#valentine’s day ficlet

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Those Three (Hundred) Little Words - 3 - Late Night Love Confession

*all of these will be standalone fluff unless otherwise noted*

dividers by @enchanthings-a

The knock dragged you from your bed well past midnight, squinting against the hallway light as you shuffled toward the door to look through the peephole. Who the hell… Javier?

As though he could read your confusion, he glanced at the lens, saying your name. “I know it’s late, but-”

You didn’t let him finish, opening the door. “Javi?” You scanned his face before checking to see if his partner was standing nearby. That would mean something was wrong. When you saw he was alone, you sighed in relief. “Everything okay?”

He swallowed hard, tongue darting out to wet his lips as he nodded. “Yeah.” He brought a hand up, pinching the bridge of his nose. “I… Can I come in?”

Brow furrowed, you nodded. “What’s going on?”

He waited until you had locked the door again, then spun you, pressing you against it and pinning you there with his lips. “Was on my way home and-” He spoke between kisses, hips rolling into yours. “Realized I didn’t wanna go there.” Another kiss. “Needed to come here.”

You hummed. “Needed to come wake me up?”

“Needed to tell you,” he said, hands cradling your face as he kissed you again, this time softly.

“Tell me what, Javi?” What’s so important? You tucked a curl behind his ear.

“Something I’ve known for weeks.” When you stayed silent, he continued. “Something I couldn’t go to sleep one more night without you knowing.” He took a breath, his next words flooring you. “I love you.”

You knew there would be more to talk about in the morning. But you also knew Javi, and you knew the best way to let him know that you felt the same wasn’t with words. Smirking, you brought your lips to his ear. “Then come show me, Javier.”

[after-witch]

A Snowy Interlude [Yandere Illumi x Reader]

Title: A Snowy Interlude [Yandere Illumi x Reader]

Synopsis: You play in the snow--a rare treat.

Word count: 1418

notes: yandere, kidnapped reader, mentions of past abuse

“Are… you… sure this is… allowed?”

Even if it weren’t cold, your words would have come out slow and almost stuttered. But the cold air doesn’t do anything to help the eloquence of your speech, which comes out haltingly, words carefully chosen and accompanied by puffs of your whitened breath. 

Illumi’s face remains, as almost always, impassive.

“What do you mean, allowed?” He asks, finally, watching as you take each piece of winter clothing from the standing butler and slip them on. Gloves, a scarf, a hat, all fitted perfectly to your form. 

It would have been nicer to put them on before stepping out into the winter air, but you hadn’t been outside in months, and you weren’t going to complain about a thing. He did have you step into winter boots first, at least, and a winter coat. 

“I just mean,” you reply, watching as the butler gestures for you to step into a pair of thick, puffy snow pants–the kind you used to wear as a kid, “I haven’t been outside in… a while.” 

Your voice warbles as you hold onto the butler’s arm support and step into the puffy pants; butlers were the only other people you were allowed to touch, besides Illumi. Even then, they knew to never touch first; you could touch them like furniture, like a useful thing. 

Illumi hums. “No, you haven’t. I felt it inappropriate for you to be outside.” 

You don’t comment–you don’t want him to elaborate and change his mind. Or worse, decide that it is inappropriate for a newly-minted Zoldyck wife to step outside the mansion looking like an oversized marshmallow.

Once you’re dressed, the butler stands aside, and you let your gaze wander across the garden. 

It had really been snowing. Illumi had let you sit at the window watching as the flakes fell, thin and almost rain-like at first, but then gradually getting thicker and fluffier as the day went on. It snowed for almost three days straight and now the entire estate looked like something out of a pretty winter story–the roofs all covered in white, the same pretty sparkling white that covered the ground and went up past your knees.

It was all waiting, just beyond the cobblestone path leading back inside the estate. It had been neatly shoveled out and you tried to picture the butlers shoveling it bit by bit, as your neighbors were no doubt doing back home. Well. What had been home, before all this. 

Illumi doesn’t make to move, and you give him an awkward look. 

“Um. So. Can I… go out there?” It’s a silly question, you realize. Why get you all dressed up for being outside if you were just going to stand on the shoveled path? Oh. Well. Actually. Maybe it's not so silly, and Illumi was just being irritatingly over-protective about the cold.

And perhaps you’re right to question it, because Illumi’s eyebrows furrow. Just a little. Just enough to notice.

“Oh,” he says, as if he hadn’t considered it. He pauses, and you wonder if this is it, your time outside will just be spent standing at staring. “... Yes. I suppose that’s all right.”

Something like happiness prickles your chest and you step away from the shoveled cobblestones, boots sinking into the deep snow. The sound of each step is so familiar, so nostalgic; the swish of your snow pants with every movement, the soft crunching of the snow, the way it yields underneath your boots.

Your smile grows without you realizing it as you make your way into the garden, arms out at your sides for balance. How long is it since you’ve been in the snow like this? Even before Illumi took you, it wasn’t like you had the time for it. 

You were a kid, surely. Maybe 12 or 13, the last time it was still considered cool to dress in bulky outerwear and trudge your sled up to the neighborhood sledding hill. 

A sense of wonder overtakes you, and it feels like the past few months are left behind you, standing alongside Illumi and the butler–the training, the pain, the burns, the bruises, the broken arm and fingers. The instructions and etiquette and rules, rules, rules. 

How could they come with you, as you begin to trudge–happy then happier–through the snow? 

It’s so thick you feel like if you fell down, you’d be lost in it. Maybe you’ll sink to the ground. Maybe you could make a snow angel–or a cave. The urge to fall overtakes you as it so often did in childhood and you simply plop backward in the snow. The thump hides the sound of Illumi rushing forward, though perhaps he would have known how to run through the snow silently anyway.

When you look up, you see Illumi, of course. But beyond that is what you’re interested in: the sky above you, all blue and lovely. There’s whiteness, too, the sparkling prettiness of the snow all around you. Some of the cold has seeped underneath your coat and scarf, burning your ears. But you don’t mind.

Of course, you’re eventually forced to acknowledge him, and you finally let your gaze focus on Illumi. He’s leaning down, his hair almost becoming a black curtain.

“Why did you fall?” He looks–almost concerned, you think. “Are you having a heart attack?” It’s funny, really, the way he phrases his so calmly. If you weren’t becoming somewhat decent at reading him, you might think he was joking. 

He’s not. So–

You blink up at him.

Then you move your arms and legs up and down, up and down, making a snow angel underneath you.

Illumi blinks back.

“Perhaps you’ve had a stroke.”

You grin, then, and clutch a handful of snow underneath your gloves. 

“I didn’t, to both. Haven’t you ever made a snow angel?” You ask, curling the snow together, beginning to form a ball and idly wondering if you’re brave enough to do it.

Illumi straightens his back, and looks at the impressions of snow you’ve left behind your arms and legs. He doesn’t seem impressed.

“No. I haven’t.”

Something pangs inside you, and a question floats up: what kind of childhood did Illumi have, anyway? Maybe he never played in the snow. Never made a snow angel, never spent hours digging out a snow cave with friends. Never slid down a hill and bashed into a tree and it hurt but it was fun all the same.

It must have been hard. 

Your fingers curl around your newly made snowball and instead of chucking it as his face, you sit up, and start pulling in more snow to make it bigger.

“What are you doing?”

You don’t answer. Instead you keep going, scooping, gathering, and rolling until you’ve got the makings of a fantastic snowman butt.

“Are you going to answer me?” There’s enough of a sharp pin in his tone and you hoist yourself up, using the round snowman butt as leverage.

“I’m making a snowman,” you answer. “But all I’ve got is the butt.” You gesture to your creation, stalling for the time needed to create the words, to ask the question. Surprising, how hard it is to ask Illumi to do something like this.

“If you want, you could… get some gloves and join me?” 

Illumi looks around you, at the disheveled mess you’ve made of the pristine fallen snow, at the clumps of snow clinging to your snow pants, your gloves, your hat. At the large round ball you’re proclaiming is a snowman butt.

At your face, beaming, carefree, in a way he’s never seen you look since before he took you.

“I don’t mind the cold,” is all he says, before he leans down and begins to mimic the way you scooped snow together. 

It doesn’t hold. He’s awful at it. And you do something you’ve never done before, at least, not on your own initiative–you place your gloved hands over his and curl your fingers in the right way, so that the snow gets packed together properly.

Illumi goes still, and you pretend not to notice, because you think he’d rather you didn’t. 

Instead, you keep on making your snowman, as Illumi slowly but surely gets the hang of it.

“I’m glad it snowed so much,” you say, quietly, cheerily, wondering if a butler could run inside to get carrots and something for the snowman to wear.

Illumi, in response, hums.

It’s as close as you’ll get to agreement. 

[hairmetal666]

Steve parks at Eddie's, a plastic wrapped bouquet of roses so purple they're almost black carefully buckled into the passenger seat, and a nervous twist to his stomach. He didn't plan to do this. It's just, he was agonizing about his crush to Robin and she goaded him until it seemed like a great fucking idea to ask Eddie out on Valentine's Day, of all days.

The flowers were an accident. He saw them in the front window of the little flower shop in town, and it felt like fate, like they were practically made for Eddie Munson.

With a deep breath and a gritted teeth, he swings out of the car, flowers in hand. He's doing this, he's got this, he can ask Eddie out.

Music rocks from the trailer, drowning out Steve's knock. They didn't exactly have plans tonight, only they hangout every night since Vecna, so he figured...well, Eddie never said they weren't getting together.

He's a little miffed when his knock isn't answered. Even when the music is up, the walls of the trailer vibrating, Eddie always comes to the door. But the minutes tick by with no response until the annoyance turns to anxiety.

