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emmg · 14 hours ago

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Aftertaste

The Emmrook modern Sugar Daddy AU I've been spinning in my brain like a rotisserie chicken finally got its seasoning. Shoutout to @thepalehorsevictoria's WONDERFUL, AMAZING, ABSOLUTELY LIFE-ALTERING The Internship for delivering the motivational slap I needed to actually finish the first stupid chapter. You're all welcome, probably.

She would look exquisite sprawled out on his pima cotton sheets, wouldn’t she? Perhaps he’d drape her in coins, or bills—her choice, naturally, though one suspects she’d opt for the flashiest, the most garish option, something appropriately Rook. And afterward, he’d collapse into her shoulder, sobbing like a maudlin fool, his tears soaking through the remnants of her ridiculous blouse. A tableau of absurdity: him, the tragic romantic, and her, the irreverent Venus, reeking faintly of cheap vanilla.

Read it here, under the cut, or on AO3

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Chapter 1: Oysters Are Gross

At fifty-two years and three days old, Emmrich finally surrenders. He grants Bellara—his chirpy, chattering, insufferably radiant assistant—permission to "set him up." Bellara, of course, is all gleaming eyes and endless sentences, a creature so bright she could burn holes in the wallpaper. He agrees because he is fifty-two years and three days old and it hits him: an unbearable, senseless loneliness.

He stares blankly at the wall, realizing that the majority of those who wished him well on this fifty-two-year-and-three-day milestone—up to ninety percent of them—are colleagues.

Happy birthday, Emmrich. Love, Amélie.

Ah, Amélie. His Orlesian once-mistress. The text is a masterstroke of brevity. He allows himself a smile before retrieving his reading glasses and composing a reply.

Thank you, darling. Always a pleasure.

The message is sent. Amélie, of course, does not deign to reply.

Well, then.

His gaze shifts to the bottle of absinthe perched on the counter, a gift from the Dean and faculty, no doubt purchased more out of obligation than admiration. The label gleams mockingly. He frowns, swirls the dregs of his glass, and drains it in a single swallow.

Bellara, that dainty tempest of enthusiasm, is promptly unleashed to do her worst. He delivers his consent carefully, his back turned to her as she flits about the library, slipping borrowed books back onto shelves. Borrowed, mind you, some three—or was it four?—months ago. The real marvel isn't her returning them but the improbable fact that she remembered taking them at all. He phrases his acquiescence in a way that suggests, naturally, he is the one doing her a favor. (Ha. Of course.)

“Ooooh, perfect!” she chirps, a human hummingbird vibrating with unsolicited opinions. “She’s like so, so pretty. Her nose? Upturned—and that’s super trendy right now. People are flying to Antiva for rhinoplasty because it’s cheaper there. Crazy, right? And she’s tall. Well, not as tall as you, obviously, but still tall. And thin. And just… really, really pretty. Like she totally knows it though. Ugh, I’m probably ruining this. Anyway, she’s so pretty, professor.”

Her voice trails off.

He stops listening somewhere between "rhinoplasty" and "tall." He has neither the patience for Bellara’s reverence for the human scaffolding of beauty nor the bandwidth to follow her avalanche of adjectives.

Bellara flutters on, blissfully unaware she’s been tuned out.

****

“What are we thinking, Manfred?” he inquires, addressing the ties spread on the bed as though consulting an oracle. His arms are crossed, his brow raised. “Cerulean or hunter green?”

“Woof,” replies Manfred, the household philosopher and occasional canine.

“Thank you, darling boy,” he sighs, selecting the latter. The cerulean can sulk in the drawer another day.

He assembles himself with meticulous care, a sacred ritual. The three-piece suit is virgin wool, soft, lustrous, perfect. The vest, of course, matches. His hair, combed back with fragrance-free pomade, achieves that delicate balance of hold without crunch. He is not, he assures himself, some adolescent with a tube of glue masquerading as hair gel, desperate to look like he just emerged from a car wash. No, he assures himself, he is a man of taste.

The finishing touch is his cologne: a concoction of galbanum, juniper, violet leaf, and oakmoss. It doesn’t just suggest expense; it shouts it in carefully modulated tones. The sort of scent that might cause an uninitiated passerby to pause and wonder, “Is this man a connoisseur—or simply insufferable?” Amélie, of course, once called it "enticing."

Finally, two of his rings come off. Why? Because one never knows. Bellara’s friend might be pretty, but she also might be a thief. No sense tempting fate—or petty larceny.

He looks in the mirror one last time, adjusts the hunter green tie, and decides he looks exactly like the sort of man who would judge someone for stealing his rings.

Before leaving, he conducts his usual pre-departure sweep: oven off (because clearly, he’s the type to bake a pie and forget it), television off (lest it drone on to an audience of none), no faucets running (oh, the horrors of a dripping tap), and, naturally, no texts waiting to be answered (as if). This exercise in obsessive futility provides him no satisfaction, only the faint assurance that his house won’t combust or flood in his absence.

He realizes he's doing it out of nervousness.

Satisfied that the house won’t spontaneously combust in his absence, he turns to Manfred, the sole companion he trusts for an honest opinion. “Not too shabby?” he ventures, striking a pose that could only be described as overly hopeful.

Manfred, ever the truth-teller, responds in the only way befitting such a ridiculous question: he vomits on the carpet.

****

The restaurant is Orlesian, of course—where else would one go to feel simultaneously underfed and overcharged? He knows the head chef, a relic of his undergrad years, back when dormitory life was a parade of poorly considered ambitions and even worse hygiene. Xavier, once the proud owner of a neuroscience textbook he never opened, had been convinced he would unravel the mysteries of the brain—until the brain, or rather the workload required to study it, unraveled him instead.

