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greynatomy · 3 months

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too late

alexia putellas x reader

i know nothing about medical stuff except for the ones i’ve watched on grey’s anatomy

happy valentine’s day i guess

request here

———

The echoes of the heated argument lingered in the air as you paced around your living room. The tension between you and Alexia had reached a breaking point and you have no idea what to do next.

Alexia had left you alone in this big house — which isn’t really anything new — to god knows where. The trophies and medals that lined the shelves, displaying the accomplishments of your longtime partner, stares back at you like souvenirs.

Photographs covering the walls, showing the memories of the love she once held for you. Your fingers tracing the edges of the frame, heart heavy with doubt and sadness.

‘Where did I go wrong?’ You asked yourself.

That was almost three months ago. She had apologized and promised to make changes. The first week was a bliss. She’d wake you up with breakfast in bed, leaving breakfast in the kitchen when she had early training. Random dates throughout the week. You were living the dream.

Then, she won the world cup.

Interview after interview. Appearance after appearance. She was away more times than home. You don’t quite remember the last time you’d both slept in the same bed and woken up together.

—

It was Friday and you were in the kitchen waiting for Alexia to come home from training. You’ve cooked her favorite meal that Eli had taught you to make. You told her you had something to talk to her about so you hoped this meal could lighten the mood a bit.

Thirty minutes had passed so you thought she was just running a bit late.

Then an hour passed.

Another hour after that.

You’ve put away all of the food and prepared a plate for when she gets home to just reheat. Changing into your pajamas, you lounge around in the living room and check your phone. Right when you open up your social media, you were met with videos of your girlfriend and her team at a club.

You try to remember if Alexia had told you if she was going anywhere after practice, but she didn’t.

‘She probably just forgot.’

Hours later, Alexia came home to find you asleep on the couch. She stumbles into the bedroom and knocks out.

—

You’re at home in bed, staring into nothingness. You couldn’t do anything. At least not the things you used to be able to do. Even breathing became difficult.

Alexia was out so much she never noticed how much you’ve changed, how different you looked. She barely spared you a glance. When you do catch Alexia at home, she’s already asleep. You barely notice though because she’s been sleeping in the spare bedroom.

You slowly walk to the kitchen, steadying yourself against the walls. Grabbing a glass, you start to fill it with water when all of a sudden your vision starts going in and out.

Collapsing to the floor, darkness consumes you.

—

“Can I talk to you for a moment?” You ask as Alexia walked through the front door.

“I’m not even fully through the door and you’re already asking me to do things?”

“It won’t take long. It’s just something I have to tell—”

“Ay dios mío! I’m hungover and I just want to sleep. Talk to me tomorrow.”

Alexia walks away to the spare bedroom, knocking out instantly.

—

Alexia is at Mapi and Ingrid’s place with the rest of the team for team bonding. Alexia had an arm around one of Mapi’s friends that she invited over, the girl practically in her lap.

“Hey, Ale! Where’s the missus? Didn’t want to come today?” Mapi questions taking a seat next to Ingrid.

“Ooh, yeah! I miss Y/N, how is she doing?” Pina asks, the girl saw you as a big sister.

Alexia tenses, not knowing why. The girl on her shoves her arm off of her, moving to a different seat making Alexia frown in disappointment.

“Uh, she’s just at home probably. I don’t know?” She shrugs.

“What do you mean you don’t know?” Mapi asks, eyebrows furrowed. “You were with her yesterday.”

“I was?” Alexia was confused because she definitely wasn’t. She was at some girl’s pla— her eyes widen. “I was! Yeah. She didn’t feel that well so she wanted to stay home. Yeah.”

Mapi and Ingrid share a look but drops the subject.

The team bonding became crazier that it was supposed to be. People were tipsy and Mapi was surprised they haven’t been yelled at by the neighbors yet.

“Alright.” Mapi stands up, catching everyone’s attention. “Me and Ingrid are going to run to the store, grab a couple things cause we’re running low.”

Everyone bid them goodbye, Ingrid following behind her girlfriend.

“We’re not running low on anything.” Ingrid states as Mapi starts driving.

“No, I just needed an excuse.”

“Excuse for what.”

“To check on Y/N.”

“She’s not home though. Told us herself.”

“Yeah, but it doesn’t hurt to check. And we both know damn well Ale wasn’t with her yesterday.”

Arriving to yours and Alexia’s house, they knock on the door. Not getting a response, they try again, no response.

“Hey, Y/N? Are you home? It’s Mapi and Ingrid.”

After a couple of minutes with no response, Mapi uses the spare key she was given a long time ago. Stepping inside, it was quiet. The place was clean, almost too clean. It didn’t look like someone had lived in the place at all with how clean it looked.

Walking further in, Ingrid looks into the kitchen, finding a glass shattered on the floor. Walking around the kitchen island was a sight she didn’t want to see.

“Oh my god, María!” She immediately lays you on your back, placing two fingers on your neck. “There’s no pulse! Call the ambulance!” She starts slapping your face lightly, hoping to wake you up. “C’mon, Y/N. Open those eyes for me.”

“Here. Move.” Mapi pushes Ingrid away, handing her the phone. “You call for them. Wake up, Y/N. Don’t go yet.” She starts CPR, tears start flowing from her eyes, some dripping onto your face. “C’mon! Just wake up, damn it!”

Mapi doesn’t know how long she’s been doing CPR, but paramedics rush into the house, taking over. Ingrid pulls her into her arms where they break down, missing the looks that the paramedics gave each other.

They drive close behind as the ambulance speeds through the streets of Barcelona. Arriving at the hospital, Ingrid doesn’t bother to turn the car off, rushing to where you were being unloaded.

