess I'm losing popularity around here nowadays!

—You must hang around more to be part of the "popular squad".

—Who holds the title right now?

—The gnomes.

—Oh, yes, they are quite popular.

—A bit too much, yeah.

As you two reach the entrance to the race base, he rushes his step to hold open the door for you, letting you go first; you feel his intense gaze follow you every step as you pass right across from him, making you feel things he shouldn't. 

Everyone who got invited is already there; the usually squeaky-clean and clear white counters now hold cups, party hats, bottles of champagne and sparkling water, delicacies, and a big red cap-shaped cake.

—Great! The boss is here! Please, bring Niki in —you hear the HR director speak through the intercom as she looks your way, sounding so relieved, and a minute later, all of you start cheering as Niki enters the room.

You expect Toto to instantly leave your side and go near the big names of the company and his precious stylish drivers, but no, he stays right next to you.

As Niki almost reaches you two, getting hugs all his way down, he comes closer to Toto first and says in a low voice, but you are still able to hear him. —Is the cake vegan?! —looking concerned before tightly and roughly hugging him, knowing they would call him to blow out the candles and bite the cake soon.

—No, sir, this time they brought Lewis his own cake —you inform him, getting in the conversation, as the two of them turn to look at you.

—Oh, thank god! I almost spit out last year's "fake" cake! Hi Y/N! I didn't notice you there! This mountain was on the way —he pats Toto's chest a bit too strongly. Niki makes a funny face, eyebrows going up, not sugarcoating around as usual but earnest and light-spirited.

You laugh, exhaling cute sounds; even you have to admit you have a lovely, infectious laugh.

—Hi sir, happy birthday!

How on earth does Niki know my name?! He knows who I am?! WHAT...

-

—...the fuck were you thinking?! —Oliver looks shocked and pale as you update him and Rose about your little adventure today. —You honestly thought it could be Toto?!

—Can a girl have a dream?! —you shrug as you keep typing violently on your computer, wanting to finish that notice as soon as possible to move on to the next task, starting to feel stressed.

—You could have got into serious trouble, like big trouble, like getting fired trouble —Rose says, dead serious. —I feel terrible for enabling you!

—I know it was reckless and stupid, really stupid! —you admit, feeling dumb now about your actions.

God knows what got into you!

-

The next day, on your way to the cafeteria for lunch, you sense something is going on; everyone is acting weird.

Until you enter the room to find Toto having his meal in there, alone at a table, aware of the looks he is getting.

What is he doing here? He usually goes out for lunch or eats inside his office.

The fuck.

He waves a hand at you; you look around to see if he is addressing someone else till he arches an eyebrow, slightly annoyed, so you hurry up to reach him.

—Well, you weren't wrong! By all the looks I received on my way here, and fairly now, it appears I don't hang around much —he invites you to sit, stretching his arm, pointing to the chair in front of his, before continuing. —It wasn't unusual to see me everywhere before; of course, it was the early days, and we were a smaller team back then —he almost looked sad and nostalgic about it.

—Look at you, man of the people!

—Eat your salad —he rolls his eyes at you as you get your lunch out.

—Is that like a boss order, or?

—Maybe, if I'm feeling moody. 

—So, I guess most of the old guard is gone?

—Are you low-hand calling me old?

—Well, how ancient are you?

—I'm almost 70 —he makes you smile and looks all pleased with himself and his dumb humor. —I know, I look good for 70!

—Who would have thought you had a sense of humor? You always look severe and bossy.

—Can you stop low-key insulting me?

—Neva'

-

After two weeks of having lunch with Toto and getting to know each other more every day, you two become friends; some days, a different person joins you; at some point, you can't believe you are sharing quinoa recipes with Lewis and comparing drinking pub stories with Niki.

—Is it me, or have you abandoned us, the peasants? —Oliver says to you when you return to the office.

—Oh, come on! You can join, you know that! He knows who you two are; we talk about you guys a lot, and he greets you daily!

—Now that you are part of the "big farts" table, hanging with the famous, why would you care about two random coworkers? —Rose overdramatizes.

—OH COME ON!

—Apparently, you don't care about the old and wise saying "Bros before hoes," —Oliver adds.

—Of course, I care about you two hoes. Please join us tomorrow. PLEASE?! —you beg them with the biggest smile and puppy eyes ever seen.

—Eating with the boss and talking to him? I'm not risking it! —Oliver says, dead honest, not trusting himself.

—He is trying to reconnect with the team; he isn't going to judge you! Besides, Toto knows you are my besties.

Two long "aw" come your way.

—That's so cute, but NO! —Rose ends the conversation.

-

As you admire the new bouquet of tulips you get delivered the next day, your phone suddenly buzzes on your desk, distracting you from finishing updating the chart with the latest data.

—Lunchtime already? 😩🥙

—Who this? 👀

—Luke, I'm your father.

—He dead 🙏🌫️

—Oh, shit, sorry! Bad joke!

—💀💀💀

—There's no need to be that explicit.

—It means dying of laughter!

—Oh, shit, I'm old, it's Toto By The Way.

—I'm saving you with that name! How did you get my number?

—By boss privilege.

—YES! LET'S LUNCH PLEASE! I'm Hungarian.

—What?

—Typo sorry, hungry!

—HA! See you in five! 🏃‍♂️🏃‍♂️

-

—Could going to lunch with someone at the cafeteria be considered a date? —you turn around in your office chair to address Oliver.

—Dreaming is free, bestie!

-

On your way to meet Toto, you bump into the most annoying senior engineer, Mr. Schäfer, in the corridor. 

OH GOD! Please don't talk to me, please don't talk to me, you think as you two cross paths, but sadly, you notice him stop his step after making eye contact with you.

—Miss, Y/LN. A minute?

SHIT!

-

—Sorry I'm late! "Gwen Stefani" got me on my way here!

—Who? —Toto looks at you, amused and confused.

Shit! You burped out.

—Ahem, Mr. Schäfer —you quickly correct, taking your water bottle out of your bag and drinking it after rushing there. Toto stares at the couple of drops that escape your lips and slide down your chin and neck, and he swallows hard.

—What did you call him? —Toto asks, clearing his throat.

—Oh, don't mind me!

—Yes, mind you! It's a pretty accurate nickname, I must admit it, even if I shouldn't, but it fits —Toto shrugs nonchalantly, with a chuckle on his face. 

Schäfer is really pretty, lean, blond, pale, has big bambi's brown eyes, and his voice is so annoying.

And now you feel embarrassed.

After a few minutes of comfortable silence, as you two eat, Toto says: —Do I have a nickname?

—Oh, no, no one dares.

—Why? Do people fear me? —his expression changes to one of concern. —Maybe that would explain why people always seem to slow down their pace in the main corridor as soon as they see me inside the elevator. I always try to press the hold button to wait for them.

—This leaves me with a question: How do you fit in there? Your hair sure is touching the ceiling —he looks at you with an "Are you kidding me?" face. —No, for real!

—Don't avoid the actual question!

—Okay, okay, it's more like you intimidate. You look a bit, ahem, stern.

—Really? So, that was your first impression of me?

—Well, not really —you feel your cheeks turning red, fuck. —The first time I saw you, IRL.

—Sorry?

—In real life! You were being interviewed at the reception on that pearl/grey, awful porn movie-esque rug, which is inappropriate to say because the interviewer was a kid; anyway, It was something adorable to see. So that was my first impression of you, sweet and kind —his eyes soften at your answer, and you feel your knees touching beneath the table. —And also well lit —you joke. 