His grand response to this betrayal? Elfroot—smoked with dedication—and a catastrophic assault on their shared kitchen that left it resembling the aftermath of a culinary riot. Naturally, a few years later, Xavier inexplicably emerged as a celebrated chef, the sort whose name is murmured reverently in food columns and shouted across crowded dinner parties by people desperate to sound cultured.

It’s a miracle, really, the sort of alchemy only student dorms can produce: turning the least functional among them into the toast of society, while everyone else just gets crumbs.

He’s early, of course. Emmrich is always early, a man cursed with the kind of politeness that borders on masochism. Being late might suggest a lack of respect, but being early? That’s the calling card of someone determined to suffer.

He orders an apéritif because sitting idle feels too desperate, even for him. Something stronger than advisable but, then again, he has no intention of driving tonight—or doing anything particularly sensible, for that matter. A Negroni it is. Predictable. As Johanna had so graciously put it, he’s a “basic bitch,” forever drawn to whatever the masses have deemed fashionable this week.

He's nouveau riche like that. Here he is, nursing a drink that tastes like regret and orange peel, sitting early at an overpriced Orlesian restaurant, the living embodiment of someone trying just a little too hard.

And—oh. Damn her. Bellara was right. Of course, she was right. Why wouldn’t she be? Rook, she’d called her. Pretty, tall, unbearably young. And so very, very pretty—pretty to the point of redundancy. The kind of prettiness that practically begs to be noticed, long pale hair cascading like the overly poetic description she’d no doubt receive in a novel some day.

“Emmrich?” she says, her eyes darting around the room as though she expects a less disappointing Emmrich to materialize from behind a potted fern. Surely, this can’t be the one.

“Indeed,” he says, and because he’s a gentleman—or at least a serviceable facsimile—he forces himself to stand. Hurrying to her side, he pulls out her chair with an eagerness that feels as rehearsed as it is exhausting. She sits, and only then does he allow himself to return to his own seat, feeling rather like an actor who’s just survived the first act of a particularly humiliating play.

“Hm,” Rook says.

She is smiling. This must be good. Surely, it’s good. Someone so young, so lovely, smiling at him. Smiling for him. Or at him? Is there a difference? Does it matter?

“Shall we start with a drink?” he asks, his voice striving for charm and almost, almost getting there.

“You’re grey,” she says, blunt as a hammer. “Like, almost fully.”

“Ah,” he says, because, really, what else is there? Words fail him, but her casually devastating remark does not. It feels as though she’s reached across the table and punched him in the throat with that pretty, unmanicured hand of hers, leaving him gasping for dignity. “I am.” He swallows hard and, for one fleeting moment, wonders if shattering his glass and dragging a shard theatrically across his wrist might salvage the evening—or at least end it with style. “Does that bother you?”

A languid shrug. “No.” She lifts the menu with an air of detachment that makes him wonder if she is reading it or simply holding it to avoid looking at him. “How old are you?”

Fifty-two-years-and-ten-days, not that anyone’s counting. “Bellara didn’t tell you about me?”

“Bellara said you were rich.” Fantastic. His favorite personality trait. “And lonely.” Marvelous. The perfect companion to wealth, like cheese to wine. “And that you smell good.” Well, thank heavens. If nothing else, he’s fragrant—a consolation prize for his apparent lack of other redeeming qualities. “And…” She leans into the menu, her nose wrinkling in what he assumes is concentration but could just as easily be disdain. Does she need glasses? Should he offer her his? Would that be erotic or just pathetically sad? “Not married,” she finishes.

There it is: rich, lonely, perfumed, and unattached. A portrait painted in four brushstrokes, with no room for nuance.

He raises a hand, signaling the server. If he is to endure the rest of this encounter, it will be with a drink in hand, preferably something strong enough to blunt the edge of her candor.

"And what about you, Rook?" he asks, once her cocktail arrives, a vulgar, lurid concoction so bright it might glow in the dark. Her lipstick smears on the straw (a straw... In this restaurant? Did Xavier finally give up?). "How would you describe yourself?"

Her grin is dazzling, predatory. "Not rich," she declares. "Very, very not rich," as though he might have misinterpreted her financial despair. "So you’ll have to excuse me, because I have no fucking clue how to deal with all these." She gestures broadly at the table. "Utensils. That one—yeah, that. Why is there a baby fork?"

"It’s an oyster fork."

"You ordered oysters?"

"I did."

"Oysters are supposed to make you horny, you know."

He tips his head back in silent prayer, his gaze fixed on the ceiling, which sadly offers no escape. "The aphrodisiac effects are largely exaggerated," he mutters, clinging to his last shred of dignity. "They are high in zinc, yes, but otherwise... they’re simply a standard appetizer."

"I mean, yeah. It’s like swallowing unwashed pussy."

He chokes.

"But to answer you," Rook says, now smoothing the napkin over her lap with the deliberation of someone unused to starched linens, "literature. I just got into grad school. My brain’s about ready to explode. I’ve spent the last two weeks applying for every fellowship I could find. Leliana—that’s my supervisor—says that’s just how it is. Not much funding for the humanities."

Ah, he thinks, so the sewer of profanity comes with a surprisingly functional brain. Who knew?

"And what will your thesis be about?" he asks. "The broad strokes, of course."

She perks up, her expression suddenly alight with a kind of zeal he recognizes all too well—the sort of gleam he’s seen in his own reflection, mid-tangent, while his colleagues quietly plotted their escape. "The treatment of regional culinary rituals in early Orlesian romantic epics," she announces, her tone brimming with the self-assured pride of someone convinced their niche could save the world. "I’m particularly interested in how feasting scenes reflect class dynamics and metaphysical longing."