“What do we got?” Doctors rush out to the ambulance.

The paramedics just give a look to the doctors who immediately understand.

“Time of death…”

“Wait! What do you mean time of death? She-she’s fine right?”

“What’s your relationship to…”

“Y/N.”

“Y/N. What’s your relationship to Y/N?”

“She’s my friend and I need to know what’s happened.”

“I’m sorry. I can’t give out any information, but I saw she has a wedding ring on. Can you contact her husband?”

“Wife. She has a wife.”

“Okay, can you contact her wife for us?”

Ingrid is the one to make the call. Mapi watches as they roll you inside the hospital.

“She’s on her way.”

Ten minutes later, Alexia arrives to the hospital, walking to where Ingrid and Mapi were now sitting at the waiting room.

“What happened?”

“I don’t know. They won’t tell us but they’ll tell you cause you’re her wife.”

“Y/N Putellas. I-I’m her wife and I need to see her.” Alexia asks, no demands when she goes up to the nurse’s counter.

“Mrs. Putellas. I can take you to her body.”

“Body? What-what do you mean body.”

“Just follow me.”

Walking into the room, a bed is seen in the middle of the room, a white sheet covering it.

“What’s this?”

Alexia walks up to the bed, hand hovering over the white sheet.

“Take your time.”

The nurse carefully pulls the top part of the white sheet to reveal someone — you.

“Oh my god.” Alexia gasps, not expecting to see you in this state. Mapi turns around in Ingrid’s hold, hiding her face in her chest, Ingrid also looking away. “What happened?”

“I can help with that.”

Turning towards the door, a doctor stood just outside.

“May I come in?” Not waiting for a response, he walks right in. He walks towards where your lay, staring at your features. “Mrs. Putellas lived longer than I expected.”

“Okay, can we stop being so criptic and just tell me what’s going on?” Alexia was losing patience. She has no clue what’s happening. She was having a great time and now she sees her wife lying dead right in front of her.

“Y/N Putellas, age twenty-eight, was diagnosed with stage four cancer three months ago. There was nothing that could be done as it was caught very late. All we could have done was make sure she was comfortable.”

“But she refused to be admitted into the hospital to make sure that she was still at home for her wife, no matter how much I protested.” A new voice was heard by the door. Your sister. “Her wife that leaves when she’s still sleeping. Her wife who would rather be out partying than notice how sick she was, fighting for her life. Her wife that doesn’t fucking love her!”

Your sister was now face to face with Alexia, finger stabbing her chest.

“No, no, no.” Alexia mumbles. “That- that’s not true. I love her. I do! Why didn’t she tell me?”

“She tried to.” Your sister stated, voice now void of emotion. “She tried and you brushed her off.”

“Why didn’t she tell me?” Mapi spoke up for the first time in a while.

“Because it didn’t feel important anymore after the many times that Alexia brushed it off.”

“She visited us just three days ago. She was fine.”

“She wasn’t. I think she knew she didn’t have much time left, so she had me drive her around so she can say her goodbyes.”

—

“Alright. Last house.” Your sister stated as she parked the car by the curb.

“Yeah.” You exit the car, slowly making your way to the front door. After knocking on the door, you take a step back. The door opens revealing Mapi.

“Hey, Y/N! What brings you by?”

“Uh, nothing. Is Ingrid here by any chance?”

“Yeah, let me call her. Ingrid!”

Ingrid stands next to Mapi.

“No need to shout. Hey, Y/N. What’s up?”

“Uh, well.” You clear your throat in anxiousness. “I’m gonna go somewhere in a couple of days and just wanted to see you both before I go.”

“Oh? Where are you going?”

“Just- just to take some time for myself.”

“Well, I hope you have fun wherever it is you’re going.”

You give them a smile. “Thank you.” As they were closing the door, you push it back open, wrapping your arms around Mapi tightly. Your breathing is ragged and you can feel the tears forming in your eyes. “You’re my best friend and you know that I love you right?”

Taken aback, she wraps her arms around you in return. “Yeah, you’re my best friend and I love you too.”

“You too Ingrid.” You now wrap your arms around her. “I’ll miss you both.” You step away, walking back down the driveway, giving them one last smile.

The couple don’t think much about the weird interaction, closing the door as they watched your car drive away.

—

Mapi and Ingrid broke down even more, now knowing that your goodbye was the goodbye.

“Tried to say goodbye to you too, but you were nowhere to be found.” You sister shrugged, getting tired of speaking to Alexia now.

“Why don’t you look depressed?”

“I’ve got to spend my time with her. I’ve had time to prepare for the inevitable.” Giving them all a face, she moves to stand where you laid. “I’m gonna talk to whoever about the arrangements and stuff, I’ll leave you guys alone.”

Seeing how Alexia was unable to take her eyes off of you, Mapi and Ingrid decide to give her some time, leaving the room and closing the door behind them. Now all along, Alexia hesitantly steps up next to your bed, hand hovering over yours.

In the dimly lit room, her voice shaky as she uttered, “I don’t even know where to begin. I don’t know if you can hear me, see me, but I never thought I’d see you like this. I never thought I’d hurt you like this.”

She grasps at your hand, squeezing it to stop the tears from streaming down her face.

“I’m too late. Too late. I never realized how good I had it and I see it now. You are— were the best part of me and I was too blind to see it. I took you for granted and I can’t apologize for it.”

The room remained silent, save for the soft hum of chatter outside. Alexia’s heart pounded, waiting for a response that she would never get. Bending down, she gives your forehead a kiss, letting her lips linger for just a moment.