As you do your best at not being honest and admitting to Toto, you fell in love with him the first time you saw him. It was instant.

—Oh. 

-

Another week goes by, February starts, and the most stunning bouquet to this moment arrives. Okay, this one is a lot. 

—Good lord, "Creepy Flower Guy" went full force with this one; what did you do to him?! —Rose asks, jaw on the floor as she stares at that humongous thing.

—I have no fucking clue.

—You think he is about to reveal himself? —Oliver points out. —Maybe this is a "going out with a BANG!".

—Honestly, I don't care much about it anymore —you admit. You feel several heads turning your way, shocked.

"It's not who I would like it to be," you think. You don't need to say more to know that Oliver and Rose get it.

-

That working day was cut short since it was the Monster-sponsored "Spartan Race," a cross-fit competition. 

Many coworkers listed at the contest held outside on the garden grounds where a fancy circuit got built, but not you. You volunteered to help deliver the medals to the participants at the finish line.

In the meantime, you take a good spot with Oliver to watch the competition unfold and cheer for Rose.

—You go, Rambo! —you scream at her as she completes another obstacle course.

You watch Toto pass in those goddamn shorts, looking so hot, all sweaty. Toto's shirt's tight fabric on the skin leaves little to the imagination.

You meet him at the finish line an hour later, as you are now doing your duty. As soon as he notices you, he starts to jog in your direction with the most mischievous smile.

—Oh no, no, no! Don't you even...! —you receive the biggest and tightest hug from a sweaty, wet, and full of dirt and mud Toto.

—OH GOD! Get off! —you pull him away, making yucky faces.

—I was hoping to bump into you at the circuit! —he tells you, still with a lot of energy, as you place his gold medal on his neck, he is bending to your height.

—I'm not that sporty; you would have to drag me to the finish line.

—I would have gladly carried you around in these powerful arms! —he jokes while flexing.

You roll your eyes at him.

-

The next day, at your desk.

As you blast the newest episode of your favorite crime podcast, Rose and Oliver start making eye contact with you, trying to grab your attention, moving their eyes several times to the left as you take out your AirPods.

—WHAT?!

—Sure, those things cancel noise! I have spent about an hour trying to talk to you!

Oh shit, you jump a little at the sound of Toto's voice near your ear.

—Were you listening to a murder podcast? At work?! You are going to hurt your ears; I was able to hear it from here —Toto is leaning on the left side of your desk.

—Maybe... I was... —you look at him with squinted eyes, and he looks back at you the same way.

—What is that thing?! —Toto says, a bit disgusted at the exuberance, pointing to the enormous bouquet beside your computer.

—It's a long story —you try to avoid the subject.

—I want to hear it when I return. I will not join you at lunch today or the rest of the week.

—Bummer, where are you going then? —you turn in your chair to face him.

Everyone looks at you with a "Did you really ask the boss that?" face.

—Austria, It's my mom's birthday.

—Aw, sweet, wish her a happy birthday for me!

—I will —you look at each other tenderly, both wanting to say more. You suddenly feel the desperate need to hug Toto, but a simple: —See you next week, then! —comes out of your mouth, ending the interaction.

-

It's almost Valentine's Day, and Toto has returned from his little adventure in the mountains; he laughs when you text him that. You two talked even more than usual every day during his absence.

So you text him if you could go up to his office.

—Knock, knock —you say as you pop your head in at his door.

He brightens as he sees you, fully smiling at you, making your stomach feel butterflies. 

—Please, come in!

You approach his desk, holding something in your hands; it's an envelope with an invitation in the old-fashioned way. —Hi! —you smile big at him. —I have the obligation to invite you to the traditional "Lonely Hearts Party" on Valentine's Day!

—No one wants the boss at an outside-the-office party —he looks at you a bit taken out.

—Yeah, I know, we know. But still, you are invited. It's for singles only, assuming that you are single, which no one thinks you are, so here —you feel Toto's hand touching yours as you deliver him the envelope, leaving you with a lingering sensation on your fingers, a very Elizabeth and Mr. Darcy moment in your delulu mind.

—I'm going to be in Brazil, but thank you anyway, and yes, I'm single —he pays attention to your reaction to his words, and you pray for him not to notice the little happy smile forming on your lips. —Are you... are you like... seeing someone? —he asks you.

—I'm going to attend the Lonely Hearts Party, you think?! Listen, my neighbor, Miss Tailor, is 80 and has a boyfriend; even that old rag has seen more action than me this year!

Toto's palm goes onto his face, bursting with laughter; he is laughing so hard at your comment that no sound comes out of his throat, just hallows of air, and he goes all red, not believing your words. —You are quite something! —He lets you know and looks at you with adoration, his face resting on his hand and his elbow on the desk. 

—I know —you nod, kidding. —Anyway, have a nice day, and see you later!

-

During that day's lunch break, Toto demands you to explain to him in detail all about that "Creepy Flower Guy," he even ventures to guess who he is after listening to the whole story.

—Milo, Ben, and Ansel all have stared you down when you walk past in front of them, with lust obviously, and I heard Finn once complimenting your good looks to say it nicely —he informs you.

Is that jealousy you detect?

Toto does pay attention.

-

It's Wednesday, and your car is out in maintenance, so you make it extra early on that day at the office; you wanted to avoid risking it being late since you aren't used to using public transport to get there.

You make it just in time to witness Mike walking away from your desk inside your desert office through the glass panel wall from afar. As you walk to your chair, you notice new flowers are already in place. You feel your heartbeat going full speed and a wave of disappointment washing you over; what were you expecting, for it to really be Toto?

That entire day, you remain all moody and quiet, and your friends notice it, but you say nothing about it.

You even ask your boss to leave early, being unable to handle being near Toto today, which leaves him worried, judging by the four texts and two missed phone calls you received from him, wondering where you are and if everything is okay.

-

Four days later, you are like nothing has happened. As you walk your way to enter the building where you work, you notice Toto sitting alone in the distance, having a call; you slowly start to walk toward him, switching paths.

He finally has returned from his trip to Stuggart.

—Well, the "Creepy Flower Guy" saga has come to an end, my friend; I found out who he is —you inform him, unenthusiastic, as you sit on the bench in the pond's garden right next to him.

—You don't seem so excited —Toto's eyes look slightly concerned as he tells you.

—Well, no, to be honest.

—Drumrolls —Toto says, trying to lift your spirits, slapping his thighs, making the sound. —And the creep is?!

—Mike, from financial.

—Magic Mike?! —Toto lets out a bit too loud.

—Yep!

—Are you sure? Like 100%? But how?!

You nod. —I saw Mike near my desk in the early hours a couple of days ago, and the flowers were there as he was walking away from the crime scene! Also, by the drawer full of flower receipts at his office desk. They all match the types of bouquets I received and have the exact dates.

—Are you creeping around in people's offices again?

—WAIT A MINUTE! I wasn't creeping into your office! 

—Oh no? What were you doing near my desk? Looking for Niki's cake?

—Shut up! I was looking for you. 

—Yes, I love to hide myself in there —Toto playfully and softly pushes you. 

—And NO! I wasn't creeping around in Mike's office; Anita sent me to get the notice she needed, and I went there; it turns out Mike was on holiday, but he left the instruction to collect it from the drawer on his desk, and then I opened the wrong drawer and BAMB! It was full of receipts and bills from the flower company that delivered my flowers. Not to be nosy, but Magic Mike is doing pretty well; I had no idea how expensive they were!

—Wait! But you aren't telling me! Are you into Magic Mike? Do you fancy him?

—No, not him, anyway.

