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You waited until Ivor’s breathing evened out. Not the controlled rhythm he used when meditating. Not the light rest of someone half-aware. Fully asleep. Only then did you slip carefully from beneath his arm.
The apartment was quiet. You stood in the living room for a moment, hands on your hips, surveying your canvas.
Operation Valentine had begun.
You worked quickly but deliberately. Balloons first—strategically placed along the ceiling and tied to chair backs. Nothing overwhelming. Just noticeable. Then streamers, draped along the doorway and across the bookshelf. You arranged a few oversized plush Pokémon in exaggerated romantic poses—one holding a heart-shaped pillow, another propped on the couch like it had been waiting all day.
And then came the cards. Handmade. Cut unevenly in places. Decorated with ink and glitter and suspicious amounts of enthusiasm. You taped them everywhere.
One on the fridge. One on his protein shaker. One tucked into his training notebook. One propped carefully beside the framed photo from Christmas—the night he proposed.
You stepped back. The apartment looked like Valentine’s Day had gently but decisively taken over.
You smiled to yourself. Phase one complete.
Phase two required more stealth.
You slipped out of the apartment, bags of decorations in hand, and made your way to the Fist of Justice Dojo.
Josieé was already there, leaning against the far wall with her arms crossed. She took one look at the supplies you were carrying and shook her head, grinning.
“You’re committed.”
“Yeah, well, this is our first Valentine’s Day as fiancées,” you grinned back.
She snorted softly but moved to the entrance anyway, acting as lookout. “Go,” she whispered. “Before he decides he needs midnight push-ups.”
The dojo was dark, but familiar, and you moved with purpose.
Balloons anchored to equipment. Streamers looped around support beams. A giant plush placed dramatically in the corner. And the cards—your handmade chaos—taped strategically across mirrors, training dummies, the heavy bag, even one across a banner.
Josieé peeked in once, barely containing her laughter.
“He’s going to blink so hard,” she whispered.
You stepped back.
The dojo looked transformed.
Josieé covered her mouth, eyes shining. “I cannot wait for tomorrow!”
“Me neither! I wish I’ll be here to see it though. I’ll be running around handing out Valentines. to everyone else.”
When you slipped back into bed later, your fingers were faintly glittered and your heart was racing with anticipation.
The moment the mattress dipped, Ivor shifted. Without opening his eyes, he rolled toward you. His arm came around your waist automatically.
“Where’d you go?” he murmured sleepily.
“I was just...uh, going for a late night run,” you whispered.
He made a quiet hum and pulled you closer, burying his face lightly against your shoulder.
“You should’ve woken me up. I’d have gone with you,” he muttered, before he was softly snoring again.
You smiled into the dark.
Tomorrow, he was going to walk into absolute chaos.
The next morning, you did not move. Not when Ivor’s alarm went off. Not when he shifted beside you. Not when he sat up. You were completely out.
Ivor blinked at the ceiling for a moment before glancing over at you.
Your arm was flung across his pillow, faint glitter—that was new—clinging to your sleeve. There was a softness to your breathing that meant you weren’t waking anytime soon.
He smiled. Quietly, carefully, he got out of bed. He dressed without turning on the overhead light, tying his belt, adjusting his gi with practiced movements, not noticing a small, pink tag that was attached to it.
The bathroom was his first hint. He turned on the light and stopped. The mirror had…writing on it. Little hearts were drawn in the corners. A few glitter flecks clung stubbornly to the frame. And across the glass, in enthusiastic washable marker, were messages written in your unmistakable handwriting.
Right at eye level:
Good morning, future husband.
Just beneath it:
Warning: Extremely loved individual detected.
Off to the side:
You’re my favorite workout.
A smaller note in the corner, surrounded by badly drawn hearts:
Can’t wait to marry you. Like…actually.
And at the bottom of the mirror, where he couldn’t miss it while brushing his teeth:
Valentine’s Day looks good on you.
He stared at the reflection of himself framed by your chaos. Then, he noticed something dangling from his toothbrush. A small folded note tied neatly around the handle.
He untied it and opened it.
Better make sure to BRUSH up on your vows.
A slow smile spread across his face. “Seems like someone was busy,” he murmured.
He folded the note carefully and set it aside instead of throwing it away.
The kitchen was worse.
Balloons anchored to chair legs. Streamers draped across the cabinets. A Valentine’s-themed Pangoro plush sitting on the counter like it owned the place.