“I’m sorry and I love you.” She whispered before exiting the room.

Arriving at home, Alexia’s emotions finally hit all at once. She couldn’t step any further away from the front door. She couldn’t hold back the tears any longer. The weight of her emotions become too much and the dam finally broke inside of her. Silent sobs racked her body as the vulnerability she had hidden so well crumbled away.

As the tears cascaded down her cheeks, memories of lost moments and shattered dreams replayed in her mind like a haunting film. Each drop carried the weight of unspoken words and broken promises, a wretched reminder of a love that once felt invincible.

The scars on her heart remained, the permanence of lost loves carved onto it, wondering how to face another day haunted by the ghosts of what could have been.

#woso x reader #woso #greynatomy #woso imagines #woso imagine #woso community #fcb femeni #alexia putellas #alexia putellas x reader

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familyvideostevie · 3 months

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it's your turn for choosing

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

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

joel miller x reader

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

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

___

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

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

You’ve only been open for two hours.

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

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

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

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

Your coffee shop.

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

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

You even love it, some days.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

The guy looks tired.

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

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

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

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

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

“Three options.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You hand him the cup and your fingers brush.

“You have no idea.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You laugh. Joel looks pleased.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“What the hell was what?”

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

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

You turn the grinder on again to drown her out.

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

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

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

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

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

“Milk.”

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

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

And if you have a crush on him?

No harm done. He’s nice to look at.

And he tips well.

Joel stops by again.

And again.

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

All of it is flirting but maybe not flirting.

Maybe he’s just being polite.

Also, he keeps overpaying.

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

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

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

“I’m honored,” he says.

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

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

He snorts and hands you his cash.

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

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

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

He smirks. “Miss me?”

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

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

Joel laughs and scratches the back of his neck.

“Reckon that’s the tip.”

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

Joel’s eyebrows climb up his forehead.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel talks over her.

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

Ellie huffs.

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

“Good.”

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

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

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

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

“Someone’s gotta warn ‘em,” he says.

She laughs. “Hey, fuck you!”

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

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

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

“I bet they’re real good.”

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

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

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

Joel winces. Ellie gags.

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

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

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

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

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

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

It makes you want to know more.

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

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

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

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

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

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

Joel clears his throat.

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

You suppose it is.

“You’re welcome, as always.”

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

They both wave at you as they drive away.

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

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

You want him.

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

It’s you who is distracted.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I think so, just hold on a sec.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Jesus, Tommy, I said I’d –”

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

“How can I help you?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Go refill the ice.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Sweetheart.

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

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

Joel, it seems, is one.

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

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

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

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

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

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

And wait.

The rain stops.

You’re still waiting, phone silent.

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

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

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

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

A door slams but you don’t turn around.

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

“Shame,” he says.

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

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi, Joel.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh – you, you didn’t see?”

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

“Right.”

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

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

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

You turn around.

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

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

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

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

Oh.

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

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

“Well, you gonna ask again?”

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

“Are you going to say yes?”

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

“So you could read the cup?”

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

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

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

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

“I do,” he says.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Yeah,” he agrees. “Reckon she is.”

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

“Oh,” you breathe. “Hi.”

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

“Grounds.” His voice is a little hoarse.

“Thanks,” you breathe.

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

Joel Miller likes you.

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

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

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

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

“You’re very lucky,” you say.

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

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

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

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

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

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller x y/n #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller fluff

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rosepascal · 3 months

Note

💌 Hi, here's my request for the Pedro Pascal character Valentines.

I'd pick Joel and my prompt would be “You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe.” I'd love it to be angsty but with some fluff in the end. I don't mind at all if you feel inspired and include some smut though.

Thank you <3

ugh yes i love angst to fluff sm

a/n: Happy Valentines Day everyone!! I didn't include smut but I really like the way this turned out. Thank you for participating and I hope you like it <33

summary: Joel miller asks you to dinner but when the time comes he doesn't show.

warnings: angst to fluff, Joel is stupid but he makes up for it, stood up for dinner, swearing.

You really didn’t understand Joel. You’ve tried. You’ve really tried. He was scary when he arrived in Jackson. He rarely smiled, barely talked to anyone, and kept to himself in his house.

The only times you ever really saw him was when he was being forced out of the house by Tommy or Ellie. Safe to say you never expected to befriend him.

Let alone even speak to him.

But then you got moved to his patrol when someone was out sick. You showed up bright and early and nervous as hell. One thing you did know about Joel is he was one hell of a shot. Rumor had it he took out a whole clan of raiders without even blinking.

As expected he was a silent leader and had no tolerance for bullshit. But he wasn’t an asshole. He held a certain level of respect for everyone on the patrol unless they did something stupid.

It didn't hurt he was handsome as hell too. You might have focused a little too much on the way his hands gripped his rifle.

You didn't interact much with him until he watched you blow the head right off a clicker with excellent skill and for the first time you acknowledged you with a nod. Those turned into acknowledgment around town. A smaller conversation here or there. You even ate dinner with him and Ellie once. Sure Ellie was the one to drag you over but he didn't complain.

When the person you were covering for came back to patrol you came to accept that you wouldn't see him much anymore. Until you saw your name next to his on the patrol sheet. He picked you as his partner. At first you were shocked. He almost never picked anyone else but Tommy.

With every patrol you got him to open up a little more. He built this strong walls over the last 20 years. He barricaded his heart, his feelings. Everything to protect himself from feeling pain again. But slowly you chipped away at it.

You weren't the only one either.

Ellie did most of the work if you’re being honest. She was the one to prove to him that his heart still worked. That he wasn’t as broken as he thought he was. You just came in to give that final push.