"Feasting and metaphysical longing," he echoes. "An underexplored intersection, no doubt."

"It is, actually," she says, unfazed. "Leliana thinks it could open up new discussions about the interplay between consumption and identity in pre-industrial Orlais."

He takes a long sip of his drink. "Well," he says finally, "good to know I will be dining with a pioneer in the field of… gastronomic existentialism."

"Lucky you," Rook agrees.

"And this pioneer," he quips because he simply cannot resist, "despite devoting her studies to the poetic glow of Orlesian candlelit dinners, cannot distinguish a fish fork from a dessert spoon?"

"Emmrich," Rook says, her glass drained, the fuchsia stain of passion fruit now blooming on her lips like some accidental masterpiece. "I read about Orlesians fucking each other with cucumbers, then slicing them up for a salad as if foreplay and vinaigrette belong in the same breath. About butter smeared in places it absolutely shouldn’t be—used as lube, naturally—but no one ever writes about the yeast infections that come knocking afterward. About cream dripping off nipples, thighs, mouths, smeared across banquet tables while someone’s ass is planted squarely in a soufflé. Wine bottles being repurposed into toys, and baguettes going places that would make a priest faint." She yawns, lifting her empty glass to hide it. "That’s what I read about," she concludes. "Not whether the trout gets a dedicated fork."

The evening unravels as such evenings will: chaotically, gracelessly. Her cheeks are flushed from the wine he selected with care—wine she downs with all the finesse of a college freshman, pausing only to declare, loudly and without irony, that her "broke ass is never affording anything like this ever again." He lets her finish most of it, partly because she’s right, and partly because there’s something oddly charming about her bluntness, even if her choice of words makes him long for an eject button.

By the end of the meal, she’s swaying faintly, her steps wobbling like a poorly directed marionette. Outside, as he contemplates whether to purchase a pack of cigarettes or step directly into oncoming traffic, he notices her face in the streetlight: still so, so pretty despite her vocabulary, which might as well be a butcher knife to his sensibilities. He’s always had a weakness for pretty things, after all, even if he insists to himself that he’s far too sentimental for anything reckless or self-destructive. And yet... and yet...

He likes her hair; long, absurdly long, as though she’s been growing it since birth for the sole purpose of draping it over her shoulders at pretentious dinners. It’s pale, but not quite; between shades, as though it couldn’t be bothered to settle on a single identity. Almost brown here, almost silver there, the kind of blonde that pretentious novels would insist on calling “ethereal” or “ghostly,” though to him it looks like indecision with a sheen. He likes the gray of her eyes, too, though “like” might be the wrong word—they’re so washed-out they seem more like placeholders for real eyes, a vague suggestion of color. How can something be so devoid of pigment?

A sharp clink breaks his thoughts. He looks down to see her car keys, glinting on the asphalt. She wobbles as she bends to retrieve them, then squints into the darkness like a drunk sailor searching for shore.

"I know I didn’t park that far away," she mutters, turning in a slow, unsteady circle. "Ugly silver two-seater. Big scratch on the passenger window. Do you see it?"

"You are not driving," he whispers, scandalized, his voice shrill enough to summon pigeons. And there it is: the moment he transforms from potential suitor to overbearing mother hen. Splendid. Truly, the very picture of charm. "Allow me to call you a cab."

"Noooo," she whines, stretching the word to absurdity, her voice pitched somewhere between a tantrum and a drunken lullaby. "I don’t want to trek back up here tomorrow to get my car. I don’t live close, you know."

"Even so," he presses, his tone teetering dangerously close to because I said so.

"No. Not even so."

The key wrestle begins, a ridiculous little tug-of-war that makes him feel like he should be calling her "young lady" and throwing out such gems as "Behave yourself" and "Think of the consequences." All the sort of dreary phrases a man her father’s age might deploy with righteous indignation.

But of course, he isn’t her father. No, no—father figures don’t let their gaze drift, as his does now, to the teasing dip of her blouse, where the faintest edge of black lace peeks out like a taunt. Father figures don’t notice the flush creeping up her cheeks or the sway in her unsteady defiance, nor do they fixate on the maddeningly smug curl of her lips. And they certainly don’t entertain thoughts about how those lips might feel wrapped around—oh, splendid, just splendid. He’s not only lost the moral high ground but seems intent on building a summer home somewhere in the depths of his own depravity.

But she would look absolutely divine sprawled out on his pima cotton sheets, wouldn’t she? No doubt a far cry from whatever bargain-bin monstrosities she sleeps on—some threadbare polyester set reeking faintly of last week’s takeout. She could lie there, all flushed and glistening, while he buries his mouth between her legs, tasting her like a man starved. And then, if he whispered it sweetly enough, maybe—just maybe—she’d straddle him, her nails dragging down his chest, leaving scratches he’d probably pretend not to admire later.

And afterward, he would probably cry into her shoulder, his tears dampening whatever remains of her ridiculous blouse. They could discuss Orlesians committing atrocities against food and sex while she smokes one of his cigarettes and he, in his most pitiful depths, silently composes a thank-you note to Bellara for orchestrating this grand act of self-destruction.

He takes the keys away from her at last and summons a car with his phone. Even an old-timer, tradition-bound relic such as himself can marvel at the efficiency of these cursed apps.

"I will return them to you tomorrow," he says, holding them out of reach. "May I have your number? You can tell me where to meet you." He pauses, catching himself mid-fall into the abyss of creepy old man territory. Don’t ask for her address, Emmrich. Don't be weird. "Or, if that’s too forward," he adds with a touch of forced charm, "I can hand them off to Bellara. She would probably love another excuse to meddle in our lives."