Toto stares intensely at you and wants to say more. If you weren't so in the zone, you would have noticed it and given him a chance, but no, you continue blurting out words.

—But I will go and thank him, I guess. I don't want to hurt him; he is lovely. Everyone told me to go out on a date with him. I don't feel like it right now, but it's not always love at first sight, right? Maybe that doesn't even exist; I was expecting to fall in love, you know, movie style, but that may not be real, or at least not for girls like me. Besides, Valentine's Day is approaching, and I don't feel like spending it alone again —you let out a sigh after talking forever.

—Weren't you going to that Lonely Hearts Party? It sounds fun. It's better than going on a date with someone you don't like just to feel better —Toto tells you a bit moody.

—Oh god, I love you; you are always right; you are so annoying —you add while hugging and kissing him on the cheek. —Is there any chance I can fit in your suitcase for Brazil? I wouldn't mind spending Valentine's Day with a hot Brazilian or at the beach.

Toto laughs while shaking his head.

—I have to go! —you complain, checking the hour on your smartwatch. —Unfortunately, I have work to pretend to do! 

—Sometimes I feel you forget I'm the boss here —he jokes with you as he crosses his arms and watches you walk backward, still facing him, getting further away.

—YES SIR!

-

It's the Wednesday before Valentine's Day, and to everyone's surprise, the flowers stop arriving.

"Did Toto tell Mike I don't like him and to stop sending me flowers?" You take out your phone to text him.

—Apparently, even "Creepy Flower Guy" gave up on me.

—Really?! —Toto replies.

—Yes. No flowers today.

He gives you no further information, no replying text comes your way.

-

It's Valentine's Day, and you are wearing a shiny red mini dress with matching bow heels to the Lonely Hearts Party.

You took your time doing your makeup, which you feel you nailed, and your hair looks sleek. 

As you check yourself in the mirror, you feel confident and hot!

-

After several drinks and enjoying the music and the vibe, you relish the party, but your mind keeps wandering to the anticlimactic ending of the flower guy mystery.

The only crime and murder here was the one of your feelings and heart.

Two hours later, you start to feel bummed out enough after witnessing many hookups and new couples forming, slightly envious of them and feeling lonelier than ever, aching that Toto was here with you instead of Brazil. You decide you've had enough and are about to leave when you feel a soft finger tap on your right shoulder. You turn around to see who it is.

Definitely, you aren't ready for the scene that greets you.

Toto is standing right before you, holding a bouquet in his hands, looking extremely handsome, with a shy smile on his lips.

—What are you doing here?! —you look astonished at him. Am I that drunk?! Thinking you are seeing things now.

—I felt like delivering them to you in person from now on —he offers you the roses.

Your brain takes its time to process his words and what's happening. This is really happening.

—You are? —you try to say and instinctively grab the bouquet.

—The Creepy Flower Guy, yes.

You laugh at the sound of the nickname on his lips.

—Let's call him "flower guy" from now on.

—Yeah, let's call him Toto better, or my love, if you prefer. I hope you aren't as disappointed this time.

—But Mike? —you ask, confused.

—Have you ever heard of the terms invoice and tax returns? He does my accounting, too. Mike helped me deliver the flowers till I felt ready to show myself. He is a long friend of mine.

—That's why he had all the receipts; that makes sense. Wait!

You close the distance between Toto and you and place a kiss on his lips; getting on your tiptoes, he slowly and hungrily starts kissing you more, wrapping his arms around your waist and pulling you closer, not letting you move an inch away from him.

—Thank you for the flowers, my love but weren't you supposed to be in Brazil by now? —you ask him as you both catch your breaths.

His lips are so soft and warm.

—Oh, I'm going to be in Brazil soon, but I forgot to mention to you that you would also be there. Happy Valentine's Day, my love! —he gives you another long and delicious kiss.

—Shouldn't I have packed? —you ask against his lips, already overthinking.

Toto shakes his head.

—We aren't going to need much clothes, anyway. -

Would you like to read another Toto fic? Masterlist: Here

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Failed Every Insight Check and Fell all the Harder (Astarion x GN!Tav)

Featuring: Astarion x Rogue!Tav

Series: Fits into Love at First Knife, AO3 link here

Companion piece to: Failed a Dex Save and Fell for You

Summary: After a few months of traveling together, Astarion has begun to experience some new feelings around you. After one fateful day in Moonrise Towers, he finally figures out what those feelings are.

Tags: Astarion POV, POV Second Person, Gender-Neutral Pronouns, Awkward Fluff, tw: mentions of astarion's past and all that comes with it, tw: mentions of araj scene, Feelings Realization, Jealousy

A/N: here comes the awkward, fluffy Astarion figuring out his feelings Valentine’s special. He’s a hot mess, of course. (happy Early Valentine’s because I will be busy on Valentine’s) And thanks to everyone who voted for this one!

Word count: ~4.8k

Ever since your group entered the Shadowlands, something has been bothering Astarion. He hadn't noticed at first– or rather, had tried his best to ignore it. But, as time goes on, he’s finding it more and more difficult to brush aside.

It had started out small. An odd pain in the pit of his stomach.

What was that? he'd thought, holding a hand to his abdomen in concern. Perhaps he was just hungry, but it certainly didn’t feel like the ever-present hunger in his belly. No, that was a dull, continuous ache. This? This felt like something was weighing him down. Maybe I’m ill. I shouldn’t mention it to anyone, lest Lae’zel slit my throat in my sleep.

Besides, the pain didn’t happen often. He noticed it a distinct few times.

Once, when you first entered the Shadowlands. He’d just watched you bend down, hands plucking at something off the side of the cursed lands’ road. He thought momentarily that he ought to stop you, that none of you knew what could be lurking in its magical darkness. But that tinge of worry was promptly replaced by that same gods awful pit in his stomach. 

Because there you were, presenting your party’s cleric with your spoils. You were gifting Shadowheart a night orchid– had remembered that she mentioned loving them. You bore the woman’s wretched joke with a smile. Disgusting, Astarion thought. No wonder my stomach feels uncomfortable, what a pathetic little exchange.

Like everything that had bothered him in the last couple of months since finding himself free of Cazador, he decided to forget the feeling. Life is his to take full advantage now, why let something like that affect him?

Or so he thought until the next time the feeling made its return.

You had just arrived at the Last Light Inn as a group, found shelter through the Harpers’ well-established safe haven. Astarion was quite happy to be rid of the shadows, content to cozy up in an inn. He figured, if he played his cards right, you may even let him partake in your blood or ask for a bit of fun.

Then your party found Dammon. Equipped with Infernal Iron and one blazing hot barbarian, Dammon made magic happen in a matter of moments. 

Astarion was glad. As much as the group was a bit much at times, he understood Karlach’s struggle with her body all too well. She deserved this small victory in reclaiming her body. 

His feelings of genuine sympathy were short-lived though because a moment later you were wrapping your arms around the tiefling’s body. It was a test, of course, to see if Dammon’s fusing had worked. But there it was again, the feeling in his stomach. This time it felt twice as heavy, a lead ball in his guts. Maybe I should let someone know, he thought. This can’t be good.

But the sensation was soon forgotten as your group settled into the Last Light Inn. Old allies were in some miserable new states– requiring even more help, gods– and new acquaintances were made. It was all rather dull for Astarion.

The one time Astarion perked up was when you went head-to-head with the head Harper. He chuckled under his breath when you outsmarted the old crone, Jaheira. That’s right, Harper. Don’t mess with my protector.

Your first night at the inn was capped off with a bit of revelry: a game of Truth or Dare. 