“So, Valentines day.” You say casually. Usually such a trivial holiday doesn't matter after the outbreak but the towns been putting up decorations, maybe to bring back some normalcy.

"What about it?" Joel asks seemingly uninterested.

"Hm, guess you weren't the romantic type Miller." You tease. He raises an eyebrow at you, before he would never humor you but this time he smiles.

"I'll have you know I was very romantic. Planned dates and shit all the time." You would've liked to see that. He was probably quite handsome. You say that like he isn't handsome how.

"I don't believe you." Joel rolls his eyes playfully.

"Yeah? I'll prove it." You scoff and shake your head. You slowly approach the town as the conversation dwindles. As you hang up your guns and sign the patrol book Joel waits for you by the door.

"Let's go to dinner tonight. I can show you just how romantic I am then." Your eyes nearly burst out of your skull. Joel Miller asking you on a date?? Are you dreaming?

"I-uh, Okay, show me what you got." He tilts his head down and heads off without another word.

You could barely contain your excitement as you hurried home. You didn't have the fancy clothes you used to have anymore but you had a few things that were saved for special occasions. Time couldn't move fast enough as you waited for dinner time to come.

To think Joel Miller would ever ask you on a date seemed too good to be true, and as you're sitting in the mess hall waiting for him to show up, it might be true. You didn't want to seem too eager so you came a little late than typical dinner time.

You sit and wait. Every time the doors opened your head perked up, waiting for his face to appear. But as people started to leave and the sky grew darker your hope diminished.

At first you're sad, how could you think that he was really interested. Then the sadness turned to anger, embarrassment. He asked you. He got your hopes up and then stomped on them. Was it a joke?

Either way you were pissed off. Storming out of the cafeteria you march to his house, banging on his door.

"Joel!" You yell. The door swings open and instead of Joel you see Ellie.

"Where's Joel?" You ask as calmly as you can. You're mad at him, not Ellie.

"Isn't he with you? He left like, three hours ago."

"What?" You ask almost not believing her. "He never showed up. I sat there for hours." Ellie's face turns to anger.

"That fucking dick. If I see him I'll shoot him for you." She offers. The anger dissipates slowly, replaced by sadness again.

"Thanks for the offer but don't shoot anyone." She shrugs, "Alright but I will if you want." You laugh a little and shake your head.

"Goodnight Ellie," She shuts the door and you're left alone.

Trudging back to your house you let the sadness take over. Fuck Valentines day and fuck Joel. As you approach your house you see a figure sitting on the steps of your house. Speak of the devil. Walking up to him you cross your arms and glare.

"What the fuck are you doing here?" Joel stands up, an apologetic look on his face. "You left me sitting there like an idiot." Joel sighs and wrings his hands together.

"M'sorry, really I didn't mean to ditch you."

"But you did. So if you excuse me I'm going inside and drinking the wine I saved." You try and push past him but he grabs your waist gently.

"Please, just hear me out darlin'" he pleads. Reluctantly you uncross your arms and let him speak.

"I'm sorry for not showin' up. I was ready. Even tried putting product in my hair and picked you a flower." He admits, cheesy yes but he wanted to show you he was a romance kind of guy.

"Then I got there and I saw you and I just...I got scared." Joel continues. "You looked so perfect. I haven't done this in a long time and the moment I saw you there it felt too real."

He's out of his depth. He knows it too. Who the hell was he to try and put himself out there again. Especially with someone as perfect as you.

"Being with you, I haven't felt like this in a long time." He takes a step closer to you, cupping your face as he it in under the moonlight.

"You make me feel alive. For the first time ever, I feel like I can breathe and it's terrifying." You gasp softly. His eyes shine with determination to prove he's stopped running. His hand feels so soft against your skin.

"Joel..I've been in love with you ever since that first patrol." You confess, hoping it would help ease the tension.

"I hope it ain't too late but," He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out a slightly crushed rose.

"Will you be my Valentine?" You take the flower and spin it between your fingers. It's beautiful, grown right from the flowers outside of his house.

"I would love to be your Valentine." Leaning in you kiss his cheek softly.

Joel looks surprised for a moment before he softly grabs your chin and kisses you. Your whole body relaxes as his lips meld with yours. Damn he's good at this. When you part you frown slightly, already missing his lips.

"I really am sorry for ruining dinner," Joel apologizes again.

"The day isn't over yet and I still got that bottle of wine." You draw out the last word, silently suggesting he stays for a drink and maybe more. Joel smirks and places a hand on your back, rubbing his thumb gently. He leans close and whispers in your ear.

"Lead the way darlin'"

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #send a valentine #joel miller angst

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leaawrites · 3 months

Text

Valentine's day kisses

Percy Jackson x Daughter of Apollo reader

Warnings: fluff, kisses, valentine's day mentioned,

Summary: Percy brings flowers in hope of getting a Valentine

For everyone who needs a bit of love today! I love and appreciate you all so dearly <3

Masterlist

The first thing she woke up to was a fresh Bouquet of flowers beside her bed. Y/n looked around the room, trying to figure out who the mysterious sender was. No one looked at her in a way that told her they were it, they all only looked at her in expectation. None of her brother’s or sisters knew who had smuggled the flowers in here. Or more importantly, who was crazy enough to sneak into the Apollo cabin before dawn to surprise someone.

Apollo kids were always the first to wake, but not today. Today it was someone who wasn’t too afraid of potentially getting caught, but too bashful to admit that they were it.

“Looks like you’ve got a Valentine,” Laura chirped in from across the other side of the cabin, making the others laugh.

Y/n looked down, flowers in her hand, cheeks growing red. Whoever it was, she wanted to know who they were.

