Note: I write and edit my fics completely before posting them. This takes a while. Patience is appreciated. Just because I haven’t posted in a while doesn’t mean I’ve stopped writing.
hello, I'd just like to say thank you for carrying the mortimer x reader tag on your back for so long. I just remembered my childhood crush on toad from x men evolution the other day and found your fics on ao3
it's really cool to see someone who just likes a character a lot and writes for them regardless of how popular they are. Bless you
All hail the stinky boy appreciators
MWAH
Aah thank you 💜💜💜 (I’m sorry I didn’t see this ask sooner, I didn’t get the notification) 💜💜💜
friendly reminder to everyone that first draft just needs to exist.
it doesn’t need to be good, it just needs to be there. stories go through so many different drafts that nobody is gonna care if your first draft is a little messy.
you can’t edit and clean up something that doesn’t exist, so make it exist!
sorry i covered your neck in dark hickeys and clamped down hard on your throat like limp prey while i was giving you a handjob. you whimpered a little too soft and i blacked out and believed myself to be a feral dog in possession of an entire rotisserie chicken
Toad has buried himself in his work and needs someone to make him take care of himself.
Good thing you’re free.
Read on AO3
It had been weeks now, weeks spent hidden away in his workshop, tinkering away for Magneto. Day and night, all hours, trying to get the damned thing to work. But everything Toad tried, every part he replaced, every bolt he tightened—nothing.
He’d made steady progress at first—fix the obvious, the cracked, the missing. Get things into place, put them back together. But the tasks left were smaller, and for the life of him, he couldn’t figure out which one was making the whole thing fail. He’d gone over every inch of the damned thing, couldn’t tell you the last time he’d eaten, oiled every moving part, hadn’t slept in days, checked computer systems for bugs…
He wasn’t sure which was falling apart worse, the machine or himself. His muscles ached. His head swam whenever he stood, or sat, or looked at something for too long. He just needed to finish. If he could fix it, get it running again—
Just a little longer. It’s so close. I’ll be done soon…
He took a deep breath and picked up a wrench, praying he was right.
You pushed open the workshop door, the hinges groaning. The place was filthy—it usually was—and a cluttered mess—it usually wasn’t. Sure, everything was always covered in a layer of oil and grime, but Toad kept things organized, put away. Or at least he had before. Now tools were scattered over benches, tables, the ground. Screws, nuts, bolts, washers, wires, and a dozen other types of little metal things you couldn’t name littered the floor, sat in piles in the corners. Scrap metal and broken glass lay piled against the walls. Sure, there was a certain amount of chaos in any workshop, but this…
This had gotten out of hand.
Metal crashed on the other side of the chaos. Toad stood up, hand clutched to his head, eyes screwed shut. “Bloody… fuck!” Just what he needed, a damn concussion.
“Hey.”
His eyes shot open, struggling to focus. They tried to close again, heavy as cement, but he forced them open. He dropped his hand from his head, glancing at it to check for blood. None, thank god. “What’re you doing down here?”
You gave a curt laugh. “Good to see you too. Just checking on you. Making sure you hadn’t starved to death or something.”
“I’m fine.” He dropped a misshapen hunk of metal on a cart laden with them. “I just can’t figure out what the hell is wrong with this thing. I’ve replaced every damn part. Gonna turn into Theseus’ ship at this rate. I just don’t know—” He kicked the cart away, a few of the parts tumbling down and clattering against the floor. “I just don’t know.” He pulled the goggles from his eyes and rubbed at the red marks they left, smearing grease down his cheek.
“You need to take a break.”
You always spoke to him so softly, he thought. He could curl up in that voice and go to sleep instantly. Warm, sweet—
He shook his head, thoughts of comfort and sleep vanishing. “No, no. I need to finish this. It should’ve been done days ago. I can’t just—”
You reached out and took his fidgety hand. “Listen. It doesn’t need to get done right now.”
He shook his head. “It does. I need to—to…” He searched for the words, but his mind was blank. All he could feel was the ache in his back and your warm hand on his.
“You’re one person. And you’ve been working as hard as you can. Too hard, if you ask me.”