He stood there for a long moment, processing. Then, his eyes landed on the fridge. There, right in the center, was a card taped at eye level.
He peeled it off. Inside, in your handwriting:
You’re the only snack I need.
He snorted, before opening the fridge to grab some eggs, cheese, and lean meats—and found another one taped to the inside shelf.
Fuel up, fiancé. Big day of being handsome ahead.
His mouth twitched, and he shut the fridge carefully. When he reached for his protein shaker, he felt something brush against his fingers.
Another note.
You’ve got me all shaken up.
That one earned a chuckle, as he set it carefully on the counter. He cooked his breakfast and shake, and made his way to the table. He took sip of his protein shake and reached for his training notebook—the one he kept on the table, pages worn at the edges from constant use. He flipped it open absently, scanning over today’s drills. A folded slip of paper slid free and drifted onto the table.
He paused briefly, before sighing, a smile on his face. How many of these did you make? He set the shaker down and picked up the slip.
Warning: fiancé is weak to affection-type moves.
He barked out a short laugh—genuine, surprised—then immediately covered his mouth and glanced toward the hallway. He listened for a moment.
You were still asleep.
He shook his head and closed the notebook carefully, fingers lingering on the cover for a moment. His smile softened.
You were ridiculous. Chaotic. A menace to organization. And you were the kindest person he had ever known. You celebrated loudly. You loved without restraint. You showed up fully.
You had said yes to him without hesitation, even after his attempts to propose initially went downhill: getting ambushed by an Alpha Pangoro, and then losing the ring to a mischevious Phantump. If it weren’t for his Gallade and your Gardevoir, Ivor wasn’t sure if he would’ve even attempted again!
As he finished his breakfast his gaze drifted across the room and landed on the framed photo from Christmas. The one where he had been on one knee, your pokemon in the background.
He stared at it for a long moment. You had tucked a small card against the frame. He walked over and reached for it. He picked it up, and ppened it.
I’d say yes to you every lifetime.
The room suddenly felt very still.
His thumb brushed lightly over the edge of the card, careful, deliberate. You had written that knowing he would find it here. Next to that moment. Next to the night he had knelt in front of you and hoped—quietly and fiercely—that you would choose him.
His chest tightened, not painfully—just full.
“I love you more than you’ll ever know,” he murmured softly. He folded the card slowly and slipped it into his pocket, not with the others—this one stayed close.
Cleaning up after himself in silence, his gaze drifted once more down the hallway toward the bedroom.
A small smile tugged at his mouth.
He rinsed his shaker, straightened the streamers that had slipped slightly from the cabinet, and grabbed his bag. Before leaving, he paused at the bedroom door.
You were curled into his pillow, faint glitter catching the light in your hair. He walked over and planted a soft kiss to your temple. You shifted and let out a small content sigh.
He smiled, and then he stepped out.
You didn’t wake until late morning. And when you did, it was with a stretch, a yawn—and a very pleased memory of everything you had accomplished the night before.
But you weren’t done. Valentine’s Day, in your opinion, was not exclusive.
You gathered the stack of cards you had prepared for everyone else. Each one handmade. Each one personalized. And set out into the city with glitter still faintly clinging to your sleeve.
You slipped Urbain’s into the pocket of his jacket where you knew he’d reach for his phone.
You may have gotten Team MZ into debt…
But you’ve got me INVESTED.
10/10 would bail you out again.
When he reached into his pocket for his phone, his brow furrowed when he felt the paper. He pulled out the card and read it, face reddening immediately.
“You’re never letting that go, are you?” he muttered, rubbing the back of his neck. But he was smiling.
He texted you immediately:
“YOU SAID WE MOVED PAST THAT!”
Followed by:
“Also, and I mean this from the bottom of my heart: My bad.”
Followed by:
“Also from the bottom of my heart: thank you.”
You slipped Lida’s card into her dance bag, right on top of her spare ribbons so she’d see it before rehearsal. She found it lacing up her shoes.
At first, she assumed it was a program note or something she’d tucked away herself. Then, she recognized your handwriting.
You don’t need a spotlight to shine…
But when you get one, I’m giving you a standing ovation. ❤️
She grinned, her fingers tightened slightly around the card
And when rehearsal started that day, there was something different in the way she carried herself.