“Are you going to find out who it was?” It felt like Laura could read her mind. That wasn’t the first time it happened. She already did it when Y/n stared into the distance at one of their traditional campfires.

“He’s cute, I know. But stop thinking about him,” she told her back then.

“Who are you talking about?” Y/n asked since she wasn’t looking at anyone in particular.

“The new kid. Peter?” Laura guessed his name wrong.

“Percy,” Y/n corrected her.

She guessed wrong on purpose.

Y/n looked at her best friend, she knew her all too well.

“Of course, I will,” she answered confidently. Even though she had no idea where to start. “But where?”

“What is with outside the cabin?” Another camper said as he walked through the door.

Y/n furrowed her eyebrows at 1. How he knew about what they were talking about and 2. What he meant by it. The girl pushed her blanket away from her body, freeing her legs from the heat. The cold morning air hit her bare skin the moment she stepped outside the cabin. Everyone was watching her as she walked outside. She had no idea who or what would be outside, until she saw Percy Jackson leaning against the wall of Cabin 7.

“Percy Jackson,” she mused. “What brought you out here this early?”

“So, you like them?” He asked, partly answering her question, when only vague.

“You slipped the flowers beside my bed?” Y/n asked holding his gaze. She was always someone who would look the person she was talking to in the eyes out of respect.

“Happy Valentine’s day.” He smiled at her like a innocent boy.

Y/n laughed at him and his unusual shyness. He acted all relaxed when he was still leaning against the wall, but now that he’s face to face with the girl he secretly admired, the words left his mouth. There was no other sound coming from his vocal chords but a small laugh when he heard hers.

“Thank you,” she said, kissing his cheek in gratefulness. “What about, I get dressed and then we could go down to the lake or so?” She asked, trying to stop the tension between them.

“Yes,” he answered, smiling at her still. “Or you could teach me how to use bow and arrow?”

“I’m not sure if that will end well,” she said, amused at the memory of his first try with the gear.

“I mean, I’m a fast learner,” he shrugged, playing the embarrassing off with a cool facade.

“Sure you are,” Y/n said, before disappearing again into her cabin to get dressed for the day ahead.

#percy jackson x reader #percy jackson imagine #percy jackon and the olympians #percy jackson x you #percy jackson x y/n #percy jackson #percy series #percy pjo #pjo show #pjo tv show #pjo series #pjo #pjo fandom #pjo fanfic #pjo imagine #valentines day

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munson-blurbs · 10 months

Text

Single Dad!Eddie x Fem!ReaderSeries

1 | 2 | 3 | 4 | 5 | 6 | 7 | 8 | 9 | 10 | 11 | 12

Summary: After you attend Harris's birthday party, Eddie's forced to confront some big feelings, and a Valentine's date has the two of you navigating a much different type of big feeling.

Warnings: smut (18+ only, minors DNI), oral (f! receiving), fingering, protected p in v, slight breeding kink, very fluffy smut, brief mention of parental abandonment

WC: 8.6k

Chapter 12/20

Eddie's card credit to @girlwiththerubyslippers Mixtape credit to @lofaewrites Divider credit to @saradika

The mingled scents of wood polisher, stale cigarette smoke, and old frying oil invade your nostrils the second you step into Hawkins Lanes. Bowling balls thud as they make contact with the fiberglass lanes, subsequently crashing into the waiting pins. You offer a smile at the exasperated teenager clearly nursing a hangover, holding back a dry heave as he sprays a pair of red and blue shoes with a can of deodorizer that, given the undertones of pungent sweat permeating the air, is likely well past expired.

“I’m here for Harris Munson’s birthday party?” It comes out like a question rather than a definitive statement, and you hold up the gift bag in your hand like it’s some kind of evidence.

The teenager jerks a thumb towards the back left of the building, not bothering to look up. “Party room’s down there,” he mumbles, and you thank him as you walk along the pink and purple carpet.

You’ve arrived a little early, hoping to steal a few moments with Eddie before the chaos of the day begins. Wayne is the only one in the small room, stretching to hang up a sign proudly declaring ‘Happy Birthday,’ each letter a different color of the rainbow. He grins when he sees you approaching, and you hold one end of the sign in place as he adheres it to the door frame with Scotch tape.

“Good to see y’again, darlin’.” Wayne greets you with a grin, taping your side of the banner.

You put your arm down and return his smile. “You, too!” you chirp, glancing around the room. “Where can I put Harris’s present?”

The older man points to an empty table off to the side. “Right over there should be good,” he figures aloud. “Ed just took Harris to the little boys’ room, but they’ll letcha know otherwise.”

You nod, gently placing the bright yellow bag atop a table covered with a Hot Wheels-themed cloth. Amusement dances on your lips at the realization that Eddie must have splurged on decorations; it’s far better quality than one from the local 99-cent store.

“Ms. Sweetheart! You’re at my birthday party!” Harris’s enthusiastic voice captures your attention, and you spin around just as he’s launching himself into your arms. A tiny human rocketship.

“I am!” You laugh, motioning towards the gift table, “and I left your present over there.”

Harris’s face lights up and he starts towards it, arms outstretched and ready to tear through the tissue paper, but the sound of his dad clearing his throat stops him in his tracks.

“Remember,” Eddie says, keeping his tone calm but firm, “we’re gonna open everything once all your friends are here, after we eat cake.”

Harris juts out his lower lip in a pout. “But Daddy,” he protests, “I wanna open it now!” He stomps his foot indignantly, and you have to suppress a laugh at how silly it looks with the clown-esque bowling shoe on.