Toad opened his mouth to argue, but you cut him off.
“If Magneto wants it done so damn bad, he can fix it himself.”
“Ha.” Toad’s eyes were unfocused, distant. He swayed slightly where he stood. “He might have an easier time of it than me.”
“Mm-hmm. You can’t figure out how to fix it because you're exhausted.”
He half-shook his head. “I’m fine.”
“You're not. When was the last time you ate?”
Toad thought, picking back through his memories for food. He couldn’t find a single bite, not for the last day or two anyway. “I don’t know.”
You nodded. “I had a feeling that might be the case. I ordered takeout. Want some?”
Yes. Yes, desperately. At the mention of food, his stomach reeled, sharp pains running through him, urging him on toward whatever you had for him. But another part of him dragged him back—the work, the machine, the endless problems. He waited, watching the two halves of his mind fight—eat or work, eat or work.
“Yes, please.” He glanced again at the mess of wires and metal behind him. He was sick of looking at it, hated every inch of it. “I’ll have some food.”
You grinned and grabbed his arm. “Thank god. I was bracing for having to carry you out of here kicking and screaming.”
He shook his head. “I can eat in here. Better if I do, you know? So I can get back to it when I'm done.”
You tugged his arm and he took a few stumbling steps with you toward the door. “Absolutely not. You are taking a break. Whether you like it or not.”
There was no fight left in him, outside of a few stray thoughts. Stay, work, this needs to—They didn’t have much sway, not compared to the combined forces of hunger, fatigue, and you. He put what little energy he had left into staying upright as you led him out of the workshop and through the base to your room.
The bag of takeout containers sat on a rickety little table, a mismatched folding chair on either side. As soon as the door opened, he could smell it. His stomach growled. This would be better than any five-star restaurant.
“Make yourself at home.” You smiled and let go of his arm.
He felt himself sway, stumbled the few steps to his chair and sank down. The grease on his clothes felt like it was burning. The dark smudges on his hands stood out, starker and starker the longer he looked at it. All the filth he was covered in—grease, sweat, general dirt—he shouldn’t be here, he should be in the workshop. He should get up and leave before—
You sat one of the boxes in front of him, and again, his stomach rolled.
“Thanks.”
“No problem.” You smiled and sat down.
Fuck, was he hungry.
Toad tried to keep from seeming too desperate. He forced himself to open the box slowly, carefully, not like a rabid coyote that wanted to shove its face into whatever you had given it and scarf it all down in three bites maximum.
He grabbed his fork and shoved a bite into his mouth. Perfect. Divine. The best food he had ever eaten. He relaxed, shoulders going slack, sinking back into his chair as he lost himself in his meal.
You watched him, chewing your own food as you did. He was slumped over, staring down at nothing with unfocused, half-shut eyes. When he lifted the fork to his mouth, his hand shook, threatening to dump the bite back into the box. He was grimy, from his hair to his hands to his clothes, all streaked and smudged with black.
There was no way in hell you were letting him go back to that workshop tonight.
When you finished your food, you shut the box, stuffing it and your napkins into the bag. “Feel any better?”
He shoved the last bite into his mouth and nodded, glazed-over eyes lifting to meet yours.
“Good. I worry about you.” You took the empty box and stacked it with yours.
The corner of his mouth raised a tiny bit, an attempt at a smile. “I’m alright.”
You shook your head. “You're not.”
The first thing to go was always taking care of himself. No food, no water, no sleep. It vanished so quick, so easily.
“I know. ‘S just…” He sighed, weary. “This needs to get done. If I don’t, Magneto will…” He couldn’t stand to finish the thought. Magneto had already screamed, thrown things at him, threatened him with being replaced, cast aside, abandoned. He dropped his head.
You crouched in front of him, taking his hands in yours. “Listen. He can scream and shout all he wants. But you deserve a break. And if he has a problem with that, he’s gonna have to go through me. Got it?”
Toad swallowed the lump in his throat. “Got it.”
You squeezed his hand. “Good.” You stood, pulling his hands and gaze up with you. “I bet you’ll feel better after a shower.”