"Fine, fine," Rook mutters, snatching his phone and jabbing at the screen with the grace of a caffeinated woodpecker before handing it back.

When the car arrives, she leans in for a half-hearted hug, her small breasts brushing against him briefly, her cheap, aggressively synthetic vanilla perfume wafting into his nostrils like an attack. It smells like something one might spritz on a cupcake, and yet—Gods help him—he finds himself wanting to drown in it.

Ten minutes later, his phone pings.

blra said it was your bday. hppy bday

#lol idk i mean this man was made to be a sugar daddy #and im not sorry hehe #emmrook #rook x emmrich #emmrook fic #emmrook fanfic #dragon age the veilguard #datv #emmrich volkarin #my stupid writing lol

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maretinelli · 13 hours ago

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FLOWER CONNECTION

Daniel Ricciardo X florist!fem!reader

Summary: A wrong flower delivery connects Y/n, a florist passionate about what she does, and Daniel, a charismatic driver. What starts as a mistake turns into an unexpected chance for something more.

Words: 2.5K+

Warnings: Nothing fancy, just romance and cute.

Author: English is not my first language, so I apologize for any mistakes that may be in the story. And you can request stories on my profile in messages or questions. ❤️🇧🇷

MASTERLIST

It was spring in Bruges, and Y/n's small flower shop was at the height of its activity. The place exuded the sweet aroma of fresh flowers, and the atmosphere was a spectacle of colors. Y/n was completely immersed in her work, organizing arrangements with quick and dexterous hands. The orders kept coming.

It was a special week for weddings, birthdays and declarations of love, which meant that she and Jenny, her best friend and right-hand woman at the flower shop, were practically living inside the shop.

"Y/n, another big order has come in!" Jenny announced, holding up a large list. "I don't know how we're still standing.

Y/n let out a quick laugh as she adjusted the last few roses in a breathtaking bouquet.

"It's love, Jenny. There's no rest for love."

They continued to pack bouquets and hurriedly check addresses. The doorbell rang constantly, announcing delivery men coming and going with packages.

However, amid the rush, a small detail went unnoticed by Y/n. When reviewing the last order, she did not notice that the hotel name and room number were similar to another one nearby.

Hours later, as night fell in Bruges, Daniel Ricciardo was in his hotel room. He had just taken a relaxing bath after a long day of interviews and Formula 1-related commitments.

Wearing a comfortable t-shirt and shorts, he was about to watch something on TV when he heard a knock on the door.

"One second!" He called, walking to the door with a smile on his face, as always.

Upon opening it, he found a hotel employee holding an elegant bouquet.

"Good evening, Mr. Ricciardo. We received this at reception, it appears to be addressed to your room."

Daniel frowned, clearly surprised. He accepted the bouquet carefully.

"Okay...thanks."

"That's a lovely bouquet. Someone must like you very much, sir."

"Haha, maybe." Daniel gave a slightly disconcerted laugh, closing the door soon after.

Holding the arrangement, he walked to the small table in the room, still confused. He took a picture and sent it to his mother with the message: "Did you send the flowers? Some special occasion I forgot?"

The answer came almost instantly: "It wasn't me, dear. Maybe it was from a fan?"

Daniel raised his eyebrows, shaking his head. "A fa? How would anyone know what hotel I'm in? And the room number?" He muttered to himself.

He was about to forget about it when he noticed a small card attached to the bouquet. Picking it up, he carefully opened it and read it.

"To my dear Anne. Thank you for being the light of my life. Love, Henry."

As he finished reading, he burst out laughing, the sound echoing through the silent room. "Then it was a mistake..."

He turned the card over and on the back was printed the name of the florist responsible for the arrangement: Floréale Boutique

Determined to solve the mistake and return the bouquet, Daniel found himself with a very different mission than the ones he was used to.

The morning dawned peacefully and enchantingly in Bruges. The shy sun painted the city's stone facades with golden hues, while the cobblestone streets began to come to life. Bicycles passed slowly, accompanied by tourists taking photos of the charming buildings.

At the flower shop, Y/n and Jenny had just arrived for another day of work. Jenny. Carrying two coffees in her hands, she opened the door while Y/n adjusted her scarf around her neck.

"And let another day of flowery chaos begin!" Jenny joked, handing one of the coffees to Y/n.

Y/n laughed, unlocking the door and turning on the shop lights. "Are you excited for the chaos? Because I just want to survive it."

Neither of them had noticed the small mistake they had made the previous afternoon. With so many orders coming out of the store, it seemed impossible to remember every detail, and since no one had called to complain or report a missing bouquet, they both believed that everything was perfectly in order.

While Jenny went to the back of the store to prepare the day's arrangements, Y/n stayed at the counter, checking orders and confirming deliveries that would be made later.

"Jenny, don't you think there should be an official holiday for florists?" Y/n asked in an amused tone.

"Only if we get a bouquet as a bonus. Of expensive flowers, please."

The two laughed as the day at the flower shop began to gain pace.

Across town, Daniel was leaving his hotel room with the bouquet in hand. He walked down the hallway, attracting a few curious glances from the hotel staff, until the sound of quick footsteps caught his attention.

"Good morning, Danny!" Lando appeared, looking at the bouquet in his friend's hands with an amused smile. "Who's the lucky lady?"

Daniel laughed, already expecting the provocation.

"Nobody. I got this by mistake last night. Look." He took the note out of his pocket and handed it to Lando.

Lando read it quickly, frowning.