He stretches over, up on tiptoe, craning through the window to see if he can spot Eddie, probably distracted by planning for dnd or working on a song.

The kitchen is deserted, pots steaming on the stove. The two-seater table is covered in one of those paper tablecloths they have at Melvald's for a buck, patterned with bright red hearts. The table is set, two plates, two beers, a candle burning in the center of it all.

God, he's stupid. So stupid, with his nearly black flowers and his silly crush. Of course Eddie already had someone to spend Valentine's Day with.

He stumbles down the stairs, stomach fighting up his throat. The loud music makes so much sense now. He has to leave. He can't stand the thought of Eddie finding him here, letting him down easy; can stand even less seeing him with the date he has over.

Steve almost makes it back to the car before he hears the screen door slam, Eddie's voice calling his name. For a second, he considers ignoring him; for a second, he thinks about jumping in the car and driving off and forgetting this ever happened. But he could never do that to Eddie, not even when the consequence is his own heart.

"Oh, uh. Hey, man," Steve says. He runs his fingers through his hair, swallows. "Didn't mean to interrupt, thought we had plans but I guess they weren't set in stone." He's rambling and he knows it, but can't stop. "I didn't realize you--I'll get out of your hair."

Eddie's eyes flicker from Steve to the flowers clutched in his fist, the wrapping now sweaty and rumpled. "Are those for me?" Eddie asks.

Steve's mouth open and closes a few times, thrown off the track of his monologue and trying to think of a plausible lie. "I--they're--it's--"

There's nothing for it. He has to tell the truth and eat the humiliation. "I saw them today and--They're perfect for you. So, I wanted--" he shakes his head, shoves the bouquet into Eddie's arms. "Happy Valentine's Day. I'll let you get back to your date."

Eddie's face scrunches and it would be cute except for all the way Steve's heart is breaking. "Aren't you my date?"

"What?"

"Steve. We hang out every night. I thought--"

"But. For me--" He splutters. "The table?"

"Harrington, it's Valentine's Day! You bought me flowers!"

"Yeah, cause I was going to ask you out!"

This is what breaks Eddie, and he bursts out into helpless giggles.

"Don't laugh at me, Munson." But he's starting to laugh too.

"I'm sorry! I just--you," and Eddie isn't laughing anymore, he's looking at Steve with clear, shining eyes. "You brought me flowers."

Steve sobers too, hands over the bouquet. "I brought you flowers. You made me dinner."

"Yeah." He glances up at Steve from under his eyelashes. "I made you dinner."

"Sorry for--" He gestures broadly around himself.

Eddie shakes his head, soft smile on his lips. "You're something else, Stevie." The words are so fond they make Steve's heart flip. "Now, come inside before the food gets cold."

Steve walks to do the door, pausing before he climbs the stairs.

"What is it?" Eddie's eyebrows lift.

"Nothing. Just--" Steve licks his lips, notices the way Eddie tracks the movement. "I'm really falling for you, is all."

"No duh," Eddie says with a broad, smitten grin. "You bought me flowers."

[queenie-ofthe-void]

A Florist's Least Favorite Holiday

Steddie || wc: 1.7k || rating: T || tags: fluff, this is a real thing that happened to me so I wrote about it

Valentine’s day is fucking awful. It’s the worst day of the year, and this year’s no different than the last five Valentine’s days Eddie’s worked in the floral shop.

Eddie’s stripped the thorns from over a thousand roses in the past two weeks, sorting them into buckets by color. The best part about his job is usually bringing a design to life, picking the perfect flowers to create an arrangement like a work of art. Yet somehow, Valentine’s day manages to suck the life out of that too, with little to no creativity between each one-dozen red roses arranged in a fake crystal vase.

Prepping over a month in advance, Eddie has taken almost four hundred orders for pick-up and delivery for the tiny, backwater town of Hawkins. They’re a small shop, with only himself, Chrissy, and Vickie as permanent workers. Thankfully, this year they were able to hire some temporary helpers to blow up balloons, make candy baskets, and take deliveries. Even with the help, that still leaves everything else to the three of them.

Regardless, he’s busting his ass. The newbies have left for both rounds of morning deliveries and the first round of afternoons. Chrissy’s working the counter while Vickie fields complaints. This leaves Eddie to wander the floor, helping confused husbands and boyfriends find the right pick for their spouses.

Working with customers to find something they’re happy with isn’t so bad. He likes guiding them towards answers to questions they didn’t think to ask. Like what their spouse wears, how their home is decorated, what their favorite color is. Every detail helps, and Eddie is, quite genuinely, always happy to help someone who asks– nicely.

He’s on his way back to the counter with an empty bucket in his arms when he spots a guy holding a few roses. Eddie watches, momentarily transfixed, as the man sticks his tongue out in concentration, swiping it over his lower lip. His brow’s furrowed, glancing back and forth between the single-stem lavender and pink roses in the display case in front of him. 

Eddie can’t blame the guy, honestly. There’s over twenty different colored roses to choose from this year. Chrissy really went above and beyond to haggle with their suppliers. They’ve got the best of the best, truly something to brag about. 

He sets the bucket down underneath a display table so it’s out of the way as he heads over to help. Eddie must catch his attention.

Bright lights from the display case reflect the light hazel tone to his russet colored eyes and shines golden against his softly styled brown hair. A fine dusting of moles across his face and neck perfectly complement his tanned skin.

The prettiest thing in a shop full of pretty things. A goddamn angel.

Except he’s wearing high-top Nike sneakers like the jocks used to wear, along with tight acid-washed jeans, and a grey Members Only jacket. The guy screams straight, ex-jock, fuck boy, even more evident by the two separate roses in his hand as he eyes up a third. 

Still, he’s a customer in need. And Eddie is nothing if not a humble servant.

“Can I help you find something?” Eddie asks, only slightly more casual and flirty than his typical customer service voice. 

The man’s lips part into a soft ‘oh’ as he stands and stares at him. Eddie quickly glances down at himself, scanning for stray stems or petals hanging from his apron. There’s nothing there, at least nothing worth gawking at. Maybe he’s got something in his teeth? Shit, he should’ve checked first.

“Uhh–,” the man says, intelligently, interrupting Eddie’s own internal spiral– “I was just looking at, you know.” He gestures to the buckets of roses without taking his eyes off Eddie. “I need one more, and can’t decide on a color.”

“Three roses, huh?” Eddie says, the joke rolling off the tip of his tongue before his mortified brain can prune it, “One for each girlfriend, that’s sweet of you.”

Fucking Christ. He wishes he’d kept the bucket of water to drown himself in, like this day can get any worse.

This beautiful, angel of a man scoffs at the unbecoming joke and yeah, Eddie can’t blame him. For someone who not only prides himself on his customer service skills, but also his charm, this is a royally large fuck up.

The man grabs the lavender rose, holding it out to Eddie along with the two other pink and white ones already in his hand. “This is for my best friend. This one–” he holds out the pink– “is for my adopted sister.”

“Oh,” Eddie says, before the guy cuts him off.

“And this one–” he shows off the white rose– “is for my Gran. I’m stopping by the cemetery on my way home and thought she’d like it.”

Forget drowning in a bucket of leaf water, Eddie deserves to be crushed under the weight of a million roses, thorns tearing him into tiny little pieces. 

“Right,” Eddie huffs, annoyed with himself. He scrubs his hands roughly over his face, like he can erase the embarrassed flush burning up his neck to the tips of his ears. “I’m so sorry, man. I have no idea why I said that. It’s just–” Eddie waves his hand around the store– “it’s been a long day, and sometimes I think I’m funny when I’m really, really not. I’m not normally this awkward, and I’m typically much better at my job.”

At this, the guy smirks, like watching Eddie squirm is entertaining. It’s the least he can do, if his misery makes the man feel better. He eyes Eddie up and down, so slowly that Eddie feels like his skin's on fire. Probably the display lights... they can really heat up some days.

“Can you ring me up?”

Eddie nods, thankful how quickly he seems to let the entire confrontation go. They make their way to the counter, Chrissy eyeing him as he asks her to switch for a second. She eyes the customer and nudges Eddie, where he notices a playful smirk on her face. Jesus, she’s nosey. He only rolls his eyes as she walks off.

Doing his best to avoid eye contact, Eddie focuses solely on wrapping up the flowers in the pretty, heart-printed paper they bought specifically for the day, and ties a matching colored bow to each package.

He feels the unrelenting urge to fix this, unsure why it matters so much to him. This guy most likely won’t even be back until next year, just like the rest of the customers he’s helped today. Eddie shouldn’t treat this one customer any different because he’s cute.

And yet.

“I actually think you’re really sweet!” Eddie blurts, thrusting the packaged roses into the guy’s waiting arms. “Shit, I meant it’s sweet you’re buying them gifts. I didn’t mean you’re sweet. Not that you’re not sweet, I mean– goddamnit.” 

He’s smiling at Eddie, like this is all an adorable spectacle and not the worst experience of every Valentine’s day Eddie’s ever had. God, that fucking smile makes Eddie’s insides melt.

“Really?” His voice is playful, if yet a little shy. Eddie buys into it, of course he does, desperate to make up for his flailing. 

“Yeah, definitely sweet– adorable, even. Positively charming.” Eddie’s on better footing now, watching a rosy blush bloom underneath tanned freckles. There’s a line of customers grumbling about the wait, but Eddie doesn’t care, not so long as he gets to keep staring at the ray of sunshine smiling back at him.

His smile turns coy as he locks eyes with Eddie and says “I’m single, you know."