He frowned and slouched back down. “Yeah. S’pose.” He glared at the bathroom door from the corner of his eye.
“Would you like the idea any better if I joined you?”
He perked up, sitting a little straighter. “Might make it tolerable.”
“I thought it might.” You pulled him up from the chair and led him to the bathroom.
You flipped the lights on and shut the door, then turned to rest your hands on Toad’s shoulders, kneading your fingertips into his muscles. He sighed and slouched into the touch, eyes drifting shut. You smiled—it was so nice to see him like this, calm, at ease.
“Let’s get you cleaned up,” you whispered, hands drifting down to his shirt’s zipper. You tugged it open, then ran your hands back up his chest, pushing the fabric aside.
“Mmm.” Toad reached out and rested his hands on your hips, tugging you in closer. His shirt fell to the floor. His eyes drifted shut as he leaned in, lips connecting with yours, soft and slow, melting into you with each movement.
You tangled your hand in his hair, the other staying put on his chest, tracing up and down, up and down.
Toad’s mind stilled; his body relaxed. You were so warm against him, warm and soft. He wanted to fall asleep then and there, tangled up in you, nothing to do, no deadlines, no problems, just warmth and comfort. No shouting. Nothing thrown at him. No threats.
Nothing but you.
You pulled back, and his shoulders sagged. “Sorry,” you whispered, giving him one last peck on the cheek. “But I promise there’s more where that came from after we get cleaned up.”
“Yeah, sure,” he grumbled, looking down to undo his belt.
“Oh, don’t be like that.” You smiled. “You know I didn’t want to stop, but one of us has to be the responsible one.”
“Responsible one, no fun one.” He made a face, then smiled. ““I think I was about to fall asleep standing up. Ugh.” He shook his head. “I'm just so damn tired.” He put his hands on the counter and hung his head.
You wrapped your arms around his waist and kissed the back of his shoulder. “We’ll make this quick then, alright?”
He nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”
You let go of him and tugged your own top off, tossing it to the floor. His eyes followed you in the mirror, wandering over you as you undressed, over your neck, your chest, your legs.
You looked at him the same way, eyes tracing over every inch of him you got to see.
He left the rest of his clothes on the ground and followed you into the shower. You turned the water on, a brief burst of cold followed by soothing warmth.
He flinched back from the water, but you held out your hand and coaxed him over. “Come on. It’s warm. And the sooner we get cleaned up, the sooner you can go to sleep.”
He nodded and shuffled forward. “I know.” He sighed. “I just don’t like ‘em.”
“I know.” You squeezed his hand. “We’ll make it quick.”
You held his hands under the water, washed away the grime from each finger, each palm, your hands tracing over his.
I really am gonna fall asleep standing up… Toad scrunched his eyes shut, then forced them open again, forced them to focus on you, your hands, your face, anything. Just stay awake.
A mist of water splashed onto his face, and he grimaced, recoiled from it however warm and necessary it was. He just couldn’t stand showers. Maybe it was how cold the water always was back at the orphanage. Maybe it was how soap had always left his skin itchy, sore, and raw. Maybe it was how vulnerable they left him feeling, naked, alone, unable to see or hear who was sneaking up on him.
He’d rather be anywhere but here. Even though the water was warm now, he’d found soap that didn’t burn, there were two locked doors between him and anyone who might attack—not to mention someone on his team to help him if they did—he just couldn’t enjoy it. Too much baggage.
But it was better now than it had been before, no question.
“Lean your head back.” You ran your fingers through his hair, the water washing over. Your fingers worked through his hair, suds carrying away the grease and oil, nails scratching at his scalp. He leaned into your hands, eyes closed.
You leaned his head back and rinsed the suds from his hair, then got a small pump of soap to wash his face, gentle hands running along his cheeks and jaw, erasing the smudges. His hand reached out to rest on your hip as you worked, and you couldn’t help but smile.
He let you scrub the grease from him, helped to wash away the streaks of oil and dirt from his arms, his legs, his back. You tried to be quick and thorough and gentle at once.
“All done,” you said once you were satisfied that all the grime was gone. The last of the suds fell to the tile below, and you turned the tap off. “Was it as awful as you expected?” You grinned, reaching out to grab a towel.