Astarion could sense your reluctance to play. You’d been acting odd all day, stiff and awkward around him. He saw this as the perfect opportunity to tease you to the high celestial plane– in fact, he already knew what he wanted to ask you. “You are going to regret this so much," he'd said to you from across the table.

Then the game began, and the deep, uncomfortable feeling never left his core.

Each and every companion received your attention throughout the game, in one way or another. Even that damned smith, Dammon, was given a dare from you. And Astarion just sat there, not even earning a glance, his mood growing more and more sour.

When, at last, he was able to taunt you with his question, you were far too in your cups to give a proper response. He sat on your lap, placed there from one of Shadowheart’s dares, staring into your surprised, open eyes, wishing that he'd thought of an easier question for an inebriated version of you.

The group had shooed you both out of the game upon seeing your state, though Astarion didn't mind. He'd much rather leave the lot of them and tease you by himself.

Once you were alone, you answered his question. That he, Astarion, was your favorite and for all manner of incredulous, unbelievable reasons. He’d expected you to say him. He’d asked to hear your praise, confirm your attachment in the name of his plan to seduce you. All the same he was left uncomfortable, juggling the sudden and unabashed flattery. Being praised for his looks was one thing but for being… himself?

The feeling in his stomach grew. Suddenly his lungs felt it, his undead heart felt it. What in the sweet hells is the matter with me? he thought, as he helped lay your drunken, passed out form to bed later that night. He hadn’t felt a sensation like this before– he hated it. 

Then you reached out to him in your sleep, and he froze. Something about the touch quietened the pain under his ribs, and so he extended his fingers, gently touching your brow as you fell asleep. See? I’m fine, he assured himself. I truly am just ravenous.

__

He continued this way for several days in the Shadowcursed lands.

One moment, he was perfectly fine, hacking and slashing at a Shambling Mound with abandon. The next, he would look over at you, see you laughing at something Karlach said, and it felt like an iron ingot had made its way into his insides.

Damned tiefling woman. I’m far funnier than her, you know, he thinks, resheathing his knives with a little too much gusto. The sound of your laughter rang in his head for the rest of the evening, as if he were being driven to insanity by it.

The next day, you had fought a horde of Meazels. At first, Astarion thought the fight was delightful fun– the tiefling woman and the cleric kept getting teleported against their will and after his recent annoyance with both of them, he found it quite amusing. That is, until you found yourself garrotted, teleported as far away from him as possible.

He was on you in mere moments, ripping the creature off of you with his blades. It was almost as if he’d reacted instinctively and, as someone whose instincts typically led him away from danger, he found the sensation quite off-putting. Nevertheless, he'd freed you, asking, “Are you alright, darling?”

Astarion couldn’t remember what you’d even said because once he saw the marks the creatures left on you, the pit in his stomach dropped. Where there had been a heavy pressure before, there was now a sharp feeling. His eyes carefully trailed over your injuries, trying his best to focus on you and not the phantom pain building inside him.

You had been fine, nothing that a quick heal from Shadowheart couldn’t fix, but that feeling stayed in his stomach the rest of the day. It’s simply the Shadowlands, he'd thought. They not only play tricks on the mind, clearly they’re playing tricks on my body.

It was a few days later, as you helped the Harper’s deal with their lantern problem that the sensation shifted again.

Astarion watched, eyes glued to your form, as you dispatched the hideous drider, your twin blades piercing the creature in its most vulnerable spots. He’d seen you kill many monsters before, hundreds likely at this point. But something about the way your body moved in the Moonlantern’s glow, the way your face lit up as the creature’s body crumpled to the floor, caused the vampire to stop and watch.

This time, he’d felt the heavy sensation move up, somewhere just below his throat. He tried against all odds to gulp it away, but nothing seemed to work. We need to finish our business here and get out as soon as possible, he thought now, convinced it was the shadows warping his senses…

But as your travel continues, the feelings never go away. 

It’s a different pressure, it builds, it ebbs, it flows between his heart, his stomach, his torso– and each time he brushes it off. Stewing in these uncomfortable feelings, Astarion spends the week in a hazy mire, not unlike the shadows that surround you all.

Then your group finally infiltrates Moonrise.

__

Moonrise Towers, the seat of the Absolute and a once grand fortress. 

Now, Astarion can’t help but think it seems rather underutilized. Your group is walking along the empty parapets outside, which are woefully missing any sense of grandeur or ornamentation. “Darling,” he says, leaning into you slightly. “Don’t you think we ought to just kill everyone now and take the place for ourselves. Might be quite fun.”

You bark out a laugh, which he feels proud to have produced, and reply, “Maybe later. This is an infiltration mission only. Besides, once we defeat the Absolute, I’m sure there will be a vacancy.”

Astarion laughs back at you. Gods, he enjoys this. The way that he can say something that others would balk at and you will miraculously not only appreciate it, but also play along with it. Having fun with them is so easy, he thinks. And look, I’m still wearing all of my clothes! What a novel idea.

The thought is cut short when your group walks through an outside doorway into a room that can only be described as grotesque. Whoever works here clearly has some knowledge of arcana, if the ingredients and alchemical tools are anything to go by, but it smells utterly foul to Astarion.

It’s when you spot the drow woman hunched over a table in the corner that he realizes where the stench is coming from. Hells below, that woman reeks of something truly awful, he thinks, recoiling. He’d grown used to following behind you closely, but as you step forward to speak to the woman, he finds himself taking a step back instead.

The woman introduces herself as Araj Oblodra, a trader of blood– a rather poor trader, by the smell of it. She takes note of Astarion, who shuffles back instinctively, before you and her go about some kind of business with your blood. Astarion contemplates speaking up, shooing you away from her, but decides to stay back, as far away as he can remain without arousing suspicion. They can handle themselves.

Then, after the woman looks back toward him one too many times, he hears you snap, “And why are you so interested in my pale friend?” 

“Ah, yes. Perhaps there’s one more thing we could discuss,” she begins, her voice a dangerous drawl. “He’s a vampire, no? Or one of their spawn at least.”

“Oh, don’t worry,” Astarion says, all-too-ready to fill his role. “We’re all friends under the Absolute. I won’t bite.”

“Oh, I’d prefer if you did,” she’s quick to respond. Her eagerness picks at Astarion’s nerves, and he raises an eyebrow at her. Araj doesn’t deign to give him another moment’s look though, as she turns back to you. “I assume he belongs to you?”

“Excuse me?” Your voice sounds offended– on his behalf, Astarion wonders? “He’s his own person.” Your words cause the feeling in Astarion’s stomach to flip, and, as much as he wants to come to his own defense, he finds himself quite content to hear you do it for him.

“I’m sure he really believes that. How utterly adorable,” she says with a snide chuckle. 

Adorable? he thinks, but he’s unable to interject before the woman continues to barrel forward.

The blood trader turns back to Astarion, face wrinkled with distaste as her tone changes to something a bit more confrontational, “Do you have a name, spawn?”

Her sudden shift in attitude, the proud tilt to her head, it all throws the vampire off balance as he goes to answer, “Astarion, b-but hold on!” Astarion holds up a hand to try to slow this woman’s tirade, all to no avail.

“Good. Now, Astarion, I’ve dreamt of being bitten by a vampire since I was a young girl,” Araj begins, laying out the scene for her request.

Too bad that the scene sounds quite ridiculous to Astarion. Surely he heard her incorrectly? “I’m sorry, you want to be bitten?”