You’d tried to slip Naveen’s card into the pocket of his jacket, and failed. As soon as he felt the movement, he caught your hand, and took the card. Eyeing you, he opened and read it.
I know I’m not Canari…
But I promise I look better in your designs anyway. 😉
Your talent? Tailor-made for greatness. ❤️
His eyes narrowed at first, and then he scoffed. He lifted his gaze to look over at you, and you smiled—the type of smile that a child might do when they’re first learning how to smile for a picture.
Naveen shook his head, before muttering a thank you, and walked past you. You caught him tucking the card into his pocket.
Grisham hesitated before opening his—like he expected nonsense. His eyes opened slightly as he read it.
You may serve the coffee…
But you’re the real brew-tiful part of this place. ☕❤️
Thanks for always being steady, even when the rest of us are chaos.
He blinked, the faintest flush touching his ears.
“…Brew-tiful?” he said, but there was no real protest in it.
You grinned as he went to fold the card carefully to slip it into his apron pocket, but Griselle had snatched it and nosily reading it.
“The coffee’s on me today,” he said. “Happy Valentine’s Day.”
You beamed, and handed Griselle hers next. She opened it immediately, already suspicious.
You may roast me daily…
But you’re still my favorite blend of chaos and charm. ☕
Try decaf-ing the sass sometime. ❤️
“…Decaf-ing the sass?” she repeated flatly.
She looked over at Grisham. “How come your said something nicer?” she asked, going back and forth between the cards.
“Perhaps,” Grisham said mildly, “this will teach you to work on your manners, Griselle.”
Griselle blew a raspberry at him.
You stopped by the front desk first of Rancine Construction. Tarragon was exactly where he always was—leaning back slightly, scanning something on his tablet with quiet focus.
You slid two envelopes across the counter.
“Happy Valentine’s Day! One for you, and one for Canari.”
He picked his up first and opened it without ceremony.
You’ve got a solid foundation…
And you’ve built yourself into someone amazing. 🛠️❤️
10/10 would construct a friendship again.
He looked back down at the card. A faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
“Thanks, kiddo. You do know how to make an old man feel young again, giving me a Valentine's Day card," he said, "My sweet Canari is streaming right now, but I’ll be sure to pass hers along when she’s finished."
You thanked him, and walked out the door.
Later, when Canari ended her stream Tarragon appeared in the doorway and held up the envelope.
“You’ve got a valentine, missy.”
Her eyes lit up immediately.
“Ooooh, a valentine?” She then immediately made a face. “Oh god, pops, please don’t tell me it’s from Mani.”
“I promise it’s not from Mani.”
She grabbed it instantly and ripped it open.
You may rotate under pressure…
But you always land in the perfect spot. 🧩❤️
10/10 would clear lines with you again.
"Well, isn't that clever?" She cackled, and then held up her rotom phone for a selfie, posing with your card and posting it on her socials.
Hotel Richissme was as polished as ever.
You approached the front desk with two envelopes in hand. The receptionist blinked when you slid them across the counter.
“For Miss Jacinthe and Miss Lebanne,” you said brightly. “Valentine’s delivery.”
The receptionist hesitated only slightly before nodding.
“I’ll see they receive them.”
Jacinthe accepted hers with polished grace. She opened the card carefully, unfolding it with deliberate precision.
Roses are red, you’re classy and grand,But I’ve seen you judge water for being too bland. ❤️
Lebanne, standing just slightly behind her, leaned enough to read it. Her lips pressed together immediately.
Jacinthe read it once. Then again. Her expression did not shift. “…The meter is consistent,” she said calmly.
Lebanne’s shoulders trembled faintly.
Jacinthe glanced at her without turning her head fully.
Lebanne straightened instantly. “My apologies,” she murmured, though her mouth was still threatening betrayal.
Jacinthe folded the card neatly along its crease. “The rhyme is serviceable,” she continued, tone level. “And the paper stock is adequate.”
Lebanne opened hers next, more casually than Jacinthe had, but her movements were still careful.
Roses are red, your dragons are bold,But your heart’s even stronger than legends of old. 🐉❤️
(Try not to scorch the haters.)
A small smirk appeared on her face, before resuming her demure look.
Jacinthe’s eyes flicked toward her. “Well, what did yours say, Lebanne?”
Lebanne folded the card gently, far less rigidly than Jacinthe had folded hers. “It was humble and kind,” she said.