“Not as awful as they are when you're not in them, I’ll say that.” He reached around you and grabbed a towel for himself.
You wiped the water from your arms and legs, then wrapped the towel around you, tucking it into place.
You watched Toad for a moment. Slow, lethargic, he wiped his towel up and down over the same small patch of skin. His eyelids lowered, then fluttered open again, and he shook his head. You reached out and took the towel from him. “Here, let me.”
He didn’t respond, but his hands went slack and let you take the towel from him. You rubbed the towel on his hair, leaving it ruffled and wild. You ran it over his shoulders and chest and around his back, then wrapped it around his waist.
“Almost done.” You ran your fingers through his hair, smoothing it down.
He gave one small, curt nod.
You pulled back the curtain and stepped out into your room, looking through the drawers for your pajamas and his. You carried them back to the bathroom and sat the piles on the counter.
You finished drying off, and pulled your pajamas on.
Toad stood by the counter, towel draped around his hips, staring at the clothes you’d gotten him. Slowly, he turned his eyes to the discarded work clothes on the floor.
“I should really go—”
“No.”
He blinked. “What?”
“No. You shouldn’t. Unless the next words out of your mouth were going to be ‘to bed’, you are wrong.” You crossed your arms. “You said it yourself—you are falling asleep standing up.”
“But I'm so damn close.”
“To what? Dying of exhaustion?” You put your hands on his shoulders and looked him in the eye. “No. You need rest. You can barely stand, let alone weld or use power tools.” You sighed. “Look, normally I wouldn’t do this. But I am not going to let you leave this room. It’s not a suggestion. I’m not asking. You are going to sleep.”
The circles under his eyes seemed to darken.
You took his hand and squeezed it. “Morty, listen to me. You need this. You deserve this. Come to bed.”
He stood still a moment more, the wheels in his mind turning like the wheels on that machine refused to. Then, slowly, he nodded. “Yeah. Alright.”
You squeezed his hand. “Good boy.”
He pulled his clothes on and let you guide him to the bed. You laid down and watched him crawl in after, finding his usual spot nestled against you, head on your shoulder, arms wrapped around your waist.
“Just for an hour or two,” he mumbled against you. “I really need to get this finished. I swear, I'm just being dramatic. I’m really not that ti—.” He cut himself off with a yawn.
“Mm-hmm.” You brushed the hair out of his eyes. “I set an alarm for the morning—don’t worry. But I expect you to be here when it goes off. Got it?”
He huffed, burying his face in your neck. “Got it.”
“Good.” You kissed him on the forehead and closed your eyes. “Good night.”
Throat fucking with tongue is such an underrated monster/beast kink though. Like god, just someone choking and gagging as their partner's tongue squirms deeper and deeper, drool just absolutely everywhere, their eyes rolling back as their oxygen is cut off. . . . . .
You are a teacher at the Jean Grey School for Higher Learning, and Valentine’s Day is fast approaching. While your students are busy preparing for the dance, you have something else on your mind—the flowers left on your desk with no name attached. Will you figure out who left them before Valentine’s Day, or will you be chaperoning alone?
Read on AO3
You walked down the hallway of the mansion to your classroom, dodging the dangling pink and red paper hearts that hung from the ceiling. Valentine’s Day was coming soon, and the students had planned a party. Decorations were plastered on every wall, surrounding bright pink flyers announcing the time and place: 7 PM, the dining hall. For the night, the tables would be shoved to the side and stacked with snacks and drinks, the rest of the room filled with confetti, streamers, and balloons, lights dimmed and music blaring while they celebrated.
You would probably be chaperoning, camped out by the wall, making sure no one spiked the punch.
It would be nice to have someone to spend the day with, you thought. Spending it alone wasn’t anything new, and therefore wasn’t especially painful, but it would be nice. Different. A little less lonely.
It was…fine. You had time, the whole rest of your life, to find a partner. And even if you didn’t, it wasn’t that big a deal. You functioned just fine on your own. But you had to admit it would be nice.
Valentine’s Day was a reminder of that.