“Harris, can you wait until you open the ones from your friends?” You phrase it like a favor, hoping to appeal to him that way. “I’m really excited about what I got you and I want them to see you open it, too.” Of course, you couldn’t care less about what a bunch of random four- and five-year-olds think about your gift, but you had to think quickly before the whine escalated to a tantrum.

He releases a sigh of exasperation but ultimately concedes. “Okay, I guess I can wait.”

Eddie mouths thank you and winks as the four of you walk out to the lanes to wait for Harris’s friends. You feel a hand slip into yours, too small to be Eddie’s, and beam when Harris looks up at you with pure joy.

“Daddy! Grampa Wayne! I’m holding Ms. Sweetheart’s hand!” he exclaims, baby teeth on full display

Eddie ruffles Harris's hair. “I’m jealous.” If prompted, he’ll claim that he’s envious that his son chose to hold your hand instead of his. But you and him–and Wayne, let’s be real–know the real meaning behind his statement.

As Harris’s friends arrive and the birthday boy greets each of them with a hug, you and Eddie spring into action and line them up to get fitted for shoes. There are five kids, three boys and two girls, and though you recognize them as Ms. Marion’s students, you don’t know any of them by name. The bowling shoe laces are flimsy, and a few of them struggle with the fine motor skills necessary to tie them.

“Can I help you with that?” you ask one boy, who nods and extends his leg towards you. You crouch down and rest his foot on your knee as you double-knot the laces. When you finish, you look up to see that the rest of the kids have formed a line for your shoe-tying expertise.

Eddie returns from dropping off the guests’ gifts in the party room, laughing when he stumbles upon the queue of children. “You don’t have to do all that, Sweetheart,” he tells you, using his hands to assess the weight of different bowling balls before distributing them to the kids.

You shrug as you finish tying the last shoes. “I don’t mind.”

Eddie has reserved two lanes for the party, and before anyone can figure out who will be bowling where, Harris is tugging on his Black Sabbath t-shirt.

“We wanna play in teams,” he reports matter-of-factly. You’re not sure who ‘we’ refers to, since you didn’t see him corroborating with any of his friends, but you don’t question it aloud. “Team Harris and Team Daddy.”

Eddie gasps with feigned offense, bringing his palm to his heart. “What? You don’t want me on your team?”

“Nope.” Harris shakes his head, curls swaying back and forth. “I want Ms. Sweetheart on my team.” He pauses as he glances around the group, eyes brightening when his gaze lands on the eldest Munson. “You can have Grampa Wayne.”

“Old man’s probably gonna break a hip.” Eddie grumbles teasingly, picking up a red marbled bowling ball and hoisting it up to his chest.

Wayne scratches the top of his head. “And yet I can still kick your ass.” He keeps his voice low so that little ears can’t hear, but you and Eddie can, and you tuck your lips into your mouth so none of the kids catch on.

Harris is up first, squatting down and using two hands to roll the ball down the lane. His method proves to be somewhat effective when he knocks down a few pins, and the scoreboard screen flashes a giant number 5.

“That’s how many years I am!” Harris proudly announces, skipping back to where the rest of his team is standing. He cocks his head at the ball return’s open mouth for the neon green ball that Eddie had handed him earlier, eagerly scooping it up when he spots it. Assuming the same stance, he once again rolls the ball and successfully topples two more pins.

Eddie raises his brows incredulously. “Hmm, let me try that strategy.”

“I don’t think there’s enough pins for all of your years,” you quip, and Eddie sticks out his tongue in your direction before mimicking Harris’s approach, knees aligned with his toes. He draws the ball back between his legs and releases it a few inches ahead of him, smirking as it cascades down the lane.

His cockiness is apparently earned, since he gets a strike. He attempts a victory moonwalk, clumsily dragging one foot behind the other in a manner that would make Michael Jackson regret ever making the move popular. The heel of his shoe catches on the floor and he stumbles backwards, landing on his ass.

The kids burst out into peals of laughter, and you and Wayne join in once it is evident that Eddie’s not hurt, only embarrassed. You stoop down, clutching your ball between your palms as you grin. “That’s what you get for gloating,” you whisper in his ear, a joking lilt in your voice. “Try setting a good example for the kids next time.”

Unbeknownst to you, one of the kids, Kelly, strikes up a conversation with Harris while you’re up to bowl. “Is that your mommy?” she asks him, strawberry blonde pigtails softly swishing as she looks over at you.

“No, but she’s gonna be my mommy soon!” Harris replies happily. “She and my daddy are gonna fall in love and then she’ll be my mommy.” His voice lowers as concern mars his words. “But don’t tell anyone, okay? Because it’s my birthday cake wish and I need it to come true.”

Kelly nods, taking this obligation seriously, and she averts her gaze when she spots you walking back to the ball return. Since you’d only knocked down eight pins, you take another turn, slipping your thumb, middle, and ring fingers into the holes, frowning when you don’t get the spare you’d hoped for.

Harris’s chipperness brings a smile back to your face. “Ms. Sweetheart, can you teach me how to bowl like a grown-up?” He blinks a few times, hammering in his naturally docile nature.

“Of course!”

When it’s Harris’s turn again, Eddie watches you go up with him. It’s noisy, but he zeros in on your sweet tone among the clattering of bowling pins and cacophonous conversations.

“See, you put your middle finger and ring finger here, and your thumb here,” you’re gently explaining. “And then you lift the ball back just a bit, bring it forward, and let it go.” You go through all of the motions without actually letting go of the ball, Harris’s eyes glued to your every move. “You try.”

Harris follows your instructions, pink tongue poking from his mouth in sheer concentration, and knocks down a single pin. Eddie braces himself for his disappointment, maybe even escalation to a tantrum, so he’s pleased when his son spins back with a wide, toothy smile.