Eddie can’t think to respond over the roaring static in his ears, brain going into full shut-down mode. Did he just–

“What?” And Eddie’s back to being a total buffoon.

It must be cute though, because the guy laughs as he leans forward to grab one of the shop’s business cards next to the register. He writes something on it, then hands it back to Eddie who flips it around in his hands to read it.

Call me, and thanks for your help.

♥️ Steve

There’s a phone number listed below the man’s– Steve’s– name. An actual, honest to god phone number. From a man who looks like he could work in Hollywood for a living. 

Eddie can feel his own face splitting in two with how hard he’s smiling. He reads the simple note once, twice, three times before he remembers where he is and who’s still standing in front of him.

Steve looks hopeful, eyes flitting between Eddie and the note as he fiddles with the bow on one of the packaged roses. 

“Yes,” Eddie practically shouts, glee saturating his tone. “I’ll definitely call you tonight. Well–” Eddie glances around the shop, spotting the scattered empty buckets, piles of dead leaves on the ground, and the stack of unprocessed delivery tickets– “maybe I’ll call you tomorrow.”

And Steve nods, like it’s that easy, and shyly answers, “Can’t wait,” before heading out the door, sending a dorky little wave over his shoulder as he goes.

Somehow, Eddie manages to recover enough of his higher brain power to work the rest of the day. He falls back into routine: boxing vases, filing orders, dumping rotten plant water, scrubbing buckets, and organizing the back cooler. It’s almost midnight by the time he gets home, slightly earlier than he expected.

His feet ache like they always do, and he’s so emotionally drained that Eddie thinks he could go the rest of his life without talking to another customer ever again. Except he thinks, fiddling with Steve’s note, maybe there’s one customer he'd talk to again.

Tomorrow, though. Definitely tomorrow.

divider kudos <3

[thebunnednun]

Pro Hero!Boyfriend!Eijirou Kirishima, who posts a wholesome yet unexpectedly chaotic tutorial titled:

"How to Spend Time with Your bookworm Partner During Your Workout."

The video opens with him beaming at the camera, all sunshine and boundless energy, before he gestures to you—his pretty little girlfriend—dressed cozy in your soft Hello Kitty sweats and oversized red sweater.

“This is my best girl,” he says, dropping a quick kiss to your forehead before turning back to the camera like an excited puppy.

Then, with practiced care, he holds up a matching Hello Kitty helmet, clicking it securely into place on your head. He gives it a few gentle tugs, nodding in approval. “Safety first, guys.”

You, completely unbothered, hold up your book to the screen.

“And this is what I’ll be reading.”

Cue the next clip—Eijirou, shirtless, sweat dripping, veins popping, as he bench presses your entire body like it’s just another rep. Meanwhile, you lounge in his grip, flipping a page, reading aloud in your soft, sweet voice like this is just an ordinary afternoon. He’s all smiles—absolutely thriving—grinning up at you between sets like you personally placed the stars in the sky.

Finally, the video cuts to the end, where Kirishima wipes his brow and grins at the camera. “And that’s how you make workouts fun with your partner! Remember, safety first—”

“You didn’t remember the safety last night.”

He freezes.

Blinks.

Eyes go wide.

Then—chaos. The phone slips from his grip, the screen spins, and the video abruptly cuts off.

And just like that, your podcast about handling big D is officially hard-launched.

Pssst, there's a Valentines day event, and YOU🫵, get to pick!

[dragonshoardofworks]

Reincarnation Everlasting Trio Part 1 (DPxDC)

(I started this when my idle brain was disassociating on a job that I don't dislike but my boss is an ass, so go me, yey!)

And look at that! I managed to finish Part 1 just in time for Valentine's day!

Prompt: TUE happened (the timeline is a bit messed up, tho, so not everything followed the number of the episodes), but Clockwork didn't reverse the second explosion.

Danny, not wanting history to repeat itself, fakes his death along with his family and friends in the Nasty Burger and after ransacking the lab plus destroying the Portal (& FentonWorks since he's making it look like it was a full Ecto-filter's fault), he gtfo.

Danny's pretty done with life, but since he's a halfa, he's functionally immortal, so the only way to get "eternal sleep" is something similar to Pariah's sarcophagus.

But contrary to what the Ancients did back then, Danny would hide his coffin himself where no one would find him.

In a place rich of ambient ectoplasm (to power up the tech that would keep him “safe”), but inaccessible to anyone who doesn't have intangibility and even then he would put up an Ecto-shield to prevent anyone to bypass the solid bedrock that he would use as natural barricade.

Amity is not a safe Ecto-rich place anymore because of Vlad, so the next best city seems to be Gotham, what with the ley lines and several ghost curses layered on there.

So Danny digs a chamber hundreds meters under Gotham and builds from scratch his prison, going out only three or four times to get some missing scraps and just enough food and water to let him finish the job (completely ignoring the new vigilantes starting to go out at night).

(He meets Robin!Dick once and most likely a still-stray Jason, but he quickly forgets about them, since he's too depressed to care.)

Once finished the project, Danny goes stargazing as Phantom at the highest point of the city one last time, where (a still not overly paranoid) Batman converges to assess him as a threat.

The two talk and have a heart-to-heart (mostly because Bruce sees another grieving kid like Dick and tries somehow to help), but nothing B says is enough to make Phantom desist from what Bruce thinks is commiting suicide.

However, Danny still thanks him for trying and for treating him like a person (Anti-Ecto-Acts are mentioned during their talk and you can bet that later B is gonna check on them) and that Batman is going to be a good dad for his kids.

(This comment leads later to a kinder timeline than the mess that is canon. ꒰(@｀꒳´)꒱ )

Danny manages to snatch one hug from the man, then he flees to the secret chamber, where he “goes to sleep” after engaging every lock and shield.

Even if Batman managed to tag Danny with a bug, he misses his signal once he goes underground and that makes him regret not being able to save him.

Maybe if he had been more open and emotionally reachable, he would have succeeded?

(...and that's how Bruce starts to go to therapy, but shhhhh!)

Years pass and Danny stays as a Sleeping Beauty, however, despite being good at science, he doesn't know everything, so he couldn't have imagined that water would filter through the rock and start pooling inside the chamber (the equipment is luckily waterproof).

However, the passive Ecto-radiation and the small amount of pure ectoplasm that leaks from the top of the filter, makes the water slowly turn into its Lazarus variant.

Though, contrary to LoA’s Water, this Lazarus Pit is pure and uncorrupted due to the filtering machines. 

Over the years (~15… 😏) the water digs through the chamber and shapes it into a cave that eventually connects to the Batcave. 

Maybe the cave-in of a wall, makes some of the Robins go and check if the stability of the ground is still sound and find the Lazarus Pit that covers (almost) completely both the shield and sight of what's under the surface.

When the kids report, B asks for a complete scan of the Pit and it results in discovering that there's something at the bottom.

So they send an aquatic probe to look into it directly and come up to the coffin that has something written on the top in case some ghost did manage to find Danny's spot but not enter the barrier.

(The probe, being “normal”, is able to pass without problem through the shield, though.)

The text is written in multiple languages (just in case) and reads:

“Here lies Danny Phantom. Please do not disturb me while I'm resting, as I want to half-live the saying ‘I’ll sleep when I'm dead.’”

For the first time ever, Damian snorts in genuine amusement aloud and doesn't notice (the other Bats do and start freaking out), but then the camera zooms to the face of the boy inside the coffin and Bruce does a double take as he recognizes the kid he wasn't able to save.

That moment of shock is enough to make the man freeze and not be able to react in time to Damian lunging to the Pit and diving directly inside of it. 

The BatFam starts to freak out even more and try to direct the probe to go and save Damian, but at the end they just manage to see live what he's doing.

Like it's just a normal salvage, Robin!Damian just ignites the instant floating buoys and that makes all the equipment emerge, with Damian sitting on the top of the coffin, completely ignoring the calls of the Bats. 

Immediately, Damian starts hacking the controls of the coffin, but it's not needed since as soon as he starts typing, the computer lights up and seemingly recognizes him, giving him immediate full access. 

Still ignoring the calls (no one can reach him since he's too far from the shore), Damian disengages the lock and “defrosts” Danny.

It takes a bit for him to wake up, but as soon as Danny starts to blink blearily, Damian is into his face, shouting.

“‘I'll sleep when I'm dead’? Really, Danny? You absolute moron!” 

It takes a couple of seconds to register anything, but as soon as he does, Danny gasps and leaps at Robin, snake-bear hugging him, as he climbs and clings all over the other boy.

(If either of them is crying while laughing, no they aren't: it's just the lingering Lazarus Water on their faces.)

Too scared to accidentally trigger the unknown “being” into constricting Damian to death, the BatFam waits, analyzing the interaction.

(Cass silently reassures them that they aren't a threat.) 

“How?!” It's the first thing that ‘Phantom’ says, leaning a bit back to cup their hands on Damian's face, trying to look into his eyes, but the mask is in the way.

Casually, Robin unmasks himself (!!) and smirks smugly, holding the meta(?) by the waist.

“You do remember that incident at the Egyptian Exhibit, don't you?” A nod, accompanied by a desolate puppy-like expression. “Did you really think that I would have waited that long to come back and find you?”

This time the tears are undeniable and, to hide them, the being buries their head in the crook of Damian's shoulder, clinging harder, but not enough to harm him. 

“Where's Sam?” The being asks, muffled, after a while.

“No clue, I just started remembering from reading the pun and seeing your face.”