You stepped into your classroom and flipped the lights on. A burst of color that wasn’t usually there caught your eye as the room brightened.
There, on the desk, was a bouquet of flowers. Red carnations, purple asters, tiny white flowers sprinkled in between, all arranged in a vase. You stooped to smell them, their sweet perfume making you smile. Beside them, you noticed a blank red envelope. You picked it up and slid the card out—a simple one, a red heart with Be my Valentine? in gold on the front.
Inside, in small, crooked handwriting, it read:
I wasn’t sure if I should do this or not, but I decided I might as well try. I think you're great. You smile at me whenever you pass me in the hall, and it makes my day every time. (You probably smile at everyone, but I still like it.) I hope you have a happy Valentine’s Day.
You smiled as you read it. Such a sweet note.
With no name on it.
You checked over the rest of the card for a signature, the back the front, the envelope, inside and out. You looked the bouquet over for a card tucked between the flowers. Nothing.
You sighed. That was just your luck, wasn’t it?
The door opened, and you looked up. The janitor, Toad, walked in, a stern look on his face that grew sterner when he saw you at the desk.
You smiled. “Morning.”
He nodded, hovering in the doorway a moment, before grabbing the trash can from beside your desk.
You looked at the flowers again while he emptied it, turning the vase, hoping to find something hidden between the petals, if not a name, then a clue of some kind.
Toad replaced the can and made his way back toward the door, head low.
“Wait,” you said, before he could leave.
He turned around, hand on the doorknob. “Hmm?”
“Did you see anyone come in here this morning?” you asked. “Someone left me these flowers, but they didn’t put their name on the card.”
He frowned, a deep crevice forming between his eyebrows. “I didn’t. Too busy running back and forth cleaning up everyone’s messes to see anything,” he grumbled.
Your heart fell. “Oh. Thanks.” You sat, head propped on your hand, gazing at the bouquet as he let himself out.
Toad shut the door with a huff and put a hand to his forehead. Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit! He knew you got to your classroom early, but he though he still had a little time. As soon as he’d left the room that morning, he’d changed his mind about leaving the flowers and the note. It could only go badly. At best, you’d never find out it was from him. At best, you’d be disappointed. At best, you’d be disgusted.
But it was too late to trash the whole idea now.
No one had seen him leave them. No one knew he was planning to. There was a chance you might not figure it out.
He’d just have to hope you stayed in the dark.
Inside, you looked at the flowers and smiled. Things were looking up, at least. You moved them to the corner of your desk by the wall where they wouldn’t be knocked in the floor and turned on your computer. Right now, you had a class to teach.
The mystery could wait for the afternoon.
***
No one had any idea who left you the flowers. No one had seen anyone in the hall that morning. No one had seen anyone coming or going with them through the front door. No one knew anything.
You carried the vase back to your room on campus, placing it on a table near the door. It had been silly to get your hopes up, hadn't it? Anyone could have left them, and the odds of you figuring out who were slim to none.
It didn’t really matter, you supposed. But the upcoming holiday had swayed you. Valentine’s day was made for this, making people want romance any way they could get it. For a minute, you thought you could be one of those people, happily in a relationship on Valentine’s Day, all those hearts and roses and candies feeling like they were made for you. It was embarrassing to admit, even to yourself, that you had been a little more than excited to see those flowers on your desk. Maybe hopeful, maybe something more.
You picked up the card and reread it for the dozenth time. You smile at me whenever you pass me in the hall. They were right—that could be anyone. You passed by just about everyone each day, on the way to your classroom, the cafeteria, the dorms. It makes my day every time.
Well, maybe if you’d signed your note, I could make your day again. You sighed and sat heavily on the edge of the bed. Alright, let’s narrow this down.
It wasn’t handwriting you recognized, so it wasn’t a coworker you were close to. It was probably a man, but you couldn’t be sure about that based on handwriting alone.
Then it hit you: The bulletin board.
You could check there. Of course. Months’ worth of notes were pinned up there from the faculty, sign-up sheets, questions, requests, announcements, most of them written by hand, and most with names attached.
You picked up the card and set off.