“I did it! I knocked it down!”

“You’re amazing! I’m so proud of you, Harris.” Eddie’s posture softens as Harris runs into your arms and gives you a giant hug, tiny fingers digging into your biceps as he squishes the side of his face just below your collarbones. When he does this, Eddie notices that Harris’s cheeks have lost some of their chubbiness; his son’s baby-like features subtly disappearing to make way for attributes of the older child he’s growing into. It brings a slight pang to his heart, and he swallows the emotion and focuses instead on the bonding moment between you and the not-so-little boy.

There’s a shared love; more than that, there’s trust. Harris knows he can rely on you to teach him with kindness and patience, that you won’t berate him or yell at him for doing something incorrectly. You’re his Ms. Sweetheart.

Wayne takes note of the goofy smile adorning his nephew’s face, nudging him before he drops the bowling ball on his foot. “I know you’re in love with her, but she ain’t worth losing your toes over.”

Eddie’s face flushes pink, the tips of his ears burning now that he's been caught. “I’m not in love with her, Wayne.” At least, I didn’t think I was yet, but now I might be.

“Whatever you say,” Wayne mutters under his breath, taking careful steps towards the lane. “You, uh, might wanna wipe the drool from your chin before you take your turn, though.”

Team Harris ultimately wins, mostly because Wayne throws the game so the birthday boy can have a victorious moment. You, Eddie, and Wayne quickly corral the kids into the party room, seating them at a large rectangular table for cake and presents before anyone can take offense over the game results. The three of you breathe silent sighs of relief when you easily shift their focus to the next activity.

Eddie pulls his lighter from his back pocket, flicking it on and lighting the five thin blue and white striped candles unevenly jabbed through the chocolate frosted homemade cake. He picks up the plate, supporting it from the bottom as he leads the group in a hilariously off-key rendition of Happy Birthday.

Harris squeezes his eyes shut before blowing out the flames with gusto, a big grin on his face when he opens them again.

Feeling a hand clap on his shoulder, Eddie swivels his body to see his uncle armed with a disposable Kodak camera. “Let me get a picture of you and the birthday boy,” Wayne insists, peering through the little viewfinder and snapping a photo. Eddie’s crouched down, right arm slung over Harris’s shoulders. Both of them wear matching smiles; the only difference is that Harris is still sporting his baby teeth.

“Now Ms. Sweetheart!” the little Munson declares. Eddie goes to leave, pressing his palms to his knees and standing up, but Harris grabs his wrist and pulls him back. “No, Daddy. You and me and Ms. Sweetheart together!”

You shuffle over to stand on Harris’s other side. When you place your hand on his upper back, Eddie’s slides over yours, the two of you and Harris chiming “cheese!” in enthusiastic unison.

Blinking from the brightness of the flash, you extend your arm and make a ‘gimme’ motion with your hand. “Let me get one of the three of you,” you say to Wayne, who begrudgingly places the camera in your outstretched palm.

Eddie pulls him in closer. “Alright, Munson men. Flex those muscles!” You giggle as the three of them bend their arms to show off whatever biceps they have.

“Ms. Sweetheart, who’s got the biggest muscles?” Harris asks as you lower the camera.

You scrunch up your nose as though seriously contemplating the question. “Um, me, obviously!” You smack your own bicep, sending Harris into hysterics.

“That’s so silly!” he cackles, glancing up at Eddie. “Daddy, isn’t Ms. Sweetheart so silly?”

You expect him to agree with his son, but he just puts his hands on his shoulders and gives a quick squeeze as he says, “Nah, she’s the strongest person I know.” Your stomach flip-flops when he peers at you through his impossibly long lashes. He picks up the plate and brings it over to the smaller, empty table. “Let’s cut this cake before the kids start revolting.”

The two of you use plastic knives and forks to divide the cake into slivers and toss them onto paper plates. Once all of the kids have their slices, Eddie licks the excess frosting from his fingers and hands you a plate.

“Havin’ fun?” He carefully wraps the question in a joking tone, but you can tell that he’s genuinely curious about whether you’re enjoying yourself.

You spear a piece of your slice with the plastic fork. “I am, actually.” The chocolate melts in your mouth, and your tongue glides over your lips to catch any crumbs. “I haven’t been bowling since I was a kid.”

“And it shows,” he teases, wincing when you flick his cheek. “Hey, now—violence is never the answer. What values are you instilling in these impressionable young minds?”

Harris pops up from his seat, waving an empty plate. Whatever cake bits were left on it have tumbled to the floor. “Daddy, I’m done! Can I open my presents now?”

“Jesus, did you inhale that thing?” Eddie wonders aloud, but ultimately agrees. He grabs a bunch of thin napkins and wipes Harris’s hands and face, laughing when the boy sputters as the paper presses against his lips. “Har Bear, you don’t wanna get your presents all messy.”

Once he’s all cleaned up, Harris grabs each of the gifts and brings them to his seat at the head of the table. He tears through brightly colored wrapping paper at lightning speed. Eddie tries to keep track of who gave what as his son unveils a Hot Wheels track from Charlie and his brother Brendan, a Teenage Mutant Ninja Turtle action figure from Kelly, a G.I. Joe from Emma, and—regrettably—a tub of Gak from Zachary. He makes a mental note to pick up a harmonica or a kazoo or something else noisy when that kid’s birthday rolls around.

The last gift left is from you, and you twiddle your thumbs as you await Harris’s reaction. Should I have gotten him a toy?