"Henry to Anne? Hm, that must have been quite an important statement." He handed the note back. "But the bouquet is too pretty to return, man."

Daniel chuckled, adjusting the arrangement in his hands.

"It's really pretty, but I'm taking it back. The florist put her name on the back of the card. Someone must be trying to figure out where the flowers went."

"Or you could keep them and call them your own." Lando teased, winking.

Daniel shook his head, laughing.

"Only you, Norris."

They got into the elevator, and Daniel checked the address of the flower shop once more on his phone. Once they reached the lobby, Daniel said goodbye to his colleague and left, walking through the charming streets of the city, following the map on his phone to make sure he didn't get lost.

At the flower shop, Jenny was busy in the back, deftly assembling bouquets while Y/n served customers at the counter. She was adjusting a vase of tulips on the display when she heard the bell on the door ring, indicating that someone had entered.

Lifting her head, she smiled immediately, as she always did when welcoming a customer.

But this time, the man who came in was no ordinary customer. Daniel walked in with the bouquet in his hands, his eyes curious as he looked around.

He found the place charming: Walls covered with shelves filled with vases and arrangements, a floral scent in the air and a touch of rusticity that made the environment seem welcoming.

Then he saw her. The woman behind the counter, with a simple bun, comfortable jeans, and a light-colored blouse, gave him a sweet smile. Something inside him quickened.

Daniel had never believed in love at first sight. But at that moment, something changed.

"Good morning. How can I help you?" Y/n asked, keeping her tone professional, although something about his presence also made her uneasy. He seemed familiar, but she couldn't quite place it.

Y/n noticed the bouquet he was carrying and frowned slightly.

"I..." Daniel began, smiling slightly as he looked at the bouquet. "I think this is yours." Y/n stared at him, confused, as he placed the arrangement on the counter. "I got this last night, at my hotel. It came with this note..." He pulled the card out of his pocket and handed it to Y/n. "...But I don't know a Henry, or an Anne."

Daniel laughed lightly, but his voice carried a warmth that made Y/n feel at ease.

As she read the card, she covered her face with one hand, clearly embarrassed. "Oh my God, this... this is a terrible mistake. I'm so sorry."

She picked up the bouquet carefully, still stunned by her carelessness.

"No problem" Daniel said, his voice calm. "I even had fun trying to guess who sent it."

Y/n laughed, even though she felt mortified. "Well, I'm glad you came to bring it. And, once again, I apologize."

The pilot smiled. "Maybe the mistake was good. After all, it got me here."

Y/n tried to hide the slight blush that still tinged her cheeks as she watched Daniel walk through the aisles of the store. He seemed genuinely interested, his eyes shining as he passed each carefully assembled arrangement.

“This looks like a compact field of flowers,” he commented with a playful smile. “It smells like paradise. I definitely need to come here more often.”

Y/n laughed, crossing her arms slightly. "That's the idea. I want it to be a place where people feel good, surrounded by beautiful things."

Daniel turned to face her, his brown eyes fixed on hers. "Well, you did it. I don't think I've ever seen anything so... charming."

For a moment, Y/n wasn’t sure if he was talking about the store or her. But before she could answer, Daniel pointed to an arrangement of vibrant yellow flowers on one of the shelves.

"These sunflowers are beautiful," he said.

"They're my favorite." Y/n smiled as she looked at the sunflowers, her eyes softening. "They remind me that even on the darkest days, you can find light. Always turn to the sunshine, you know?"

Daniel nodded, a genuine smile playing on his lips. “That’s beautiful.” He paused for a moment, as if in thought, before adding, “I’ve always liked lavender. Its scent reminds me of my childhood in Australia. My mother used to have it at home.”

"Lavenders are wonderful," Y/n replied, her voice soft. "And the scent is so calming. I think they say a lot about you."

"Really?" Daniel arched an eyebrow, intrigued.

"Yes" she teased, a smile tugging at her lips. "Maybe you're more sentimental than you let on."

Daniel laughed, raising his hands in a gesture of surrender. "You got me. I'm a lost cause."

The relaxed interaction between the two seemed natural, as if they had known each other for a long time. Daniel noticed the ease with which Y/n smiled and how the passion for what she did shone in her eyes.

"How long have you been here?" he asked, genuinely curious.

“I opened this shop three years ago. Me and my best friend,” she replied, arranging the bouquet on the counter. “It was a childhood dream. I’ve always loved flowers, and Bruge seemed like the perfect place to start.”

Daniel looked around again, admiring her work. "Well, you did a great job. You can feel that everything here has a special touch."

Y/n gave a shy smile. "Thank you. It's nice to hear that from someone who... well, clearly has good taste."

He laughed, shaking his head. "I'm starting to think it was lucky I got that wrong bouquet. Otherwise I wouldn't have known about this place or you,"

The words made Y/n feel a comfortable warmth in her chest, but she forced herself to keep her tone professional. "Well, I'm glad you came, even with the mistake."

Daniel took a step closer, still enchanted by the place. "Me too. And since I'm here, maybe I should buy something... to make up for the visit."

Y/n arched an eyebrow in amusement. "If you want, I can help you choose."

He smiles and Y/n puts her hands in her pants pocket, trying to hide her nervousness.

"Actually, I already know which one." Daniel looks around the flower shop and then sees a bouquet of ready-made sunflowers. "Those ones over there!" He discreetly points to the bouquet and she smiles.

"Good choice. You know," Y/n smiled, walking past him as she reached the bouquet to pick it up. "You can write a note. Whoever you want to send it to. There are some papers and colored pens on the counter."

Daniel smiles and nods, walking over to the counter and writing a few things on the front and back of the paper.