The woman goes on a new insane diatribe– something about dancing with death– but Astarion can hardly be bothered. All he needs to know is that she’s offering some measly potion for being bitten and, gods, does he not want to bite this woman’s disgusting neck. Or wrist. Or really any part of her. “I will have to decline,” he says, with a gracious little bow. Your group is still infiltrating the towers, it wouldn’t do to tell Araj exactly how horrid she smells.

It’s entirely more grace than she deserved, that much is clear because she presses him again. Again, he refuses. “I gave you my answer.”

The drow scoffs, turning back to you once more, “Can’t you talk some sense into your obstinate charge?”

You, for your part, look confused. There’s a line of concern in your forehead as you look between the woman and Astarion, wondering what it is that you’re missing. “I’m surprised, Astarion. I thought you’d enjoy an opportunity like this.”

What?! he thinks, a sudden, sharp spike of anger shooting through him. He tempers his immediate rage and speaks to Araj with that same, false pleasantry she doesn’t deserve, “I’m sorry, but could you excuse us a moment?”

Astarion, not waiting for her response, pulls you aside, away from the drow’s nosy eyes and ears. Once you’re alone, he turns to you, his voice a hiss, “Are you actually asking me to do this? Trading me for some-some-some potion?”

“What’s the matter? Why would she be different from any other enemy?” you ask, leaning toward him.

Your voice is full of genuine worry, and some of his anger abates as he meets your eyes. Of course, they don’t know what they’re asking. How could they know? “Because there’s something wrong with her blood. I can smell it from here. Ugh, it’s rank.”

Now your brows furrow, and a sharp edge enters your eyes as you ask your next question, “What do you mean? What’s wrong with her blood?”

“I can’t say. It just smells… wrong. Unnatural.” His words sound pathetic to his own ears. 

Of course that’s not an excuse, Astarion laments. What am I even thinking? The potion is clearly useful. They are going to make me do this, and I may as well prepare myself. I’ve put up with worse after all.

So, he stands straight once more, ready to put on the performance of a lifetime. His tone takes on a resigned tone as he continues, “Drinking it wouldn’t kill me, but it would not be pleasant.”

You both hear a sigh from behind you. “I don’t have all day, True Soul,” Araj calls, impatiently.

Your eyes remain focused entirely on him, ignoring the woman’s irritated sigh, her entitled words. “Astarion,” you begin, and he takes a breath in preparation for your other foot to drop. “Don’t do anything you don’t want to do. And if she refuses to take no for an answer again, we’ll simply have to start our assault on the towers a bit early.”

The breath leaves him.

"Alright. Uh, thank you,” he says, feeling the tension drop from his shoulders. He’d been prepared to acquiesce, to do exactly what you’d asked of him. But this? This is something he hadn’t been prepared for. 

In a daze, Astarion makes his way back to Araj, putting on as polite of a facade as he’s still capable of making, “It's still a ‘no’, I’m afraid.”

“How very disappointing,” the blood trader says, shooting you both a disgusted look. She turns away in a huff, leaving your group alone to recover from the exchange. And leaving Astarion floundering in another new sensation.

Because once more, the feeling in the pit of his stomach has reared its ugly head– only this time it shoots through him like a bolt of lightning. He's not sure what it is, but it's stunned him into slipping off his carefully crafted mask. He turns to you once more, voice soft around its usual edges, "Thank you. I… appreciated that.”

"You have no need to thank me. It was always your choice, Astarion."

Huh.

The feeling sinks into him, settling deeper and deeper as you continue through Moonrise.

__

That night, you go to bed in your own bedroll, leaving Astarion to his meditations with a smile and a wave. It has been a long day for all of you, and it's clear from the way you take a glance back that you're worried about him.

Gods, he's worried about him.

After dealing with that vile drow woman, you'd all continued about the tower, ingratiating yourselves with even the most repugnant of creatures to appear faithful to the Absolute. But Astarion paid attention to almost none of it.

He'd stabbed when you told him it was time to stab, he'd joined your side when you called him to you, but his mind had been wholly preoccupied.

They didn't make me do it, he'd thought, as he unlocked some chest.

Well, isn't this exactly what I wanted? he'd thought, following you down some stairs.

Clearly they just fell for my charms, my masterful seduction, he'd thought, flanking a prison guard for you.

So why do I feel like this? he'd thought, staring at your back as you led the way before him.

Now, he lays here in his tent, staring at the fold of its ceiling in a rapt fascination he doesn't feel. The feeling in his stomach has stayed all day, tethering him to his thoughts with its continuous pressure.

When did I get to the point where I would follow them anywhere? Is their lack of self-preservation contagious? he asks himself, eyes narrowing in frustration. I shouldn't have gone into that horrendous tower in the first place. Then I wouldn't feel like this.

But he had.

And you'd not forced him to do so.

You'd not forced him to do anything.

They're a fool, an utter fool. I could have bitten that drow, as easy as breathing, he thinks, rolling his eyes at the thought. Close your eyes and push through, that's what I always say.

But did you want to? something in the back of his mind asks. 

Of course not, but when has what I wanted ever mattered– 

It may not have mattered under Cazador's grip, but it has always mattered to you. You're nothing like that evil man. You'd always been there for him, had managed to find trust in your heart for him, and had been genuinely kind to him.

The now-familiar feeling in his stomach seems to spread to the rest of his body, a warmth that doesn't quite feel warm. It bleeds all the way to his face and his lips curl up into an involuntary smile at the thought of you.

You– you, who had only ever been meant to play a bit role in the tragedy that is Astarion’s life. You, who had transcended your part, leaving Astarion contemplating every aspect of you in the stark solitude of his tent. 

Your beauty when you're covered in blood after a battle, the mischievous glint in your eye when you're teaching a child a sleight of hand trick– even when anger pulls your brows together and you're yelling at him for saying something particularly naughty. Each and every one makes his smile grow wider.

You, his chosen protector, are so much more than just that.

They are incredible. The thought comes to him unprompted, truly as easy as breathing.

His eyes widen in alarm, staring blankly at the tent above him.

The feeling in the pit of his stomach wasn’t an illness. Nor was it hunger. No. It was guilt. It was jealousy. It was…

Oh fuck, Astarion curses to himself. Am I in love?

Now that he has a word to the sensation, that the feeling is in his grasp, he knows he's right. He doesn't have a lot of experience with love, if any– he'd never had the luxury under Cazador's cruel gaze and he can't recall much from before that– but he knows he's right.

And hells does he wish he could crush the feeling in his hands right here and now.

Gods, you complete and utter imbecile, he thinks, hitting his head against the floor. You have things to do, goals to accomplish. They were only supposed to be a means to those goals, not a – a–

Astarion’s mind blanks as he thinks of you again, your charm, your wit, your damnable caring.

Not a companion. Not a friend. Not a lover. When did those late night trysts turn from an obligation, a part of his simple, perfect plan, into something more?

Even now, as he thinks of those nights, he brings a hand to his lips, recalling a night where you had simply stayed in his bedroll. You had kept all of your clothes on, as had he, and simply held each other as you fell asleep. Their kiss that night was delectable, he recalls, tracing the line of his lips, as if he could still feel the ghost of yours on them.

Fuck, he thinks again, dropping his hand in frustration. How could I have been so blind? How did I not nip this in the bud before it got to this disgusting pining?

But he hasn’t nipped it in the bud. The feeling has grown, unfettered, quick as a druidic plant growth, all unbeknownst to him. It has been nurtured by your attention. It has been watered by your kindness. It has become unruly in the safety of your arms.

Now what? he thinks to himself bitterly, wiping a hand across his face with a sigh. What use are these feelings when everything they were built upon is a lie? You are, after all, still playing the role he set out for you.