Most of the pages on top were about the dance—sign-up sheets for chaperones, shopping lists, another flyer like the ones in the hallway. None of the writing on top matched your card. All too thin, too neat, too curly, too stiff. You lifted the top pages to search underneath, scanning over the tapestry of old notes.
A few letters caught your eye.
The paper had been covered by others; now only the very end peeked out. You tugged it free from the pin holding it in place and slid it out.
I don’t suppose we could just give them water this time instead of punch? Or anything that isn’t sticky? After the last party, it took me three days to get the floor clean.
—Toad
And that was it. Same crooked letters, same wide e’s, same smudged ink.
You’d found your man.
You let the papers fall back into place on the board and tucked the note you’d pulled from the bulletin into the card. As you turned to head back to your room, a half-smile tugged at the corner of your mouth. Toad. You were a little surprised. He didn’t seem to like… well, anyone. He kept to himself, glared at everyone, including you, and acted like everyone around him was nothing but the source of a mess he’d have to clean up later. You did your best to be nice to him, but it never seemed to make a difference.
Until now, of course.
He’d said his piece. Now it was your turn.
You walked back to your room on autopilot, the familiar halls nothing but a blur hidden behind your thoughts. What to do… The Valentine’s dance was the next night—the students and faculty alike would be preoccupied. Not much time to plan anything, but you weren’t about to let that stop you.
As you got ready for bed, a plan took shape in your mind. It might be a happy Valentine’s Day after all.
***
You picked up the bag from the counter and slung it over your shoulder. A glance at the clock told you the dance was set to start in an hour—plenty of time to spare.
You walked down the hall, scanning for Toad’s whereabouts. Students dashed back and forth, showing off their dresses, looking for their friends. You smiled. They deserved a good time. It’s a hard life being different—any joy is worth savoring.
You rounded the corner and spotted Toad’s janitor’s cart parked outside a classroom door, stacked with buckets and bottles. Inside, he stood near the back of the class between the empty desks, sweeping tiny specks of confetti into a pile.
You knocked on the door. “Are you busy?”
He grumbled something you couldn’t hear, then crouched to hold the dustpan in place while he swept the little paper hearts into it. “I am actually, so whatever’s been spilled or broken, I’ll get to it when I—” He looked back over his shoulder, the sour frown on his face vanishing to surprise when he saw you. “—get to it. Er. Hello.” He stood and shuffled around you to the trash can, dumping the confetti inside. “I didn’t realize it was…” He loaded the broom back onto his cart. He took a moment to think, fiddling with the bottles on the cart, then looked back at you. “What did you need cleaned up?”
You shook your head. “Oh, I didn’t need anything cleaned up. I just wanted to know if you were busy.”
He stared at you, unblinking. “Nothing that can't wait, I suppose. What do you need?” He clutched the edge of the cart in his hands to keep from fidgeting.
“Well, I really liked the flowers you got me,” you said, noting the slight change in his facial expression at the words—his eyes grew wider, his jaw tensed. “And I thought your note was sweet. So I was wondering if you might like to have a picnic with me on the grounds. While everyone is busy won't bother us, you know.”
He blinked, expression measured and unchanging. “How did you figure they were from me?”
“You have distinctive handwriting.” You smiled. “So. Picnic?”
“I, um, I mean, I would—” He swallowed and started again. “I’d love to. Yes.” He grinned. It was the first time you’d seen him smile.
You couldn’t help but smile back. “Great. I’m ready whenever you are, but I figure you need some time to finish up here.”
He glanced down at the cart and his grimy uniform. “Give me just a few minutes. Please. I promise I won't take long, I just—”
“That’s fine. Take your time. I’ll wait for you by the front door.”
He swallowed, forcing himself to breathe. “Right. I’ll meet you there. I won't be long, promise.”
“I wasn’t worried about it.” You laughed and waved as the two of you parted ways. A few steps down the hall, you glanced back over your shoulder to see him jogging along with the cart, keys jingling on his belt. You smiled and headed for the front door.
You hovered there, watching the students congregate, laughing with each other, twirling their skirts, fixing each other’s makeup. They all looked so happy, so excited—and for the first time in a long time, you felt the same.