“Humph, that checks out. ...We'll have to go and look for her, since she's twice as stubborn as you and so she would have come back too.” Damian snorts in amusement, but nods. There's a pause, then Danny jolts, leaning back from him to look at the other better with a frown.

“Wait, why are you drenched in ectoplasm?!” He looks around and sees the Pit. “Wtf dude, this is so not healthy for you, com’on, I have to decontaminate you, you moron!”

(At this, Danny gets so many points in B’s books.)

“Nah, don’t bother.” Damian shrugs, putting a hand on his own chest. “I know my body and with the memory of past me coming back, I think I’m already on the way of becoming a halfa? At least, the humming beside my heart feels much like your Core.”

Danny startles and puts his own hand on the other’s to assess himself.

“Before taking a dip in this Pit to salvage your ass, it wasn’t noticeable, but the ectoplasm must have fed it enough to become active.” Damian guesses as Danny examines the evidence.

“Not ‘on the way’, try ‘already are’. How’s that even possible?” Danny gapes.

“Sweet! Now we can go flying together!” Damian beams.

“Forget that for a second and answer me! This feels like a complete baby-Core, much like mine right after the Accident, but at the same time it’s older?” Danny frowns. “Like 15 or so years old.” Looks up at Damian in confusion.

“That checks out. My current grandfather is a cultist revenant ass (*BatFam gasps in shock*) who’s obsessed with using Pits of corrupted ectoplasm to stay alive. I got tossed inside one a couple of times to be revived as well and I don’t doubt for a second that some of it was used to develop me in the artificial womb.”

“Duuuude, how does your new life sound more crazy than ours back then?”

“The merit of choosing to be reincarnated as the heir of a vigilante Father,” Damian points at the Bats with a thumb, making Danny notice them for the first time, “the ‘curse’ of an interesting life and the chance to meet you again, I guess.”

After a glance that promises ‘we’ll talk about that later’ to Damian, Danny turns properly to the BatFam and startles at seeing Batman. “Oh, it’s the Bat-dude!” Quick glance at the rest of the people, “I knew you would be a good dad! Tucker wouldn’t have chosen you otherwise!” 

There are various splutters from every BatFam member and Damian grumbles in embarrassment.

“Wait, you know him B?” Red Robin side-turns towards Batman, frowning. “There’s no report of him in any file of the Batcomputer. And I’ve read all of them.”

“...Because I never wanted a record of my failure glaring back at me. I already gave myself a hard time as it was, it would have made things worse and Black Canary agreed with that assessment.” B admits.

“What failure?” Jason (who has another vigilante name, since, you know, the Red Hood moniker was to spite B and in this timeline there’s no need for that) gapes.

“Probably me coming down here to get some ‘Eternal Sleep’.” Danny shuts off the barrier, picks up Damian and flies with him on the shore, phasing the residual ecto from their forms. “You thought it was an euphemism for suicide, not literal, wasn’t it?”

“Yes, you did give that impression. Are you alright, son?” B looks at Damian, still not outing his civilian name to be on the safe side.

“Of course, Father. This Ectoplasm Pit has none of the junk Grandfather’s has. Danny knows his stuff and his Ecto-filters are the top notch. (Danny blushes in the bg at the praise) Heck, it could even be used to cure Pit Madness or to revive people without it in the first place.”

“Let’s not try it, please!” Danny hastily intervenes, “No dying for anyone in my family allowed now that I’m back!” 

“Dude, we aren't immortal and you know that.” Damian shoulders Danny in scolding.

“They aren't immortal, you mean. You're a halfa now. Death won't stick on us in any way that matters, so I don't want anyone getting KiA at least. If they get to the point of being old and happy, then I'm fine with them going to rest. But don't think that I will leave your side any time soon.” Danny says pointedly at Damian, who bristles.

“That's completely insane, you can't be everywhere and above all you can't stalk me everywhere! I'm Robin, Batman's right hand, I won't be babysat when I have more experience than you no-” Damian's rant gets silenced by Danny kissing him.

Even after he lets go, Damian's brain is still blue screening while the BatFam is either gaping or catcalling.

“Tucker, or whatever you new name is, why do you think I went to sleep there after you all died in your past life?” Points at the coffin. “You remember that ‘Other Me’?”

“Vaguely, details are still a bit fuzzy, but he didn’t say much anyway after he tied us to the boiler…” Damian blinks, still a bit dazed by the kiss, but then grimaces at Danny’s flinch.

“Yeah, well, he actually went insane after losing you since that gave him an Obsession Failure. He broke down so deeply and irreversibly that it twisted him enough that accepting Vlad’s help led him to being the Scourge of Humanity. I-I… promised you to never become like him, so… this was the only way I could do that. I didn’t know what else to do, I’m sorry I wasn’t able to save you after all!” Danny breaks down, crying and sobbing and collapsing against Damian, as he cradles him in his arms.

Damian tries to console him with both physical affection (hugs and caresses) and murmuring reassurances (things like ‘it’s okay, it’s alright, it’s not your fault’) until the outburst slows down and his latest proposition catches Danny’s attention.

“Do you want to meet Batcow? She’s a true sweetheart, her therapist abilities are without equals among the living.”

“...You have a pet cow?” Danny’s voice is still rough with tears, but his disbelief is unmistakable.

“Of course I can have a pet cow! I saved her from an inhumane slaughterhouse, what I’ve seen there even made me swear off meat!” Damian!Tucker says righteously, but then realization sinks in as he stares with growing horror into Danny’s wide eyes.

“Oh Ancients, I’ve become like Sam! And I can’t even go back on the belief of my new life because both she and my current self have a point!”

That seems another breaking point, because Danny starts laughing so hard that he’s crying again.

“It’s not funny Danny, I’m having a crisis here!” Damian!Tucker cries in despair (to hide the relief that his best friend/crush/future boyfriend? isn’t as hopeless and depressed as before) as he lightly shakes the other, making him laugh even harder.

(He won’t let him go either. As Damian, now Tucker has all the skills he lacked in his past life and can protect his People. He won’t fail again.)

[vecnuthy]

The rosegram 🌹

G | wc: 802 | school tradition, pre steddie, fluff; i thought the idea was cute, don't look too closely at it

•🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹•

Hawkins High had a tradition involving the students getting to send rosegrams to their crushes or friends on Valentine's Day, courtesy of office secretary Mrs. Baker's husband, who owned the flower shop in town. The generous donation of roses were up for grabs with the students, and only involved them needing to fill out a tag for their rose – the front held the recipient, the inside revealed the sender. The tags would be tied to a rose stem, then some students would volunteer to pass them out for extra credit for one of their classes.

Steve loved participating in it. Every year, he would grab a few tags and fill them out with his friends and even schmooze up to the teachers, too. He was a charming bastard, sue him! But Mrs. Waters in the library was always so nice to him, especially when he went there for the quiet if he had a migraine.

His senior year was a little different, though. It had been a few months since Nancy called what they had "bullshit," and Tommy and Carol were even older news, so Steve felt bad for himself. Sure, he still had some of his teammates that Billy had so far failed to influence, and Steve still had a rogue date every now and then, but he was alone for Valentine's Day this year. So he filled out a few tags for some teachers and one for himself with the inside blank, thinking that maybe the girl handing out the flowers would be cute, and he could give it to her. Maybe even land a date. If not, he would have a rose.

God, how pathetic.

•🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹🌹•

Valentine's Day fell on a Friday that year. Mr. Baker's delivery truck was relieved of the donated roses that morning, and the tags were tied by volunteer students, then handed out to the others to deliver them.

Needing the extra credit, Eddie grabbed the bundle of roses that Mrs. Baker passed him through the office window as she commanded him to "Fly, Cupid!”

So Eddie did. Usually a cynic that balked on the face of conformity and PDA, Eddie secretly enjoying the way getting a rose tended to brighten people's day, and he loved making a production of it sometimes. He was on his last bundle and had a handful left by the time Eddie got to a tag with “Steve Harrington” on it. Eddie tracked him down in the library during his free period and cleared his throat in the silence, making Steve jump while someone hissed a "shh!"

"For you," Eddie whispered, presenting the rose with a flourish.

Steve paused, just looking at Eddie for a moment before he took the rose from Eddie's fingers and opened the tag to read who it was from. Then he looked back up at Eddie.

"It's blank," he whispered.

Eddie frowned down at him. "Okay?"

Steve considered him for a moment, then swallowed, his cheeks going a little pink, then asked, "Who's it from?"

"I don't know," Eddie said with a bit too much snark and volume, earning another sharp "Shh!" from their left. Eddie lowered his voice, "I don't have a list of senders, so you'll have to figure it out."

Eddie turned to leave but stopped when Steve whispered, "Did you get one?"

Eddie shot him a pointed look. "No. Look–" Eddie cut off whatever Steve had opened his mouth to say, "–I'm just your resident cupid passing them out, so if you would excuse me–"

"Wait!" Steve hissed. "You take it."

Eddie scrunched his face in disbelief, because was this guy for real? But Steve insisted, holding it out closer to Eddie.

Eddie looked around, waiting for somebody to jump out and reveal it was a prank, but nobody was posting attention to them. He looked again between Steve and the rose. "But somebody gave you that."

Steve frowned and looked down at the blank tag, then looked back up at Eddie, saying, “Doesn't look like it. Here." Steve then grabbed his pen and put it to the tag.

Eddie watched the pen strokes form on the paper, then–

“Happy Valentine's Day," Steve told him with the rose held back out to him.

Eddie put the other roses down on the wood table and tentatively took the rose from Steve's hold, still not really sure if it was a prank or what, but Steve's smile, though small, seemed genuine, if not a little eager. Eddie held the tag and saw that Steve had scrawled "for Cupid" on the inside.