He considers overlooking the feelings, just as he has inadvertently done in his ignorance. It wouldn’t be of any use to tell you, of course. You could hardly feel the same way about him as he does you, and he’d rather not add another nuisance in the fight against the Absolute.

Besides, if he told you, he would have to fess up, explain his entire plan to you. What would even be left of the two of you after that?

But, he thinks to himself. Let’s say I did tell them. What could they possibly say…

“I was pretending all along too.” – gods, that would break him. That much is all too apparent from the way his undead heart aches at the thought, with a pain he couldn’t possibly feel.

“I like you, but not like that.” – maybe this was worse. Actually, it was definitely worse. He may never recover. His ego would certainly never recover.

“I have someone else that I love.” – honestly, reasonable. What did he have to offer you after all? A bloodthirsty master and the occasional snarky comment? He wouldn’t be surprised to find you in Karlach’s tent at this very moment…

“I hate you.” – he might be able to take this the best. You should hate him. He’d done nothing but lie and manipulate his way into your bedroll. Hate, well, that he understood.

“I love you, but…” – every single 'but' cut like a different, jagged blade. But we’re in danger every day? An excuse, surely. But you come with too much baggage? True, but not something he would be able to resolve. But I don’t want to be with a monster? Again, reasonable, but out of his control.

Astarion runs through scenario after scenario, each one playing with his own emotions in a new and horrendous way. In the end, he all but slaps himself out of it.

No, I cannot tell them. I absolutely must take this to my second grave, he determines, shaking the thoughts away with a few hard blinks.

But the feeling in his chest is more persistent than ever. As if giving it a name and meaning has given it a new, annoying life. He laments to himself aloud, "I may never feel like myself again.”

If this is what love does to a person, he wants no part of it.

__

The vampire didn't have a restful night's reverie, that much is apparent. His mood is foul, his body tense, and his eyes are trying their damnedest to avoid yours. 

No way, he thinks as you all set off for the day. I spun myself into a frenzy last night. Clearly. I feel absolutely nothing–

Then you turn back to him, concern lining your eyes as you address him. What had you just said? He had found himself somehow lost in your eyes, your lips, the turn of your nose… 

Shit, he thinks to himself. No, get back in control. You have only just reclaimed yourself, you can't lose yourself to something as cruel as love.

But, try as he might, his eyes can’t avoid you. 

All morning, he continues to sneak glances your way. Despite his roguish nature, he finds hiding his stares to be impossible. After all, you are the group’s leader. You are at the front, you are at his side, gods, you are everywhere. This feels like some kind of divine punishment…

You catch him looking, of course. And each time, he curses himself, gods, you idiot. You may as well broadcast your feelings to the world. And hells, how long have you felt this way?

Astarion tries futilely to act normal. This is just another day with the group in the Shadowlands. He’s not thinking about holding your hand in his. He’s not thinking about the way you look when you sleep. And, above all else, he is not thinking of your lips or the way that they move when you say his name.

Despite his inner turmoil, the world moves on. You lead the group through the Mason’s Guild, and you all manage to clear the place out easily enough.

The vampire thinks he’s finally reaching some sort of peace. Yes, this routine work he can do. No problem at all.

Then, you say something kind to Karlach, that infernally charming woman, who continues to support you at your side. Who, for all intents and purposes, should be the person who warms your bedroll at night, now that you can touch her. Not him, the man who can only make your bedroll colder. Who, even now, is avoiding your every glance.

Oh hells, he thinks, face dropping. The realization that he’s right is too much for him to bear.

Astarion stalks off, annoyed at himself and his thoughts, needing a moment to recollect himself. I can do this, he thinks. I can do this. I can–

“Fuck,” he mutters under his breath once he knows he’s alone. “You’re supposed to get over this, you stupid fool. Shit. Gods dammit.”

He hears your familiar footfalls approaching and freezes, his shoulders tense with anticipation.

You find him in a pool of shadows away from the others, and he can’t help but feel like a beast that’s been cornered. He’s certain his face reflects that, reflects every bit of emotion he’s feeling as plain as could be, but your patience with him has apparently worn thin for the day. Your voice is less kind than usual when you say, “Do you need to talk?”

Seeing the anger in your face, the way that your hands are placed on your hips in annoyance, he knows he can’t keep his feelings to himself. He’ll only continue to push you away, into the strong, red arms of another.

No, he thinks, in a panic. I should– I need to–

He needs to do something about his feelings, unwanted or not. Really, he needs to tell you, regardless of what your response may be. If not, he may regret it for the rest of his undying life.

Now that he is in control of his own choices, he supposes that means all of them, for better or worse. That means even the most difficult ones. This is one of those difficult ones, isn’t it?

So Astarion swallows his pride, his anxieties, his insecurities, and settles his fate.

“Later,” he says, barely getting the words out. He blinks, and tries again, pleading with you with his eyes, “Please, just come by my tent later.”

Later, I will tell them. Everything.

[happy74827]

hiii love your writing! recently obsessed w harvey specter fics! would you do a really sweet soft side harvey one? or maybe harvey gets jealous and they fight but it ends fluffy?

Valentine

[Harvey Specter x GN!Reader]

Synopsis: With Harvey by your side, even with all his quirks, you can’t help but love him.

WC: 765

Category: Mega Fluff

Since I already wrote an argument type of fic, I decided on making it just pure fluff and admiration. Did Laufey and my friend help me with inspiration? Yes, yes they did. Also, happy *extremely late* Valentine’s Day!

『••✎••』

He likes Jazz, but not the kind that everyone knows. He likes the soft stuff, the smooth stuff, the kind that slips into your brain and massages your neurons and makes you think about life. The soothing melodies and the sweet crooning of old-school vocalists are like a drug to him, something that he can't ever really get enough of. The music is so powerful to him that it's even been known to lull him to sleep a time or two.

It’s things like this, the little things you’ve learned over the years about Harvey, like his love for pot roast and how he only watches the Knicks when they’re guaranteed a win. He absolutely hates being handed things, always takes his steak medium rare, and has a special love for black licorice, which you will never understand. It all helps give him his personality his quirks, and you love him for all of them, even if you don't agree with all of his food choices.

Harvey isn’t vocal about his feelings, but that’s not a problem because you know him well enough to tell just how he feels. You know the difference between the smile that is just a smile and the one that reaches his eyes. You know the way that his face goes slack, and his gaze softens when he looks at you. When he’s chewing on a pen, a grin spreading slowly across his face, you know it's because of something you've said or done, and you can't help the swell of pride that accompanies it.

You also know when something is bothering him. There are little clues, but if you catch him rubbing his forehead, it means he's frustrated or stressed, and you can't help but be concerned for his health. When his brows are furrowed, a telltale sign of deep thought, you can't help but worry. It doesn't help that he has the tendency to internalize his worries, never wanting to burden others with his problems, a habit you're trying to get him out of.

The way his fingers dance over his desk, twirling the pen he's holding, means that he's nervous, and you can't help the urge to pull his hands into yours, hold them still, and tell him that everything will be alright.

There are certain things about Harvey that you will never understand, like why he prefers to stay late and work through the night than to go home early or why he insists on getting his suits tailored even though they look amazing on him straight off the rack. But what you do understand is him, the person.

It took time, and it was hard, but you managed to peel back the layers of Harvey Specter, one by one until you had him figured out. There's not a day that goes by that you're not grateful for the fact that you get to spend the rest of your life with him, and the feeling only grows with every day that passes.