Y/n passed the bouquet to the cashier, smiling as she rang up the sale. “Are you going to deliver it yourself or do you want us to ship it? We have a great delivery service.”

Daniel pondered for a moment before answering, a mischievous smile playing on his lips. "I think I'll take the shipment...I just met her."

Y/n blinked a few times, surprised, before smiling, a little shy. She felt her face heat up, but controlled herself.

Daniel took the note he had written and carefully attached it to the bouquet. 'There, here it is. It was great meeting you. I promise to come back while I'm in town... uh... I haven't asked your name yet...'

"Y/n, nice to meet you." She extends her hand across the counter and he shakes it, smiling.

"Daniel"

Y/n smiled back as he began to leave. "It was a pleasure, Daniel. And again, sorry for the mistake."

"Mistakes aren't always bad," the pilot replied with a wink, before opening the flower shop door and leaving.

Y/n watched him cross the street, the morning sun illuminating his features as he waved to her through the window, then disappeared. She stood still for a few seconds, as if processing everything that had just happened.

Returning to the counter, Y/n picked up the note he had attached to the bouquet to type the address into the system. As soon as she read the recipient, she frowned slightly, but with a smile growing on her lips. The address was that of the flower shop itself.

Intrigued, she carefully opened the note and read the handwritten words:

'To the florist who, in just a few minutes, made my day. I hope these flowers are a reminder of how you light up the room around you. I'd like to get to know you better. How about a coffee?'

Daniel.

On the back was his phone number.

Y/n smiled like a lovesick teenager, barely able to contain her excitement. That was when Jenny came out from the back of the store, holding a cardboard box and raising an eyebrow when she noticed Y/n's expression.

"Why do you have that face? Did you win the lottery or something?"

Y/n laughed, hiding the note behind the counter. "I just served the sweetest customer in the world... and he bought me flowers."

Jenny's eyes widened, dropping the box on the floor. "Wait, what? He bought you flowers? And you accepted? This is like a romance movie!"

"I didn't even know until now," Y/n replied, laughing but still with blush on her cheeks.

"And what did he say? Are you going out with him? Because honestly, you need to. The universe doesn't throw one of these at you every day."

Y/n just shrugged, an enigmatic smile on her lips.

Hours later, when she got home, Y/n picked up the phone and dialed the number Daniel had left. She hesitated for a moment before pressing the call button, but when she heard his voice answer on the other end, she knew she had made the right choice.

From that first meeting at the café, their romance blossomed. Daniel and Y/n were different in many ways, but there was something undeniably special about how they complemented each other.

He adored her passion for flowers, while she was enchanted by his adventurous spirit.

Their dates were filled with laughter, heartfelt conversations, and small gestures that showed how much they cared for each other. In every exchange of glances and every shared smile, it seemed clear: they were made for each other.

Author: This is going to sound crazy, but I thought the actor who played Ryle in "It Ends with Us" looked a lot like Daniel. I think I'm going crazy, so I should write this to get it out of my head.

#fanfiction #y/n #romance #imagines #one shot #formula 1 #formula one #fem reader #daniel ricciardo x reader #daniel ricciardo

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bethfuller · 2 years ago

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disco elysium wip

#sunrise parabellum #thank you all for the lovely birthday messages <3 #kim kitsuragi #disco elysium #my art #illustration #taking a break from comic promotion to bring you kim kitsuragi

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cordiallyfuturedwight · 6 months ago

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you can't stop me lovin' myself ♡ for @kimtaegis

#userbangtan #usersky #annietrack #heyryen #userkelli #usermaggie #useremmeline #userpat #tuserandi #raplineuser #usersolis #useryoonqiful #usermizuoka #userines #nuggettracks #rjshope #dailybts #mine!#park jimin #btsedit #btsgif #bg images from freepik <3 #OKAY all of that is out of the way!#HAPPY BIRTHDAY SWEET ANNIE!!!!!!!!#i really made like 4 different things and kept changing my mind because nothing was good enough for you :(#i knew that i wanted to make something from idol though because i know that that's the one song you wish you could see live!#since i can't bring bangtan together for a concert and take you to it right now i thought i would make you this #since jimin slayed this dance intro to pieces #anyway. i'll write you something more personal in your messages but i love you soooooo much thank you for being born #& for being one of the kindest souls on the whole planet

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jkvjimin · 4 months ago

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TAEHYUNG, NAMJOON & JUNGKOOK + memories (2014-2021) (cr. dwellingsouls, 0613data, namuspromised)

happy birthday, sky! @jung-koook 💟

#taehyung #jungkook #namjoon #bts #btsedit #btsgif #bangtan #bangtan*#gif #userkelli #usersky #annietrack #userdimple #raplineuser #tuserandi #rjshope #useremmeline #usermaggie #dailybts #happy sky day!!! 💜✨#sky my baby i know i already send you a message but i really wanted to finish this gift to you (started this last week!!!)#is nothing much but i couldn't not celebrate this day with you. sorry that i'm posting this so late to you tho D:#hope you see this when you wake up and that it perhaps brings the same joy i have when i get to talk to you #happiest of the birthday my baby! i hope you have the most amazing time with the people you love or just eating something you like #i love you to the moon and back #thank you for being such an inspiration in every way possible <3 #my admiration for you is beyond words #ps i know it has greetings content but still... i had other plans but still wanted to use the screencaps :')

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gentlebeard · 11 months ago

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If I could hold you for a minute, Darling, I’d go through it again

For @edsbacktattoo & @stedesearring 💕 Show: Our Flag Means Death - Season 1 & 2 Music: Francesca by Hozier YouTube