Jacinthe lifted her chin. “Yes. Well.”
A small silence settled between them.
Lebanne, ever demure, glanced down at her own card and then toward Jacinthe. “It’s not better than yours,” she offered calmly.
Jacinthe’s jaw tightened just slightly. “I did not suggest that it was.”
Lebanne tilted her head faintly. “You appear unsettled, Lady Jacinthe.”
“I am not unsettled.”
Lebanne smiled faintly. “If it’s helpful, the rhyme structure of yours was quite strong.”
Jacinthe pressed her lips together.
“And the wit was… sharp.”
Jacinthe turned her head.
“Lebanne.”
“Yes?”
“Be quiet.”
Lebanne immediately lowered her gaze.
“Of course, Lady Jacinthe.”
Corbeau looked up first.
“Well,” he said smoothly, setting his pen down. “This is unexpected.”
Philippe glanced up from his spot near his boss, posture straight, expression composed.
“What brings you in?” he observed.
“It’s Valentine’s Day,” you replied, placing two red envelopes neatly on the desk between them.
Corbeau’s gaze dropped to the envelopes.
“For me?” he asked lightly.
“For both of you,” you corrected.
He picked his up first and opened it casually.
Roses are red, your smirk’s a crime,You’d flirt with danger just to pass the time. ❤️
A low chuckle escaped him.
“Flirt with danger,” he repeated. His eyes flicked up to yours. “I’d argue that’s mutual.”
You lifted a brow and lifted your hand to show him the ring. “Careful, sir. I’m engaged,” you reminded him.
He smiled, unbothered. “I’m aware.” There was no push behind it. No challenge. Just acknowledgment.
“Thank you.” He folded the card and slipped it into his inner jacket pocket.
Philippe opened his next.
Roses are red, your standards precise, You measure twice…then make it nice. ❤️
He read it once. Then again, slower. There was the faintest shift in his expression—approval. He folded it neatly and placed it inside his coat pocket.
“Thank you,” he said, voice calm. Sincere.
Corbeau glanced sideways at him. Philippe ignored him.
You stepped back from the desk.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, gentlemen.”
Mable’s blue eyes narrowed as she read her card.
Roses are red, attraction’s a force,But our chemistry? Naturally sourced. 🧪❤️
“Cute,” she said, and set it down very carefully beside her notebook instead of tossing it into the chaos pile. “Did you write this yourself?”
“Yes.”
She nodded once.
“It’s acceptable.”
You grinned.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, Professor.”
She closed her eyes and sighed. “I’m a researcher, not a professor,” she correct.
You blinked. “…aren't they the same thing?”
She shot you a dry look. “And I’m only the acting director since they couldn’t find anyone else to replace Sycamore,” she added. “Though I suppose I should thank him, seeing as he’s the one who suggested my name.”
“Better than rotting in a jail cell though, right?”
She stared at you.
“Orrr, think of it this way,” you added, leaning closer, “if you’re only the acting director because they ‘couldn’t find anyone else,’ that just means you were the best available candidate. Which, is a compliment really.”
Her eye twitched.
“Out.”
“What did I do!”
“OUT.”
You giggled as you quickly left. As the door shut behind you, Mable took your card in her hands and smiled.
The tall headstone rose from the grass, broad and weathered. You knelt at its base and set the fresh flowers down carefully. Floette hovered beside you. She drifted forward slowly, cradling a single bloom in her tiny hands, her tiny face sad and solemn.
Without a sound, she laid it against the stone. For a moment, she rested her arm there, giving a soft cry. Then, floated back to your shoulder.
You slid the envelope beneath the stems so the wind wouldn’t take it.
Roses are red, time carries us through,But love that endures is always true. ❤️
Thanks for everything.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, AZ,” you said softly.
The grass shifted in the breeze.
Floette remained still. Then, gently brushed your cheek.
When you opened the door to your apartment you stopped in the entryway.
The lights were dimmed. Candles lined the table. Along the windowsill. Even a few carefully placed along the floor—safely spaced, but ambitious. Rose petals had been scattered with…enthusiasm. The table was set, with real plates, and real glasses. And Ivor stood near it, sleeves rolled up, wearing dark slacks and a simple fitted sweater instead of his usual gi.
“…Oh.” He turned, a little sheepish but proud. “You’re back.”
You stepped inside slowly, taking it all in. “Ivor, did you do all this?”