You can't imagine spending the rest of your life with anyone else. Waking up in that sleepy daze to see his face next to yours and falling asleep at night wrapped in his arms is the most comfortable and the safest that you've ever felt. Every morning that you open your eyes and see him there, you can't help the smile that stretches your lips and the warmth that fills your chest. You can't help but feel blessed.

It's hard sometimes. You won't lie. There are days when you feel like you're fighting an uphill battle, but in the end, it's all worth it.

You can tell by the look in his eyes when you're lying next to him on the couch that he thinks you're worth the world, and his lips on yours make it feel like the fight is easier than it is.

He doesn’t say it much, but you know. You can feel it in the way he holds you, see it in the way he looks at you, hear it in his voice when he says your name, and you can even smell it on his skin when you nuzzle your face into the crook of his neck.

It's there, in his touch, and that's more than enough for you. Suddenly, you understand what the old jazz greats meant when they sang about love because as long as Harvey is with you, the two of you can weather any storm.

He was your forever valentine, and as long as you're together, you can face the future without fear, and that's all the music you'll ever need.

[cupidseok]

hiii, do you think you could write about how riize would confess to their partner? the members are soo different from each other so i really wonder how it’d be for each member!

how riize would confess

AUTHOR'S NOTE happy early valentines to everyone seeing this <3 posting this early as i'll be away for cny,, happy cny to those celebrating too !

🩰 — SHOTARO invites you to his dance practice

shotaro who was over the moon when you told him that you thought he looked the coolest when he was dancing. so he decided to ask you to come watch him practice for his upcoming performance. he has never invited someone over to watch him dance before. dance was something he held so close to his heart.

he wants to impress you so badly :( but because he was nervous, he didn’t do well. you questioned him when you noticed how shotaro looked so tense and stiff. you knew shotaro was an amazing dancer, so you were concerned that he wasn’t feeling well.

“i’m nervous because someone i like is watching me.”

🗒️ — you find a post-it note on your desk from EUNSEOK

ever since you and eunseok have been assigned as seatmates, he has never stopped doodling little doraemons on the corners of your notebooks and worksheets. even when you slapped his hands away and asked him to stop ( because you actually wanted to pay attention ! why was he disturbing you >:( ) he would only softly laugh at you before proceeding to doodle on post-it notes and then passing them to you at the end of class.

one day, his doraemon looked a little different !! it had a little speech bubble that said, “i like you.” your heart almost stopped when you read it, but you knew eunseok liked to play little pranks on you, so you just ignored him.

“why are you not replying to my doraemon ? do you not like me ?”

proof that eunseok is picasso reincarnated :

📓 — SUNGCHAN has made a scrapbook for you

“for you,” sungchan mutters as he shoves a scrapbook in your hands. it definitely wasn’t the prettiest scrapbook you’ve seen; the pages were unevenly cut ( was that a coffee stain ? ), the photos were haphazardly glued and the stickers were plastered without any regard to a colour scheme.

hugging the scrapbook to your chest, you knew he probably spent weeks or even months on this, pouring his heart out on each and every page. jung sungchan was built for sports, not arts and crafts. you could tell by the remnants of glue stuck on his fingertips and specks of glitter under his left eye. but you, you were built for arts and crafts. and it touched you that he was willing to step into your world.

“if the time and effort i spent on the scrapbook isn’t enough to show my love for you, i’ll say it verbally too. i love you.”

💌 — you've received a love letter from WONBIN

heart pounding, cheeks flushed, tightly clutching his love letter, so many thoughts were rushing through wonbin’s head. was the twenty-fifth draft better ? his eyebrows furrowed as he tried to recall what he wrote on each draft. no time to think; you were here already.

you flashed him a soft smile and his cheeks flushed a deeper shade of red ( he felt like he was burning up ). “hey wonbin, why did you ask to meet m-” he swiftly pressed the now slightly crumpled love letter into your palm and quickly retreated before you could even respond. he couldn’t bear to see your reaction.

hi, this is wonbin. i like you, if it wasn’t already obvious enough. and i’m so sorry if this letter shocked you; i just needed to get it off my chest…

☀️ — SEUNGHAN brings you on a picnic

you remind seunghan of the sun. you were bright and burning like the sun at noon; your ambition was something he greatly admired. however, he wished you’d stop burning yourself away. that was his job – to keep you from shining too brightly and giving too much of yourself away. you were also soft and gentle like the sun in the morning, always willing to care for others and always so kind and forgiving to those who do not deserve it.

but when you’re seated next to him on the red and white checkered mat, he concludes that you remind him the most of the sun during the golden hour. beautiful, warm and fleeting. except he wishes to stay by your side forever.

“the sun is setting so fast.”

“it is, isn’t it.”

“i wish the sun would never set. i don’t want our time together to come to an end.”

🐵 — SOHEE gifts you a cute memento

“monchhichi !” sohee looks up from his book at the call of his nickname. ah, you were here to disturb him again. “what are you doing ?” you peeked over his shoulder. his heart almost fell out at the close proximity. did you truly have no idea of the effect you had on him ? or were you doing this on purpose ?

“i have something for you.” sohee stuffs his hand into his backpack, digging around. he pulled a monchhichi keychain and dangled it in front of your face. “monchhichi !” you let out a gasp of surprise. “did you really buy this for me ?”

“i’m going back to my hometown for a couple of weeks. i got it in case you’ll miss me.”

how monchhichi looks like just in case anyone doesn't know :

🎧 — ANTON has sent you a mp3 file

anton <3 

hi :) i made this for you. attached – mp3 file.

you sat down in front of your computer, still drying your wet hair. you had seen his message before you showered, but you felt too nervous to open it right away. heart fluttering in anticipation, you clicked on the file he sent.

folder 1 : songs i wrote for you

folder 2 : a playlist of songs that reminded me of you

folder 3 : my message to you

mouse hovering over folder 3 after you’ve listened to folders 1 and 2, you thought that anton was truly an angel sent from heaven. to love someone so deeply, to compose a song for them, to make a playlist for them.

a robotic computer voice read out, “folder 3, my message to you. now playing.”

your surroundings slowly fading as you focused on anton’s voice, “hi. you’ve probably listened to the other two folders already, right ? if you haven’t, you better listen to them first before continuing…”

© cupidseok — do not copy / repost / translate my works

[nysrage]

Rollin’ To Love, Onyankapon.

synopsis: you and your friends scheduled a girls night at cascade for valentines & love seemed to roll your way.

content: romance, fluff, hard to get reader, & barely suggestive themes.

ny’s notes: so while taking a short break to reflect & improve my writing i came up with this new au inspired by @kaegetsmewetter. i advise listening to the songs i linked during their little moment to really immerse yourselves & hope you enjoy! happy love day babies! 🏹🩷

“I-I’m going to fall!”

You didn’t think your valentine’s would be going this way but it was debatable that it was better than how you’d normally spend it. This same recycled day had been the same for as long as you could remember. Just you alone in your room eating ice cream and watching your favorite movie— love jones. The few romances you had never made it past this societies ‘talking stage’ or either ended up as one of those emotionally draining situationships. It was as if love and romance never truly worked for you and only brought trouble.

Slowly you’d come to accept it, until there was a ring of your doorbell. Opening the door to your friends holding balloons, roses and some valentines cookies, “HAPPY VALENTINES BOO!” brushing past you and welcoming themselves into your home. The sight putting a smile on your face, it’d been so long that someone had done something so special for you beside your parents. “Awe y’all really didn’t have to do this..” engulfing them into a group hug and holding them tight, grateful for such attentive friends.