"Thank you?"

The nod and smile Steve gave him made the unease in his stomach morph into a flutter of butterflies, so he grabbed the other roses off the table and, hopefully, turned in time to hide how red his face had grown.

[sorcererofsolitude]

Wednesday, unceremoniously walking up to Enid and thrusting a heavy book in her hands: I gather that this day of sappy love and meaningless commercialism is important to you, so I've made you something for the occasion.

Enid: Aw, Wens! You remembered!

Enid flipped through the tome, which turned out to be a scrap book. It contained a surprising number of artifacts. Tickets to their first movie together, the carcas of the first spider Enid begged Wednesday to kill, clippings of Enid's many activities in the school newspaper, and even a swatch of Enid's lipstick she was wearing the first time they kissed.

Every item had a note written under it, such as "We saw a romantic comedy. Enid squealed when the couple finally admitted their feelings for each other. How disgustingly adorable," under their ticket stubs.

Enid, eyes gleaming with happy tears: This... is the sweetest thing anyone has ever done for me.

In a shocking move, Wednesday steps forward and kisses Enid on the cheek in public.

Wednesday, desperately trying to hide the blush creeping over her cheeks: Happy Valentine's Day... te amo.

AO3: SorcererOfSolitude

[suspiciouslackofclowns]

Steve is always giggling and doing the most cutesy, flirty, lovey dovey shit at the most random times. And it never fails to catch Billy off guard.

They’ll be watching tv in their boxers, beer cans and pizza boxes littering the coffee table, and Steve will realize they’re sitting next to each other and stretch an arm around Billy’s shoulders. He’ll pull him close and smile when the blond fusses and shoves at him, ultimately getting his way.

He’ll decide to hold Billy’s hand when they’re driving, or when they’re smoking on the porch, or even if they’re sat near each other at a table.

It doesn’t matter if Billy just finished telling him to fuck off or that he’s an arrogant asshole, Steve will giggle and then a compliment will roll off his tongue like the charm is merely second nature. He’ll wink. Make the pit of Billy’s stomach squirm.

And then Billy notices just how often the bullshit works on him.

Like the time they were over at the Byers’ place for a kickback, or whatever it’s called when a group of 20-something year olds sit around day-drinking, and Steve pouted any time Billy wasn’t right next to him.

He beckoned him over casually. Patted his leg. Stared longingly until Billy huffed and shuffled in beside him on the sofa like an aloof cat that wanted nothing to do with its owner.

That is, until Steve hummed happily and looped an arm around his shoulder. Dragged him closer and flattened his hand against his chest, holding him still. Caging him in.

Collaring him.

It’s suffice to say that Billy didn’t really stray too far after that, despite the look on his face screaming utter annoyance.

It comes to a head on Valentine’s Day, of all days.

They see a movie. Grab a burger on the way home, where Steve has another selection of rental tapes to choose from and an array of snacks to pick at.

Even at a glance, it’s clear that he planned all of it out. Budgeted. Hell, he even cleaned the apartment while Billy was out running errands with Max earlier in the morning. It’s endearing. Makes Billy feel soft, tucked into Steve’s side on their couch, feeling the vibrations of his voice as he laughs at the tv.

Then, after spending hours together, Steve shuts the tv off. Stretches. Glances at the blond and smiles, eyes half-lidded.

“Wanna watch the rest tomorrow? I’m beat,” he says.

For a beat, Billy just stares at him. It has Steve glancing away and back nervously, and holding his breath when Billy’s brows knit together.

“Are you fuckin’ kidding me? That’s it?”

“What?” Steve sputters out. “Did you… wanna turn the tv back on?”

His eyes blow wide when Billy takes a fistful of his shirt. When he gets close and mean like he used to back when they hated each other, eyes narrowed and jaw clenched.

Just like back then, Steve does nothing when his power is checked but sit and stare.

Typical.

“Do you like me, or what?” Billy demands.

Lightly shakes the brunet to prompt him for an answer when he gives none.

“I like you,” Steve blurts. “I thought that was obvious? We’ve been friends for—“

“Don’t piss me off, Harrington.” Billy searches his face for a moment, unable to keep the words from sinking in. Unable to keep his eyes from turning misty when he thinks of the word friend. “God, you’re a douchebag, y’know that?”

His voice waivers slightly near the end, and he loosens his grip on Steve’s shirt. Shoves him further into the couch as he stands up from his seat, aiming to stalk off to his room and lock the door behind him. Or, better yet, to snatch his keys and fuck off for the night.

But Steve catches his wrist before he’s taken more than a couple of steps, stopping him in his tracks.

“Hey,” Steve coos. Swipes his thumb softly against the inside of Billy’s wrist. “I’m sorry, for whatever I did, okay? Sit down and let’s talk.”

Billy pulls his hand free and scoffs.

“It’s what you didn’t do, dickhead.”

“Ouch, sweetheart, I’m just trying to figure this out, okay?”

Steve scoots to the edge of his seat and reaches again, concern plastered on his face, and huffs when Billy dodges him.

The blond grits his teeth and shakes his head.

“That shit, right there,” he rasps. “Are you messing with me? Trying to get a rise out of your fag roommate for a long-winded joke? ‘Cause I think the punchline’s overdue.”

He knows he’s in borderline hysterics when his voice cracks, and Steve’s face is stricken with horror at his words. Words that take a moment to circulate, to process. Words that make a heat begin to rise up Steve’s neck like the licks of a flame.

He stands as well, and Billy staggers back another step or two, breathing hard.

What he expects, he isn’t sure. Maybe Steve will hit him, insulted by what he’s insinuated, or maybe he’ll simply cuss him out. Tell him to grab his shit and never come back.

He’s not expecting Steve to hug him.

The brunet practically lunges forward, and Billy puts his arms up defensively. Gasps quietly when he’s encased in a tight hug, strong arms wrapping around him and holding him close.

“I’m sorry,” Steve breathes. Hooks his chin over Billy’s shoulder and squeezes. “I’ve never been good at, well, going for it,” he admits. “I didn’t mean to lead you on. Or make you think I was leading you on, so I’m— I’m sorry.”

Billy staggers slightly on his feet, unsure of what to do with all of the energy buzzing in his veins. Steve’s hold on him remains sturdy, though, and he wills himself to relax with an exhale.

Slowly drops his arms, and brings them up to wrap gently around Steve in return.

“What did you mean to do?” he asks, softly.

The brunet sighs. Slumps into the embrace, tracing little shapes into Billy’s back with the tips of his fingers.

“You’re pretty hard to read,” Steve admits. “Guess I was trying to warm you up enough to make my move.”

“Warm me up?”

“You don’t exactly act like you like me,” Steve chuckles. “I have to beg for your attention, and even when I get it, you usually seem annoyed. I thought maybe if I started doing stuff for you more often like today, maybe you’d… I dunno, tolerate me more. Or something.”

The confession has Billy’s blood running cold.

He retraces their steps from the day in his mind, running over every minuscule romantic gesture Steve performed from playing Billy’s music in the car to paying for everything to the gifts he gave him. He thinks about how, even though he considered it, he didn’t get Steve the card he was eyeing in the store earlier this week because he figured it’d be too obvious.

He didn’t get Steve anything for Valentine’s Day. He didn’t get Steve anything, and he threw a fit after being taken on the best date he’s ever had in his life. He bitched about a date he went on with a guy who doesn’t even think his feelings are reciprocated.

And Steve’s apologizing to him.

“Jesus, Stevie, I’m the douchebag,” Billy huffs. He gives the brunet a strong squeeze and earns a surprised grunt. “This whole time I’ve been waiting for the other shoe to drop, I could’ve just been flirting back.”

“You’re not a douchebag, Bill.”

“Yes, I am.” Billy laughs and shakes his head. “God, you sweet dork.”

“Hey,” Steve scoffs.

He leans back, a little smirk on his face that Billy mirrors with his own.

“Y’know, I would’ve gotten you something if I—“

“If you weren’t a douchebag?”

Billy purses his lips. Interlocks his fingers over the small of Steve’s back as he tries to suppress his grin.

The brunet relaxes his hold. Dangles his arms around Billy’s neck, fussing with a lock of his hair behind his back as he all but swoons, eyes flicking down to Billy’s lips.

The look on his face has Billy feeling like maybe it isn’t too late to return some Valentine’s Day love where it’s due.

“Yeah, pretty boy, if I wasn’t a douchebag.”

[the-blind-assassin-12]

Those Three (Hundred) Litttle Words - 4 - Spontaneous Love Confession

*all of these will be standalone fluff unless otherwise noted*

dividers by @enchanthings-a

Ezra had few memories of his father.

A Fringeling fugitive, always on the run from Central Mining Investigations, never home long enough to get caught. There was no doubt in Ezra’s mind that his father loved his wife and children fiercely, though. If he didn’t, he certainly wouldn’t have risked his life or his freedom to do what was necessary to provide for them. When he was home, handful of too-short visits to the Pug while CMI was following some decoy trail on the other side of the Seam, he always made sure that his sons knew the feeling of his strong arms around them, never missed a chance to impart some nugget of wisdom that he’d unearthed like a gem on one of his digs.

Most of those nuggets went straight over their heads, though both boys would nod sagely anyway. One, however, managed to etch itself into the interior of Ezra’s skull, stitch itself into the fabric of his heart.

Always listen to your gut… but only follow it when it’s right.

And that was why when the door slid open and he saw you there, dusty orange halo from the lamp, hair askew from sweat and the effort of cleaning the scrubber balanced on your knee, crud under your fingernails and smudged over the crest of one cheek, he followed his gut straight to where you sat.