He scratched the back of his neck. “Yeah,” he said, “But I didn’t cook.” He gestured toward the covered dishes. “I ordered from that place you like. The one with the ridiculous plating.”
You walked closer, heart soft.
“It smells incredible.”
He smiled—warm, easy, completely unguarded. “Well, it was my turn to do something for the day, given that you spent your entire night decorating, and then handing out cards to everyone during the day.”
You reached up and adjusted his collar slightly. “You’re not wearing your usual outfit.”
“Yeah, well, it didn’t feel right for the situation,” he admitted.
“You look nice,” you insisted.
Dinner was good. Rich, a little fatty, and perfectly seasoned. The dessert that followed was smooth and decadent. You ate slowly, savoring the flavors. Even Ivor, who normally was a little more conscious of what he ate (he tried to eat clean), seemed to be enjoying himself.
Afterward, he insisted on helping clean up. You caught him carefully stacking plates like they were fragile gym equipment.
As you were drying the last of the dishes, he stopped you.
“I have one more thing,” he said.
Steam curled through the air, lit by soft candlelight. The tub was already full—bubbles piled high, bath salts dissolving beneath the surface, petals drifting lazily across the water. You sighed and let the hot water seep into your skin and body, hair up in a messy bun.
When Ivor walked in a moment later, he paused in the doorway just long enough to take it in—you half-submerged, arms resting along the edge, cheeks flushed from heat. He crossed the room and lowered himself to the floor beside the tub, comfortably grounded, broad shoulders leaning lightly against the porcelain, one arm resting along the edge near yours.
“So,” you said knowingly, “did you enjoy my decorations?”
His eyes crinkled as he grinned. “You mean with all those notes?” he said. “Yes, I found them very enjoyable. They were very sweet and… and…”
He made a vague circling motion with his hand. “Uh...what’s the word…”
You raised a brow. “Romantic?”
“No,” he frowned, “You know. The thing where you say something, but it also means something else.”
You tilted your head. “Double meaning?”
“No.” He shook his head. “Not secret meaning. It’s like—” He frowned, concentrating. “You take a word and…bend it. Like you twist it a little. So it’s the normal word. But it’s also… funny.”
You stared at him.
He kept going, fully committed.
“Like when you said ‘tie the knot’ and attached it to my gi,” he continued. “That. That thing. Word-play-y.”
You blinked. “Punny? You liked my puns?”
His face lit up immediately. “Yes. That.”
You snorted.
“Although 'punny' doesn't sound like a real word,” he said.
“I assure you that it’s absolutely a word.”
He nodded seriously. “Then, they were extremely punny.”
You splashed water lightly at him, and he laughed.
The conversation slowed to a pause as you both enjoyed each other’s presence. You watched the candlelight reflect in the water for a moment before speaking.
“You know, this is our first Valentine’s Day engaged,” you said quietly.
Ivor looked up at you immediately. His expression shifted, something deeper settling in. “Yeah,” he said softly.
You let out a small breath. “It feels a little different.”
“Good different?” he asked.
You nodded. “Good different.”
He smiled, slow and warm.
“Next year we’ll be married.”
The words hung there for a moment until he spoke again.
“So,” he said gently, “how’s it going?”
You blinked. “What?”
“With the planning.”
You exhaled slowly, sinking a little deeper into the warm water.
“It’s…a lot.”
His brow furrowed slightly. Not worried—just attentive.
“I still haven’t decided on a dress,” you admitted. “I thought I would know instantly, but I don’t.”
“You don’t need to rush,” he said immediately.
“I know. I just want it to feel right.”
“It will,” he replied without hesitation.
You studied him. “We’ve narrowed the venues down at least.”
He nodded. “We have some solid options.”
You tilted your head at him. “You’re really calm about this.”
He shrugged lightly. “I get to marry you,” he said simply. “The rest is just small details.”
“You’re not stressed?”
He thought about it for a second. “I’m excited,” he said. Then, with a faint smile, “Even if it’s stressful.”
You reached out, catching his hand. He squeezed yours gently, thumb brushing over your knuckles.
The water shifted softly around you, and the candles flickered.
“I’m excited too,” you admitted.
He leaned down, pressing a slow kiss to your forehead.
“Happy Valentine’s Day,” he murmured.
You smiled up at him.
“Happy Valentine’s Day, fiancé.”