“Girl you deserve to feel loved on this special day too! That’s why we decided to spend the night with you.” kyndall reassured, popping one of the pink candies in her mouth.

“So go get dressed loser, we’re going to cascade!” Dallas giggled, pushing you towards your room. Whirling around in her hold with a questioning brow. “Really cascade..?”

“What.? I’m tired of the club scene and we could use some good fun like when we were teens!” Dallas shrugged, with that soft glint of excitement in her eyes. “C’mon it’ll be fun..” kyndall coaxed, fluttering those volume lashes until you gave in. surrendering your hands in the air and walking towards your room.

“Okay, okay! No promises i’m getting in that rink tho!”

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

“Oh my god, i’m never letting yall convince me into coming here againn!” you whined, gripping onto your bestfriend’s jacket for dear life. Legs wobbling from the rolling skates gliding across the smooth floor not seeking to stop anytime soon, especially not with the crowd of people blocking your way to get to that safety wall you could hold onto.

Saturdays were still apparently the hottest for cascade, everyone seeking for fun outlet for the night. The flashing multicolored lights dancing around the walls and floors, as you and your friends entered. A upbeat set of early 2000’s song blasting over the speakers, as you waited in line to secure a pair of skates. “girl, girl girl. the niggas is out, look!” her constant tapping in of your arm made you finally look up. the group of skaters in particular that caught kyndall’s eye, vibing along to ray j’s ‘sex can i’ with their routines. the front two standing out from the rest, one with a colored buzz cut and street wear fashion. The other a fine chocolate man with a white fitted polo tee that hugged his slim-muscular build, and head full of soft deep waves. Beautiful smile still white and flashing even beneath the hues that illuminated the floor.

“Yeah, we got to get to that floor. Now.” kyndall swooned, grabbing her skates and footing towards the nearest bench to get them on.

“Damn bitch. wait for us!” Dallas laughed, the two of you following behind your eager friend.

Leading you right to this moment, settled into an uneasy stance and terrified of the little control you had over your legs right now. Skates clunking against one another as you tried your best to glide smoothly across the floor. “you got it, glide one foot after the other..” Dallas instructed, but it just seemed as if your uncoordinated body just couldn’t get with it. Wobbling above the laminated floor. Hands wrapped tightly around hers as a effort to keep yourself steady and upright, praying that you wouldn’t eat up the floor.

“Okay, m’gonna let go.” Dallas nodded, eyes on yours as she slowly released your hand. “Don’t overthink it boo.” Your body wobbling a little before it steadied as you continued to roll slowly. “I-I think i got it..” you breathed out, hand cautiously out in front of you.

“Think you’ll be good while i take a few quick laps?” She questioned and you nodded, waving her off trying to concentrate on keeping yourself steady. Counting your steps to yourself as you try not to fall on your ass in front of the big ass crowd of people. Smiling to yourself at the slightest improvement and increase in speed until another skater brushed past you, bumping into your side with a scoff. “Girl move your non-skating ass out the rink, tryna be seen n’ shit..”

Tripping over your skates and stumbling forward when suddenly a quick hand caught your arm. One strong hand resting on your waist and steadying your body before your feet could’ve swept up off the ground. “woah, you good ma?” A shaky breath left your lips as you brush your crimped hair from out of your face, “Yea, i-i’m just gonna—” refusing to look up, rolling away with a face full of embarrassment. Strong hand still holding onto your arm until you sat firmly along the bench. “Don’t trip, it’s a lot of people showing out for the crowd.”

“Slow sets the best to roll to.”

If it was even possible you became more embarrassed once your eyes met the person talking to you, The man being one of the smooth skaters that led one of the groups from earlier. Now that he was up close you could take him in fully, from his perfectly sculpted jawline to his tattoo covered arms. Those pearly white canines covered with custom open faced grills on display as he expressed his love for slow sets. barely even realizing you’d been staring awkwardly as you looked him over, but he paid it no mind just properly introducing himself to you. “Shit my bad I’m onyankapon, most just call me ony tho.”

“y/n.” briefly introducing yourself, “i can’t see how y’all do all this without falling on your ass..” you huffed, frustrated from the short time you spent out in the rink.

Ony laughed at your cute little pout, taking a seat next to you. He couldn’t lie you caught his eyes from the moment he saw you. Pretty skin glowing beneath the illuminated lights as you cautiously rolled within the crowd of people, lip tucked behind your pretty teeth with focus in your eyes. “Been doing this since grade school, plenty of practice.”

“but you just feel and move with the beat” he further explained, pointing out the many people that demonstrated his words. “Don’t think just let your body do all the work and it’ll come to you..”

The dj mixed into a slow set, the lights dimming into soft romantic hues as the ‘unthinkable’ remix by alicia keys and drake began blasting through the speakers. Mood quickly setting in as the skaters eased into the tempo, dj extending the intro as he shares his quick sentiment over the mic. “This for all my single people that hadn’t quite found that one, or even haven’t found the right words to say your ready for more. but ima help you get to ‘em tonight!”

Unbeknownst it was a song the both of you found yourselves listening to quite often these days. Not knowing when that right person would come into your life and changing that lonely destiny you found yourself believing more and more. Mindlessly swaying to the beat, ony gave you a quick glance before standing with his hand held out for you. Your eyes widening in panic when he suddenly ask you to skate with him but he wouldn’t take no for an answer, not when this had been that meant to be feeling this exact song had spoken of. Not waiting for him to finally get his one on one time with you eventually while he was in his element, and if he had to take the lead then he’d do exactly that.

“oh, no, no, no.” reaching back for a seat that was no longer in your grasp, ony shooting that same charming smile that caught your sights earlier as he pulled you onto the floor against your will. “i got you pretty, you trust me..?”

A small look of uncertainty occupying your face as you look over the crowd of skaters that vanished as you look back into his sincere eyes, giving in and uneasily skating forward to get closer to his towering form. Ony met you halfway and suavely spun your body into his, arms snaking around your waist as you took a slow unsteady breath as his hands rest just above your inner thighs. Heart thumping wildly in your chest as your body grows warm from those minuscule touches. Mind filled with nothing but him in that moment, that intoxicating jimmy choo cologne took over your senses as his protective arms tightened around you. Body turning to putty as you practically melting into his arms, nothing but a soft whisper leaving your lips.

“ony..”

“just focus on me…” warm breath fanning against your skin as his lip brushed the shell of your ear, keeping you pressed flush against him. Helping guide your movement to the slow rhythmic beat of the song, your small soft hands resting atop of his comfortably. Body submissively relaxing into his as you following his lead, swaying in sync as the two of you lose yourselves in a sensual stroll “there you go, feel the beat.” tapping softly to the beat against your thigh.

Maintaining a steady speed as if there were no one else in the building but the two of you. Strolling together for the rest of the night until the dj came to a satisfied close, happy with the outcome his slow sensual set had for the day of love. The two of you walking out the building together as the muffled music leaking through the doors. “Thank you for tonight.” you smiled, nervously pushing a loose crimp behind your ear. “Your a really good instructor.”

“Well I had a good partner.” he chuckled, that charm of his now in full swing “If you ever wanted to learn some more moves, I could give you my number..”

“Maybe even make into a little weekly date.”

“Maybe..” you hummed, looking him over as you backed away towards your friends. “same day and time next week?”

“bet, I never got your number tho.” reaching for his phone, as you giggled in the distance. Testing his patience on how much time and effort he’d really put into getting to know you, Opening the passenger door with a small smirk. “I know, see you next week ony..”

Leaving ony nothing but the memory of you and a mental note to be here waiting for you the next week.