He slipped his arms around you from behind, filthy scrubber and all, ignoring your laughing protest of “Oh, Ezra, no! I’m a mess!”

“My mess,” he murmured, pressing a kiss to your ear.

You sighed, smiling and twisting to meet his eyes. “Your mess to deal with.”

“A task I gladly accept.” He let his lips drift next to the oily smudge on your cheek. “Because I love my mess.”

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @steddieholidaydrabbles.

The Opening Act

Pop-Up Prompt: Valentine's Day/Love | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: M | CW: Over the Clothes Sexual Acts | Tags: Valentine's Day, Roommates, First Kiss, Confessions, Getting Together, Resolved Mutual Pining, Steve Harrington Will Jump in With Both Feet

The grocery store selection is lacking, at best. Steve waited too long. Dragging his feet on what he should, or shouldn't, do. If anything at all. It's Eddie. Eddie, his roommate.

Eddie, who probably doesn't feel the same way Steve's been feeling. But Steve has to find out. The not knowing, the possibility, is eating him alive. Nobody's ever accused Steve of not jumping in with both feet when he feels things. He wears his heart on his sleeve, according to Robin, anyway. 

He doesn't mind. He'll wear it there, and someday someone will be happy to see it. At least he hopes so. Sometimes he feels like Eddie might be the one who finally would.

"She must be pretty special if you're taking this long to choose."

Steve turns towards the old woman standing behind him.

"Girlfriend? Or someone you hope will be?"

Steve grins, just a little quirk of his lip, "That last one."

He's not gonna make corrections, Mother Goose here can think what she wants. He likes girls. But he loves Eddie. A lot.

So much so he's not sure where to put it all. 

"If you pick something out with love, she'll know," she says, smiling.

Steve nods. 

"Thanks," he says, and she rolls away, leaving him standing there, still unsure of what would best express his love. 

"Hey! I got pizza," Eddie says from the kitchen, shirtless, but when he looks up at Steve, his expression closes off, just a little. "Oh. Right. It's Valentine's Day. I'll save you some."

Steve's confused, then realizes he's standing there with flowers. Eddie doesn't want flowers. Eddie doesn't even have an inkling that they could be for him. This was a dumb idea. Steve tosses them on the counter.

"They're for Robin. Pizza's great," Steve says, and Eddie grins, flipping the lid of the pizza box open. 

"Look at this thing. It's a heart. Like, surprise! Everybody gets bludgeoned with Valentine's Day, like it or not."

The pizza is heart-shaped. Even the pepperoni slices are cut into hearts, and he wonders who on earth the pizza place has hired with that kind of get up and go. Not him and Robin, that's for damn sure. 

Sure, they'd solve a Russian mystery on company time, but go out of their way to make things special for the customers? No fucking way.

Maybe kids are more motivated these days. 

Eddie pulls two pepperoni hearts off of it, shoving one in his own mouth, and one in Steve's. Pepperoni stolen off slices is the best tasting pepperoni, or so Eddie has loudly declared, over and over.

Steve chews his contraband pepperoni, and puts the brown paper grocery bag on the counter. Eddie immediately starts digging through it, "Oooh! Honeycombs and Miller, you do love me, Harrington."

Shit. 

He does love him. Like, obviously. 

"And a heart-shaped box of candy? You shouldn't have, Harrington," he says sarcastically, tossing it next to the abandoned flowers.

He'd like to be locked into Eddie's heart-shaped box for weeks. 

Steve blushes at the thought. He doesn't even know what that'd entail with Eddie.

But he wants it. Wants anything Eddie would be down for, honestly.

Just wants Eddie.

Steve's having a minor crisis. He can't look away from Eddie's remaining nipple like a weirdo, like he hasn't seen him shirtless nine-thousand times. And now his dick's suddenly being insistent. Eddie's paying no attention, rooting around through the groceries like a raccoon, and Steve realizes nearly every item he pulls from the bag was specifically bought for Eddie.

And it was bought with love. Mother Goose was right. Hopefully Eddie is feeling it, even if he doesn't know what he's feeling. 

That's okay. Steve can love him, can buy what he likes, just to see him happy. It should be enough. 

It's not enough.

Steve grabs Eddie by the back of the neck, and Eddie squawks. Steve presses his mouth to Eddie's, and when he slides his tongue inside, he tastes pepperoni. It's not the best first kiss. 

But the fact that Eddie's gripping his sides, pulling him closer, makes up ground.

When they break apart, Eddie's breathing heavy, eyes a little wild, but he's still looking right at Steve, like he's unwilling to let Steve back away from this.

"The flowers. They were for you. I lied."

"Sucks for Robin, then," Eddie says, and Steve laughs.

"You on board with this?" 

"Are you fucking kidding me? I've been dropping hints for two years, Harrington. It's about fucking time."

Steve laughs, leaning forward, resting his forehead against Eddie's.

"Your breath stinks," Eddie says.

"Whose fault is that? I was minty fresh when I walked in here, Pepperoni Poacher."

Eddie laughs, and Steve pulls him closer, until they're kissing again. Eddie's breath is no better, but he doesn't give a shit. He's here, they're here, and he's gonna make the goddamn best of it. 

He slides his hand down Eddie's chest, quickly moving south, and Eddie just kicks his legs further apart, an invitation if Steve's ever seen one.

Eddie's in sweatpants, Steve's sweatpants, and they aren't hiding shit.

Steve presses the heel of his hand to Eddie's dick through the fabric.

"You could buy me dinner first," Eddie teases, but contradicts his own words, by grinding up into Steve's large palm.

"I think you bought me dinner," Steve says, nodding towards the pizza, still working his hand, getting a good feel. Letting the anticipation, the desire, build. 

Determined to make Eddie come undone, right here.

Eddie's head is tilted back, panting, exposing his throat, and his hands have a death grip on the edge of the kitchen counter. It makes Steve feel wanted. 

Maybe even loved.

And this hasn't even started yet. Not really. This is just the opening act.

"I, I," Eddie starts, choking on the words, "I ordered the pizza like that! Paid an extra fiver!" Eddie blurts, and Steve laughs, leaning into him, rewarding him with a firm stroke. 

"Of course you did."

If you want to write your own, or go see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @steddieholidaydrabbles and follow along with the fun! ❤️

[transthatmasc]

For years Castiel mentions in passing how much he liked St. Valentine and is glad that he has his own day to be celebrated. So, when they finally start dating, Dean pulls out all the stops for their first Valentine’s Day. Flowers, a card, a box of chocolates with all the weird flavorings, and even a big shiny red balloon in the shape of a heart. Dean’s a little nervous— sue him, he’s never had a serious valentine before, let alone one who really liked Valentine’s Day— but he sucks it up and waits for Cas to come home with the champagne at the ready and his flowers in hand.

When Cas comes in though, his response is nothing like he imagined. Cas stares, brow furrowed, taking in all of the decor, “Dean, what is this?” Dean panics, but tries to be cool about it, “It’s Valentine’s Day, Cas. remember? You always said it was your favorite.” Much to Dean’s relief, Cas’s face lights up at the mention of Valentine and he starts staring intently at the flowers, but soon his brow is furrowed again. “Where are the bees?”

And that was how Dean learned that St. Valentine is the patron saint of bee keeping.

[stevesbipanic]

@steddielovemonth Day 14: Love is being late to work because you can’t ever say goodbye in a reasonable amount of time @sharpbutsoft

It's a wonder Steve ever gets to work at all once he starts dating Eddie.

It starts in the morning, Eddie sleeps on the side closer to the door, prone to waking up in the middle of the night and wandering around til he's tired again. This of course puts him closer to the alarm clock and some days he's pretty fast at turning it off. Luckily, it wakes Steve up today.

Then Steve must escape what he fondly refers to as Eddie the Octopus, who tangles his limbs up with Steve's and pulls him close trying to keep him in the warmth of their bed. Thankfully, the lovebug beast can be slain with the promise of coffee and breakfast.

Breakfast is its own ordeal as Eddie's octopus tendencies don't stop in the kitchen, winding his arms around Steve as they watch the sizzling pan and sip their coffee. He does allow Steve freedom on their way to the table, but will loop their legs once they're sat down.

Even getting dressed takes twice as long, wolf whistles and innuendos trying to get Steve to stay, he wishes he could, morning sex is his favourite. Brushing their teeth becomes a competition of who can pull the dumbest face and make the other choke on spit.

Not even the front door is safe, minty kisses passed between them, today they're not even separating, Steve is dropping him at work.

The clock on his dashboard tells him he's already late, but in the carpark of the record store he can't help but want a few more moments with his lover, Robin's already clocked him in, so what's the harm in one more kiss.

Tomorrow it'll happen all again but he'd rather waste the morning with Eddie than do anything else.

[queer-dancing-fandom-nerd]

"To Dean, With Love"

By me! (BunheadKitKat19)

Early in their relationship, Castiel realizes several things: it is almost Valentine's Day, they have - despite constant company and incredible sex - not yet gone on an official date, and he has yet to give Dean a grand romantic gesture. After consulting the internet, he finds a way to address all three in one go.

The following letter is the (unfortunate?) end result...

https://archiveofourown.org/collections/DestielShitpostValentinesGiftExchange/works/63038164

[gerbfukc]

in honor of Valentine's day, I have this SUPER sexy and sweet au where-

"Mai and Ty Lee are dead."

Saying it out loud does not make it any easier to comprehend. Azula repeats it to herself anyway. It will only strengthen her. "They are dead," she whispers.

And it is because you failed them.