***
Across the school, Toad panicked.
He scrubbed the grime from his arms and face in the bathroom sink. He ran his fingers through his hair, willing it to look something like presentable. Dis he have any clothes for this? Could he find some on such short notice? Christ, why did I agree to this? He shook his head to dislodge that particular thought. Because I bloody want to do it, that’s why! He turned off the tap and looked at himself in the mirror. This would be fine. it would be great. At the very least, it wouldn’t be awful. Unless you decided that you hated him, but what were the chances of that?
He decided not to answer that particular question.
Forget it. Just get changed and go find her.
***
You glanced at the clock on the far wall. He would be here any minute. Unless he had decided not to come, of course, but you didn’t let yourself dwell on the possibility. The students had disappeared into the dance, the music faintly thrumming through the doors, the pink and red lights reflecting through the windows.
You swayed to the music, eyes glued to the clock, lost in thought. This would be fun, right? A nice change of pace for both of you? You didn’t know Toad very well, but no one here really did. He seemed antisocial, like he’d be happier if everyone at the school disappeared or dropped dead and left him alone. But no one really wanted to be all alone, did they? They just wanted someone who treated them well, the way they wanted to be treated.
You sighed. You needed this date. And maybe Toad did too.
Beside you, someone cleared their throat.
Your eyes broke away from the clock, and you looked over to see Toad standing beside you. He held his hands, clutched together, in front of him, shuffling where he stood. “Hi.”
“Hi.” You smiled and straightened up. “Sorry, just thinking.”
“It’s fine. Sorry I took so long, I just wasn’t…” He didn’t know how to finish. He’d been trying to make himself look presentable, or at least as presentable as he was capable of looking. Someone you wouldn’t be ashamed to be seen with. But, he thought, failing that, this would do. He wore a light blue button-up shirt with a red bowtie and suspenders. He wasn’t sure how he felt about it—they made him stand out too much, more than he already did.
“Don’t worry about it. You look great.”
His heart skipped a beat. “No, you look great,” he blurted. “You always look great.”
You smiled as his cheeks went red. “Thank you. Ready to go?”
He nodded stiffly. “Yes. I’ll follow you.”
You held the door open, and he kicked himself for not opening it for you. The two of you walked in silence across the grounds, a comfortable silence for you, a madly uncomfortable silence for Toad. Should he say something? What? What would you want him to say? He couldn’t decide, so he made up his mind to wait until you said something—no sense in making a nuisance of himself right away.
Across the yard, the star-speckled sky spread out above you, the moon’s glow shining on the path. You stopped at a spot between two trees, their branches reaching out for each other above you.
“Is here okay?” you asked.
“It’s fine with me,” Toad said a little too quickly, cringing at himself.
You sat your bag against one of the trees and unrolled the blanket, spreading it out over the grass. You sat and pulled containers of food, drinks, and utensils out.
Toad stood, staring down at you, shifting back and forth.
You looked up and saw his uneasy squirming. You felt the same, as much as you hated to admit it—a little nervous, a little unsure. It was nice to know you weren’t alone in it.
“Sit,” you said, smiling and patting a spot on the blanket beside you.
Your voice startled him out of his stupor. “Right. Sorry.” He sat, careful to leave a gap between your leg and his.
You finished pulling the boxes out of your bag and sat it aside. “I didn’t make anything very fancy,” you said, popping the lid off a box of small triangle-cut sandwiches. “But I wanted to make it nice, you know?”
He nodded. “I wish I’d known about this sooner. I’d have—” He frowned. “I don’t know what I’d have done, but I would’ve done something.”
You laughed. “You could have known about it earlier, if you’d put your name on your card.” You nudged him, and he flinched away. Not the reaction you wanted. “And you did do something. You got me flowers.”
He tilted his head. “I dunno if that counts quite the same. Flowers versus making a whole meal for two.”
“It’s not a competition, first off. And I happen to love those flowers, and that note, so don’t talk bad about them.” You gave a fake scowl, then laughed. “And if you really need to even the score or whatever, I’m sure you can think of something.”