#ofmd #our flag means death #gentlebeard #stede bonnet #edward teach #ofmdedit #ofmdaily #ofmd source #ofmd fanvid #ofmd s2 #ofmd edit #blackbonnet #ella’s edit #HAPPY BIRTHDAY JAMS ❤️#AND A BELATED HAPPY BIRTHDAY KAITLIN ❤️#i'm killing two (impossible) birds with one stone by dedictating this video to both of you absolute angels!!#jams i love you so much. you're so incredibly talented and hilarious and kind and amazing. i'm so grateful for you.#if you didn't live halfway around the world i would come over and give you the biggest and warmest hug #thank you for letting me scream in your dms all the time. whether it's about our pirate boys or your writing or cancellation hell™️#and just THANK YOU for being such a wonderful presence in my life #oh and kaitlin. lovely sweet kind kaitlin. the one we all love to call a human ray of sunshine because you're just THAT lovely #your little yellow hearts in the tags brighten my day every time i see them. whenever i talk to you you're just so sweet #thanks for every single lovely word. for every music rec. for every sweet message or ask. what a gift you are. ily!!!#speaking of gifts: i couldn't think of a more perfect song for the two of you than francesca #so i hope you like my little creation that i've put together. once again shoutout to #evil gang 😈

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pushing500 · 2 months ago

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The Jones Boys reached a new psylink level and unlocked the 'morbid' meditation type. Now they chill out in the cemetery together, which is clearly not helping them concentrate.

I always get distracted chatting about dumb shit to my brothers if we're sitting still for too long, as well, so I can't really judge them.

We are not adopting any more babies!! Ivy is the only exception because of highly unusual circumstances.

We also got a second twisted obelisk right next to the walls of our base, so we deactivated the old one which was on the opposite side of the map and we'll stick with just studying this bad boy.

Ivy is a toddler!!! Happy birthday!! Despite what the boys say, they do really like having you around. We can't wait to watch you grow ❤️

First | Next | Previous

This isn't related to RimWorld, but look at my cat! She's cute and I thought you should know ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

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alayyae · 11 months ago

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haha get rekt stupid ‼️ // happiest birthday @altocoeli 👀

#i know we dont talk much nowadays but rest assured i always have you on my mind. i have this message u sent me as my phone lockscreen still #i hope this art acts as a lucky charm for you #“Henry will beat the shit whatever is making you sad!!!”#this is the best i can do #i love you. happiest birthday to you!#thank you for being in my life <3 #fire emblem #fire emblem awakening #fe13 #feh #henry fire emblem #my art

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basketobread · 1 year ago

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Happy birthday! Mine was on Monday

THANK YOU SO MUCH!!!! ❤❤❤❤❤❤ And happy belated birthday to you!!! I hope you had a good one!! :) 🙏❤❤❤

#HAHAHA I have so many asks that I need to get to I am SO sorry everyone #I'm over the 100+ mark so I'm having a hard time figuring out how to go about this DSIFHFUIFDSHSDIU #BUT TO EVERYONE WHO'S SENT SUCH NICE MESSAGES AND FUN QUESTIONS: THANK YOU SO MUCH #I LOVE YOU ALL RAHHGHGHGH #I just suck at responding on time again it's a me problem im so sorry #SORRY I KNOW I RAMBLED OFF TOPIC WITH THIS ASK IN THE TAGS BUT THANK YOU SO MUCH FOR THE BIRTHDAY WISH AGAIN #<333333333333333333 #ask bob

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kirby-the-gorb · 2 years ago

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#kirby #food #daily kirby #my art #digital #hal laboratory #nintendo #thank you for the nice anonymous message that reminded me it's still kirby's birthday!#a lot of the active kirby artists are in asia so most of their kirby day drawings went up yesterday for my timezone #but I love to give the boy a cake #and a silly little hat #kirby is right about a year and a half older than me :v #this year he gets a dirt cake #(cuz my wife just got me gummy worms on her way home from work)#y'all remember dirt cups? was that a regional thing?#chocolate pudding and oreo crumbs and gummy worms #good stuff #favorites

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boxwinebaddie · 1 month ago

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uncle neen!!! welcome back omg i was so sad to see u disappear </3 hyh !!! i had a question i asked last time but i was wondering since ur rewriting ur fics, are u planning on posting them on tumblr? or on ao3? pls be kind to urself too<33

good MORNING, lovie!!!!~ <3 c':

( or whatever time it is, where you are at the moment! )

i'm very excited to announce that you are my very FIRST new ask message on my brand new blog!

( teri is my first follower; ly ter. <33 o//3//o )

***long overdue UN ramble-bramble under the cut. xx

i /do/ miss my six hundred bajillion ask memes and am mourning the loss of all my online creations and great joys as a deranged southpark fanfiction author and the legacy i built with my tiny, gay weird hands

( i will go into it another time, but i had a very, very frightening bipolar episode surrounding my blog and my role on here as a writer, friend and mentor to you all, deleted all my things in a horrible panic, was able to recover them...but in the -- what i hope is the *very last* -- after shock of my episode...i got very scared, very sad and deleted both my dearly treasured and beloved, beautifully cult followed by many of you and other ghosts of sp style fanatics past ao3 account**

**( with peppermint on it at 13k likes which...oh my god, please be gentle with me, that was a very, very hard blow and rough realization for me and i am sorry to everyone who loved that fanfiction and wanted to go back and read it for posperity and personal comfort...i miss her too; rest in peace, pep, my first born. my sweet girl. </3 )

...and most tragically of all, i deleted my tumblr blog, with over one hundred pages of carefully curated content surrounding my sp aus, your lovely, insightful and thoughtful questions and inquiries, also typed with your tiny, weird gay hands answered, in turn, with mine, torched the ev. of those memories in the final blast and lost my window into your world through that medium...