Had she been quicker, faster, better, then perhaps everything would be different. Had she not recruited them. Had she left on her own. Had she been perfect, then maybe...maybe...

Azula closes her eyes for a second, and in that momentary reprieve, she imagines a dream so beautiful that the stars would cry had they seen it. She imagines a dream where three girls are lazying around on some beach. The waters are refreshing and the sands welcoming in their warmth. A girl with golden eyes lays between the other two girls. It is calm. Here, they are all laughing brightly in their own ways, bright like the sun that hangs overhead. It is a beautiful dream indeed.

But before she is a dreamer, she is an idealist. Before she is Azula, she is the Crown Princess.

And as princess, she has a duty to fulfill. There is no time for frivolous mourning.

"Guards, prepare the ship. I am to set out tomorrow by the Fire Lord's command. Do see to your task."

Still, if she lies awake at night with her pillow stained with tears, none notice anyway. Not anymore.

[thetarttfuldickhead]

With minutes to spare, I posted my contribution to the Roy/Jamie Valentine's Day Ficlet Exchange 2025!

Hop on to AO3 or scroll down for misunderstanding, secret relationships, Jamie Tartt's canonical daddy issues, Ola Obisanya's canonical father of all fathers-ness, and Roy and Jamie being their usual messy selves. Happy Valentin's, y'all!

Write Songs About It

Jamie’s favourite spot, Ola learns, is "not really about the food, right, it’s more of a club really, but a friend—Keeley? Sam’s told you? Yeah—she said there’s this Italian place near Mears Walk that does a good lunch".

Over white bowls of fragrant pasta Jamie elaborates on fashion (I’m telling you, jonquil’s going to be on everybody this year); on aquatic geopolitics (and it’s so sad about the whales, innit); and of course on football (might not win this year, but we’re contenders, yeah? Next year’s ours for sure, Roy’s gonna get us there).

When Ola speaks Jamie is silent and attentive, hanging on to every word. The eager regard is flattering, and makes something in Ola twinge in sympathy.

---

It was supposed to be Samuel, of course. But: as father and son pulled apart from their long hug and Samuel said you should have told me you would be a day early, I would have picked you up from the airport and Ola replied I know. That’s why I didn’t tell you the restaurant door was pushed open and Jamie Tartt, dressed to the nines in the colours of the rainbow, sauntered inside.

“Hey, Dayo, did I leave—“ He caught sight of father and son and paused, brows furrowing in confusion. “What are you still doing here?” he asked Samuel. “Thought you were supposed to pick Simi up around now.”

“Oh.” Samuel cleared his throat awkwardly. “Um. Yes. I will give her a call.”

Raising his eyebrows, Ola tutted disapprovingly. “Samuel, are you supposed to be on a date right now?”

“Yes, well, soon, but… You are here now. Simi will understand.”

Jamie looked doubtful. “Not sure she will, mate.”

“No, no, I’m sure she—“

“Samuel, go. I am perfectly capable of looking after myself for the 350 days a year when I don’t see you, I am sure I will be fine for an afternoon.”

His son still looked hesitant, the dear, dutiful boy. Before Ola could encourage him further, Jamie jumped in, “Your dad’s right, lad. Better go make sure your girl don’t run off with some other gorgeous restaurant-owning football. Bound to be loads of ‘em.”

Ola very much doubted that, but the comment had the desired effect, and after profuse promises of lots and lots of time spent tomorrow, Samuel rushed off, leaving Jamie and Ola alone in the dining room.

“Sorry about that,” Jamie said, absentmindedly running his hand through the carefully styled hair. “Took ages for them to get together, right, and Simi’s not really the romantic type, so Sam was dead excited when she agreed to a Valentine’s date. Be a shame if he missed it. But, I’m sorry you don’t get to spend the day with him. I know that he… ” He trailed off, bit his lip. “He was really looking forward to seeing you, yeah? Been talking our ears off all week.

There's something wistful in the young man’s voice, and something sad.

Ola knew enough of him to know why.

“Don’t worry about it,” he said lightly. “Perhaps you would care to join me for some lunch instead? If you are not too busy, of course.”

Jamie pointed to himself, eyebrows raised in question, as if there was anyone else around that Ola could have possibly meant. “Me? Uh, yeah. Sure.” If the vocal response was somewhat muted, the smile on his face was anything but. “Did you wanna eat here, or… ?”

Ola put a hand on Jamie’s shoulder, gently steering him towards the door. “As much as I love Nigerian cuisine, and especially Nigerian cuisine as good as my son’s, I find it refreshing to try new things when I’m abroad. Please, take me to your favourite spot.”

---

So yes, it was supposed to be Samuel, but Ola can’t find it in him to regret ending up on an uncomfortable brown bench opposite Jamie Tartt. The boy is easy to talk to, funny and opinionated and thoughtlessly charming. Strangely shy but pleased when asked about himself, and seemingly as keen to hear what Ola has to say as he is to hear his own voice.

It is, just as it had been the first time they met, very hard to recognize in this Jamie the selfish and cruel young man Ola had once sensed the shape of in Samuel’s evasive comments during his first few months in England. Hard to reconcile this Jamie’s easy grin with the arrogant sneer of so many post-match interviews in that first, difficult year.

Now Jamie’s smile is wide when he details Samuel’s exploits on and off the pitch. Samuel finally getting together with Simi had been the big news of that week, he assures Ola, everyone’d been waiting for it, you know?

“It was about time!” Ola agrees, signalling for the waiter to indicate that a desert menu might not be unwelcome. “But what about you, Jamie? Is there no one special in your life?”

Jamie doesn’t answer immediately. His fingers find the serviette, pick at it. ”Uh, yeah. I mean, no.” A shrug. “Maybe. I guess it’s complicated."

“Oh? And how did you meet this complicated person? Is she one of Jamie Tartt’s many adoring fans?”

The smile is quick, bashful. “Nah. Met through work, didn’t we. But h-, uh, she isn’t complicated. I mean, I guess they are. But mostly it’s just… Yeah. Bit complicated because of the club and that.”

“Ah, I see,” Ola says, not entirely truthfully. “So you have no big plans for Valentine’s Day?”

Jamie shakes his head. “I don’t know that they’re into romantic stuff anyway.”  He pauses, considering. “Or, maybe they are, but… not with me, I figure.”

“Not with you? But you are dating?”

“Eh. Dunno. It’s like… We,”—he glances at Ola—“do things, yeah? Like, you know. Adult things. And we hang out. A lot. But it’s not really… “ He makes a face. “Not like we can go on dates anyway.”

Ola puts the dessert menu down, frowning, as alarm bells go off in his head. Someone Jamie has met through work; someone Jamie cannot be seen with because it would be complicated for the club… Add the facts together, check the sum, and it sounds suspiciously like what Samuel had told him about his romance with Rebecca Welton.

Samuel’s boss.

Jamie’s boss.

Ola has – reluctantly – accepted that Richmond’s owner had not meant to take advantage of Samuel (Dad, I promise, she’s even more concerned about it than you are!). Her ending the affair has mollified him somewhat. But if she is once more taking one of the club’s players to bed...

“Would you want to?” he asks carefully, not sure how to broach the subject without pushing too hard. For all his filial piety, Samuel had not responded well to Ola’s suggestion that the match was a bad one; you had to let these young men discover such things for themselves. Still, a gentle nudge in the right direction could not hurt.

Jamie takes a sip of water. “Would I want what?”

“Go on dates with this person.”

“Oh.” Jamie shrugs again. “Not up to me, is it.”

 “No? Surely you should get a say in whether you go on dates or not?”

“Eh. Not really? I mean, they pretty much decide on everything we do.”

“They decide everything?” The alarm bells blare louder still. “That does not sound very fair to you.”

Jamie gives him a blank look. “No, I love it.”

Ah. Well, Ola won’t be touching that. “I see. But even if that is the case, if there is something you are missing in the relationship, you should be able to say so.”

Jamie looks doubtful, but gives a nod all the same. “I guess. Hadn’t really thought about anything missing, to be honest. I like what we have, yeah? But maybe it’d be nice if we were… you know… more.” He looks at Ola a little uncertainly, as if he is wondering if he has gotten that right—and Ola nods encouragingly.

“Absolutely.”

Hiding one’s love away never works in the long run. And Jamie certainly deserves someone who is not afraid to show him off.

Besides, if Jamie makes it clear that he isn’t content being just a pretty boy toy, Rebecca might realise her mistake and break the affair off, just as she had done with Sam.

That really would be best for everyone.

“Yeah,” Jamie says slowly, nodding again, more decisively now. “Yeah, all right. I’ll think about it.”

“Good,” Ola says, favouring him with a warm smile. “And now, for pudding… “

They share a chocolate & hazelnut budino, and speak of other things. The restaurant empties as midday becomes mid-afternoon, and then Jamie has to leave for a barber’s appointment. (Jamie offers to cancel, and Ola tells him that is very kind, but also silly. Jamie offers to pay for the meal, and Ola tells him that is very kind, but sillier still.)

“Thank for this, Mr. Obisanya,” Jamie says as they stand on the pavement, hovering on the edge of goodbye. “I mean, Ola. It were nice.”

“It was my pleasure,” Ola assures him. He deliberates for a moment, hesitates—then he takes a step forward and pulls the young man into a firm embrace, just as he would have done Samuel. His gut tells him that this gesture will be welcome (needed), and is, as so often, proved correct when Jamie returns the hug.

“Take care of yourself, Jamie. And remember, I am here if you ever need to talk. Samuel tells me you are family.”

Jamie smiles at that. Ola smiles back.