“Suppose so.” Toad fell quiet and stared down at his lap.
You nudged him again. “You okay?”
“Yeah.” He sat up and looked you in the eye, but in a split second, he broke your gaze and looked back down. “I’m just…”
“What?” you said softly.
“I’m sorry it was me and not… somebody better.” He shrank into himself. “You're probably disappointed. I can't blame you if you are.”
You frowned and turned so you were seated facing him. “I am not disappointed. And I'm not sorry it was you. If I had been, I would have just acted like I never figured out who that note was from.” You put your hand on his shoulder. “If I didn’t want to be here, I wouldn’t be.”
He glanced up through the hair hanging in front of his face, wide dark eyes reflecting back the moonlight. “You don’t have to say that, you know. It’s fine.”
You huffed. “I am not just saying it, I mean it. Whether you believe me or not, it’s the truth.” You looked him up and down. “And I don’t care what I have to do to prove it.”
He gave a short laugh, still looking down, not meeting your eye. “You know, I almost believed that. Easier to believe it when it comes from you, I suppose. Probably nicer to me than the rest of this school combined, if I'm honest.”
“That’s their loss.” You shuffled a little closer to him and rested your hand under his chin. He flinched, locking his wide eyes with yours. You smiled. “I didn’t mean for this to make you upset. Is there anything I can do to cheer you up?”
He blushed and sputtered out a few syllables, none of which managed to form words.
You traced your thumb along his jaw. “Can I kiss you?”
“Yes, please.”
The words came fast and clear, and Toad cringed at the desperation in his voice. But before he could apologize or even linger too long on the thought, he found your lips pressed to his, soft and warm and sweet, everything he had hoped for, but a hundred times better. He closed his eyes, and for a moment, he felt nothing but you against him.
You pulled back, hand still resting on Toad’s face, to look at him. Relaxed, eyes closed, lips parted, a trace of a smile on them.
His eyes snapped open and his mouth shut. “Um. Was that…? Did you…?” He couldn’t find the words to finish his questions.
“It was, and I did.” You pressed another quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Did you?”
“Yes. Very much.”
You smiled. “Good. Because there’s plenty more where that came from. Hungry?”
You opened the rest of the boxes and the two of you ate, little sandwiches, fruit, crackers and cheese, and chocolate-covered strawberries. You told him about your life, about your hobbies, about the multitude of awful and hilarious things your students had done since you started work at the institute. He told you horror stories from his time as the janitor, things he’d seen in the Brotherhood, his interests and ideas for the future.
Eventually the food ran out and your glasses went empty, but you didn’t feel like leaving just yet. You leaned in beside him and rested your head on his shoulder, fingers intertwined with his. He leaned his head on top of yours and squeezed your hand.
“So, when can we do this again?” you asked, closing your eyes and sighing happily.
“Whenever you want.”
You laughed. “No, not whenever I want. You're busy. And you said you wanted some advance warning next time. So I’m leaving it up to you.”
“You might not want to do that.”
“Why not?”
“If it’s up to me, it’ll be tomorrow.”
You let go of his hand and wrapped your arm around his waist. “Works for me.”
He looked surprised. “Does it?”
“Mm-hmm.” You snuggled into his side. “When and where?”
He paused, hand resting on your back. “…Can I be absolutely absurd here?”
“Of course.”
“What time do you eat breakfast?”
You smiled and laughed. “Around seven.”
“Meet me in the kitchen then. I’ll have something ready.”
“Don’t overextend yourself, okay?” You squeezed him and looked up to meet his eye. “I know tomorrow’s going to be busy for you, cleaning up after the dance and all.”
“Don’t worry, that can wait until after breakfast.”
You frowned and nudged him. “I’m being serious.”
He nodded. “Alright, I won't lose sleep over it or anything. But I am gonna do something.”
“I’ll allow it.” You nestled back into his side and closed your eyes, then felt his arm creep around you, his hand finding a place to rest on your hip.
The chill of the February air crept over you, and you knew you shouldn’t stay out here much longer. But for a few more moments, you could enjoy this.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” you whispered, holding Toad a little closer.