...which is literally heartbreaking to me, because more than even my silly fanfictions or my blog, what i loved to do, was talk to all of you and read your wonderful messages each day and remind myself of why i should be here and continue to do what i do. </333 :'''c

BUT! my darlings, as ravenstan would say, 'it's always darkest before crimson dawn', for the very first time in several weeks ( which, i fear, and i was, full of fear and horrible self loathing/dread every waking and nightmarish moment ), last night, i cried for a very, very, very, long time, held myself together in the broken places -- told myself and the girl i was that i loved her and i was going to take care of us and be brave -- and broke the fever ( a little off key like jersey kyle, but very lovely nonetheless; love you tone deaf king. x my sboyf. )

today, i woke up this morning and slept...PEACEFULLY and woke up PERFECTLY HAPPY AND RESTED...

AND SMILED. QUITE. WIDE!!!!~ :D

and that is a baby step, but it is a step in the right direction and also almost wanted to make me weep like a baby again because i literally have not felt happy or like i do not hate myself for like, i shit you not, over like 15-20 days...it was frightening and fucking horrible! SLAY!

nevertheless ( or the most, finally ) i am excited to welcome in a new era/year of change on my blog and within myself; which is an era of peppermint flavored 'hope i'm healing' in a delicious rem(ember) font.

unfortunately, because i nuked my ao3 account, i do not currently one atm, but am in the process of recovering it.

( i'm not condoning any kind of rude/uncivilized behavior bc people are allowed to do anything they want -- but i'd really like to get my user back and would appreciate it a lot if no one used it to create another ao3 account just because it would be confusing for my readers and disheartening to me to not be boxwinebaddie anymore. )

until then, i will be writing/drafting rem(ember) in my messy google docs, am storyboarding everything to the best of my ability ( which is not perfect, but nothing is -- except stan and kyle to each other -- but god loves a trier, which is why he hates me: i prefer hell where it's drier -- that way my girlfail guylinea will not run. xx )

KALE SEITAN! ;)

posting little snippets of it on here for all of you, probably put it here on my tumblr and post it up to ao3 if i can regain my account/one in general ( i am a little worried that because of how long it's been, the loss of all my followers and, what i assume, is a decreased public or tiktok generated interest in sp, it will do poorly; rip </3 )

-- but the point is...that i want to start doing stuff for myself now. and not because i think i should or create unnecessary stress/sadness surrounding my strength or weakness as a writer or person ( or like, beat the living shit out of myself every single day anymore )...

...so i am writing it slowly, carefully, synthesizing all the info i gathered from over a year of answering your questions ( which helped me develop my sp au styles and their worlds into the lovely, seemingly breathing paper machslayed things they are now ), am going to write the fanfiction i always/wanted/ to write ( i’ve always wanted to rewrite RM, but was so busy and overwhelmed with my blog/my irl stuff that i couldn't )

and i'm calling it...

p.s. ( i love you ): i am going to give my grandmother a copy of the first chapter of peppermint for christmas because i wanted to do something special/sentimental for her and secretly push the gay middle school style agenda ( she is actually very woke and thought my uncle might be gay for a while when he was younger, haha xx ), but i want to give them different names, so that on the off chance it gets passed off to my mom, my dad or manages to travel by world of mouth ( my grandma has a tendency to gab, but i love her a lot ) that it can't specifically be traced back to my dead ao3 or my blog.

so if any one has any ideas for silly interesting names i could give my sons, names for other characters or south park in gen. hit me up! <33

thank you for your interest in my work -- and in me, in general. i love you all dearly, i hope you heal ( i know you will ) and smile, pendejos because got a lot coming up on that crimson dawn and a lot of crazy shit coming down on that *jersey i won't say i'm in luh megara vc*

~SCHARLET sLUt~

cheers! mazel! ;) xx

-uncle nina, in her healing era <3

#hello my friends #it's really good to hear from you again #specifically whatever friend sent this message in! thank you my darling! i am sorry for the fright #but i am VERY EXCITED to start writing again #slowly but surely; baby steps #i want to fill in the tags more but even tho i did sleep very peacefully last late nite bit i am running on almost NO sleep #and not to be baby asf i cried a LOOOOOT last night and this past week/past weeks ( i have no conception of time )#its my slayolay cursed ravenstamulet demonic kennygal curse #and my eyes hurt A LOT so i will leave it at this! i hope you guys are as excited for it as i am and tbh i am actually thinking #that nuking my blog and starting over was a good idea bc i was a little too overwhelmed and i am excited for the fresh start #and now i can write my fanfiction with all the new information i gathered and was able to process and plot out using your #messages and questions! which makes i can now craft the most updated slightly unplugged better longer and uncut vers #of my fanfiction yet! ( i might consider rewriting pep after if i have the strength of will and the time to kill -- i am also going to #start going to regular 4 day a week multi hour outpaitent therapy and my medications were just upped and seem to be #...beginning to work? me thinks? YAY???!!!! <333 either way i am going to take things slow and do what makes me happy #i want to post snippets on here when i can and it is almost my birthday! t-minus two days! wooo! and my final thought is #if you rem(ember) anyone or have a pal you know was interested in my stuff/wants to refind me/tell em i'm not dead #you can direct them to this blog and this post ( all i ask is that no one make a large post or large deal about it because i am #very skittish and all that attention is WHY i had that bipolar episode among other irl things so i hope you heal i love you #smile pendejo and its good to be back ( even if its with one foot in the void and the other in a hellokitty roller blade ) xx

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