---

The text comes through the next day, as Ola is preparing dinner while waiting for Samuel to return from training. It doesn’t say much, just Thanks for yesterday. Thought about what you said, and I have a plan underneath a bouquet of black roses.

Ola chuckles approvingly. Black flowers is a curious choice for a romantic gesture, but of course people can find romance in all sorts of things. Ayomide, for instance, is fond of Ola bringing her folded paper flowers—though he suspects that that has more to do with her knowing how difficult he finds the folding. She always did like him making an effort.  

Good for you! he sends Jamie. Begins to sing, as he sets to soaking the rice.

---

Ola waits until after dinner, when Samuel is leaning against him as they watch Ijogbon, before he asks, “Samuel, do you believe that it is possible that Jamie and your Rebecca are having an intimate relationship?”

“What?” Samuel pulls back to give him an incredulous stare. “No! No. I mean Jamie is lovely of course, but I really don’t think… Why? Dad, what did Jamie say to you?”

“He did not say very much, just that he had met someone through work and that it was complicated. Somehow, I got the feeling that this person was his superior.”

Samuel’s face goes very still for a moment, then he sighs, a soft oh, before lapsing into a long silence.

Ola waits patiently; eventually Samuel looks up, and offers, “Rebecca has been seeing a Dutch pilot since last summer and I think they are very happy together. But I think I might know who Jamie is involved with, and if it is who I think it is… then, yes, it would be complicated.” He pauses. “But good, too, I think. For both of them.”

This is a relief. Though it rather begs the question… “And you cannot tell me who this person is?”

“I’m sorry, no. I don’t think it is my place to tell.”

Ola gives a laugh, reaching out to tousle his son’s hair. “Ah! It is a shame I’ve raised you so well!”

Samuel laughs too. “Did Jamie say anything about else about this relationship?” he asks.

“Not really, but he sent me a picture of a huge bouquet of flowers, so I suspect he is planning a romantic gesture.”

“I… see,” Samuel says after a brief pause. “I hope he films it. I think it would be very interesting to watch.”

---

At the knock on his door Roy curses loudly. Whatever it is, he is not in the fucking mood. All he wants is to have his tea, read his book and then escape into the sweet oblivion of sleep.

It’s been a weird fucking day.

More specifically, Jamie has been weird. Now, Roy had expected some awkwardness at work back when they first started sleeping together, but to his surprise Jamie had seemed to have no issue separating their private sessions from their professional ones.

But then today, three months after their first hook-up, Jamie had suddenly started acting strange. Pretending he didn’t even notice Roy most of the time; throwing himself into intense conversations with whomever was nearest when Roy showed up. And yet, whenever he thought Roy wasn’t looking, he stared, eyes narrowed in a stupid-looking approximation of careful consideration.

It would have been funny, if it hadn’t been so annoying—and hadn’t made Roy so nervous.

To boot, the weather had been godamn awful, icy sleet coming down on them as the team ran their drills on the wet, slippery pitch. Once he blew the whistle on the whole miserable thing, Roy was too cold and too tired to confront Jamie over his behaviour. He went straight home instead, vowing to be in bed by nine.

And now it is just gone past six and he hasn’t even started dinner yet and whoever is at the door must have the code to the gate, and so must be someone Roy knows and trusts not to come bother him unless it is important.

Putting on his very best scowl, Roy yanks the door open. His frown deepens as his gaze fall on—of fucking course—Jamie and the frankly alarmingly large bouquet of flowers in his arms.

“The fuck is that?” Roy demands.

“They’re flowers,” Jamie says, sounding for all the world like he genuinely thinks Roy doesn’t realise that. “Jesus, Roy, didn’t think your eyesight—“ He cuts himself off, apparently deciding to save the insults for now. “They’re for you,” he adds, a little churlishly. 

Roy has gathered as much, and eyes them warily. Black roses. Bit obvious, but nice—though Roy isn’t going to tell Jamie that just yet. He wants answers first.

“Why?”

Jamie presses his lips together. Shrugs in that casual way that isn’t fooling anyone anymore. “It’s what people do, innit. When they’re, you know, together.”

“Together,” Roy echoes flatly.

“Yeah,” Jamie says, lifting his chin defiantly. “Together. Fucking hell, Roy, we work together and we hang out all the time and do fucking everything together and we sleep together. How much more together do you wanna be?”

“I didn’t say we weren’t together, you muppet!” Roy snaps, because he isn’t sure what’s going on here and he’s never been very good with either uncertainty or surprises. “It’s just… ,” he fumbles, “Fucking flowers? That’s something you want? Me to bring you… fucking roses and shit?”

It’s not thar Roy minds buying flowers, in general. He bought Keeley flowers all the time and he fucking loved how much she loved that. He just hadn’t realised that his and Jamie’s thing was a thing that ought to include flowers.

He sure as hell hadn’t grasped that his failure to bring them meant that they weren’t together.

Jamie sets his jaw mulishly. “And what if I do?”

And what if indeed. Roy grits his teeth, resigning himself to the truth even as he speaks it. “Then I fucking would. I will. If you want me to, I’ll… bring you flowers. Okay?”

“Yeah?” Jamie brightens. It pisses Roy off how much the sight of it makes him want to smile.

It pisses him off, in a whole different way, that Jamie would trust Roy to do absolutely anything with—and to—him, but not trust him enough to trust that Roy would bring flowers just because Jamie asked.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Fuck. If it’s important to you, I’ll… I don’t know. Order a fuckton of bloody dahlias and have them delivered to your house first thing in the morning.” He looks up at Jamie. “Okay?”

Jamie waves a hand dismissively. “Nah, don’t bother, mate, I’m good. Don’t really care for flowers, to be honest. Kind of sad, innit, taking them in just to have them die in a vase.”

Before Roy can ask him what the fuck this is all about then, Jamie adds seriously, “But listen, I want us to do other together stuff, all right? I dunno, go on proper dates maybe. I mean, they’re gonna have be secret ones, but everyone knows we’re mates so it won’t be weird if we go for dinner, yeah?”

“We have dinner all the fucking time,” Roy points out, slightly outraged. He doesn’t spend every other night cooking for this twat only to be told they don’t have dinner.

“Yeah, here, after you’ve made me do a million burpees. Not the same, innit. You don’t even light candles.”

Candles. Is there supposed to be candles now? Or are those like the flowers, only metaphorical? “But I didn’t know you wanted that,” Roy protests. “You never said.”

“Yeah, well.” Jamie shrugs, looking a little defensive. “You never said either. We kinda just happened. And it’s been fine,” he quickly adds. “Fucking love it, yeah? And like, we can keep on doing what we’re doing, I don’t mind… but maybe it’d be nice to do other things too.”

Closing his eyes, Roy gives a short nod, his fuck nothing more than a sigh.

Because yeah. Maybe it would be fucking nice. Roy might have allowed himself to think that, maybe, if it hadn’t been so fucking easy to just… not. So easy not to talk about it, just let their coach-player dynamic seamlessly morph into something else off the pitch; into this gorgeous thing of Jamie looking up at him with his plump lips parted, pliant and eager, ready for Roy’s next command—or ready to await Roy’s pleasure indefinitely.

He’s a beautiful thing to have, Jamie Tartt on his knees, and he’s Roy’s best friend. Roy could lose the sex, maybe, but he couldn’t fucking lose that.

But if Jamie wants more…

Roy can talk about that. Jesus fucking Christ, he won’t shut up about that. (He’ll hate every moment of it. He’ll do it all the same. For Jamie, and the way he’s looking at Roy now. There’s understanding in those grey eyes, and doubt, and hope.)

“Yeah, all right,” Roy says. That’ll have to do for now. He still hasn’t had dinner. Adds, just to be clear, “But you don’t want flowers.”

“No.”

“But you want to go on dates.”

“Be mint, yeah.”

“Did you mean… right now?”

Jamie cocks his head to the side and grins. “Hadn’t thought, but yeah, all right. Since you’re asking.”

“I wasn’t,” Roy mutters, but he is already reaching for his jacket. There is this restaurant he used to take the dates he particularly wanted to impress to, and he is willing to bet he could still wrangle a table without a reservation. “Come on, then.”

---

CODA

Perhaps he shouldn’t, but as Ola prepares to board the plane that will take him back home, he finds that he can’t not. He picks up his phone and sends Jamie a message:

It has been good to get to know you over the past few weeks. I hope things are going very well with your complicated someone.

It’s not fishing, as such. Just a reminder that Ola is there for Jamie, in his corner and rooting for him.

There is no immediate answer. The gate opens and Ola puts his phone away. When he pulls it out a few minutes later to turn it off for the flight, there’s a text from Jamie.

It only reads Going well, yeah but attached to it is a picture.

Jamie’s grin is as cheeky as ever, but his eyes are blazing and awed. Roy’s frown is as deep as ever, but is betrayed by the soft smile he can’t quite suppress.

Ah. Ah, yes. He understands now why Jamie and Samuel had called it complicated.

Understands, too, why Samuel had called it good.

He wonder what to write back; how to convey the approval and care and pride that is not strictly speaking his to give.

In the end Ola settles for the simple truth: I am happy for you.

Author's note

You know, I rather suspect that big, warm father figure Ola would get a very different Jamie Tartt experience than most others…

Huge thanks to destinatontoast for cheereading and very helpful suggestions, and to jedasaur for putting this whole thing together!

I didn’t mean to crash over the word limit like that, but unfortunately I’m incapable of keeping it short and sweet so here we are.

I'd tag the recipient but either they've changed their Tumblr or they have me blocked, which would be awkward and very, very funny.