“It’s a stencil kit,” you feel the need to explain, as though you wouldn’t be able to handle the embarrassment of him asking what it is. “So you can trace shapes for your art. It’s got all different ones: food, animals, holidays…” You clamp your mouth shut, willing yourself to stop talking.

Your panic is short-lived; Harris’s brown eyes light up as he runs to you and wraps his arms around your legs in another giant hug. “I’m gonna draw you so much things!” he promises, gazing up at you excitedly.

“I can’t wait to see what you make me.” A drawing from Harris holds a deeper meaning than you ever realized. It’s more than a simple display of creativity; it’s a symbol of love and acceptance into his life.

He looks at his dad now with pleading eyes. “Can Ms. Sweetheart come to our house after the party so I can draw her a picture? Please?” He stretches out the last word so that it has at least five syllables.

Eddie looks at you expectantly, a timid smile on his lips. “Well?”

“I think that’s a great idea.” Your response earns you another quick squeeze from Harris before he darts back to his seat to further inspect his gifts.

Eddie’s warm voice is low in your ear, his fingertips ghosting the small of your back in a manner that lets you—and only you—know how starved he is for touch. “And you can help me get rid of that slime thing, too.”

Once the party has ended and you, Eddie, and Harris are back at their apartment, the cherubic boy takes the stenciling kit into his room.

“I’m gonna do art in here so you can’t peek,” he declares, clutching the kit to his chest as though there’s already something to hide.

Eddie chuckles, raking a hand through his curls. “Okay, bud. We’ll be out here, watching TV. You go be a little artíst.”

Once he hears the bedroom door click shut, Eddie puts the TV on a random channel and plops on the couch with a soft oof. You sit down next to him and he puts his arm around you, allowing you to snuggle in closer. The shirt fabric against his underarms is slightly damp with the day’s sweat, but you’re far too comfortable to even consider it an issue.

Your unsuccessful attempt at stifling a yawn has Eddie grinning. “Can’t hang with the kids anymore?” he goads, lips flush against your scalp.

“It’s exhausting being on the winning team,” you playfully retort, adding in an over-the -top fake yawn to drive home your point. “Not that you would know.”

“Oh, yeah?” He pulls you closer to pepper kisses across your neck and cheek until you’re a giggling mess. Satisfied with his handiwork, he allows himself to sink deeper into the cushions and lets out a yawn of his own.

You rest your head on his shoulder, gently brushing his curls back so they’re not in your eyes. A hum of contentment escapes you as you fully relax for the first time today.

You feel a slight nudge on your chin as Eddie tilts it upwards and kisses your lips. The gloss you’d applied before the party is long gone, a casualty of conversation and cake consumption, but he has no complaints.

“Been wanting to do this all day,” he murmurs, shooting shivers down your spine. “And when I saw you helping Harris? Baby, I just…” he searches for accurate words. Nothing he can think of seems to fully convey the depth of his feelings, but he tries his best. “I’m so fucking lucky. We’re so fucking lucky.”

The feeling of your body against his relaxes him further; a marvelous white noise replaces the plethora of overanalyzed problems constantly buzzing through his brain. The heaviness of sleep falls over both of you, and you shift your body even closer to his in a primitive quest for the safety his presence brings. Whatever show is on the fuzzy TV set is now a dull hum until it’s muted by the dreams your subconscious brings.

Eddie only stirs fifteen minutes later when the bedroom door hinges give a soft squeak, ears trained to pick up on Harris’s innocuous noises that often precede chaos. Grogginess overpowers attentiveness, so he misses the smile on his son’s face and the way he whispers, “my birthday wish is coming true.”

Gray clouds cover Hawkins the next day, drenching the small town in cold rain. And while Eddie is certainly grateful that it’s not snowing, this means that he has to find indoor activities to keep his endlessly energetic son occupied.

Luckily, Harris is still enamored with his birthday gifts, particularly the stenciling kit you’d given him. He sits at the kitchen table now, tracing an outline of a cow on a Valentine for his classmate. Eddie’s not quite sure of the correlation between the animal and the holiday, but he’s learned that some battles are best left unfought.

“That looks great, Har Bear.”

“I know.” Harris agrees, not looking up from his drawing as he says, “Daddy, you should make a Valentime for Ms. Sweetheart.” Before Eddie can answer, Harris slides over a piece of red paper and a black marker.

“I should, huh?” Remembering a trick he learned back in elementary school, Eddie folds the paper and draws half of a heart against the crease. He has to use Harris’s blunted safety scissors, much too small for his fingers, to cut the paper. Pleased when he sees that it actually resembles a heart, Eddie taps the marker against his dimpled chin as he contemplates what to write. “You really like Ms. Sweetheart, don’t you?”

Harris nods, putting down the blue marker he’s using and reaching for an orange one. “Mhm. I love her, Daddy.”

Eddie’s heart soars at the confirmation of Harris’s adoration of you, but he tries not to make it obvious. “That’s, uh, that’s good.” He finally decides on a simple message: Be Mine, and he signs his name underneath with a dash. It feels a little less impersonal than “from,” but isn’t as strong as “love.” Do I love her? He wonders. No, it’s only been one date. He can’t fall in love this quickly. It’s not possible. “How’s this? Be mine,” he reads aloud, underlining each word with his finger.

“Oh, I like that.” Harris picks up a green marker and writes the same two words on a pink sheet of paper. The letters are a little too big for the paper’s limited space, and he ends up squishing the “e” in “mine” very close to the edge. “How do you spell ‘mommy’?”

Eddie’s throat goes bone-dry. “You wanna make a card for your mom?” Harris has never wanted to make anything for his mom before; never brought her up, really, but maybe that was changing now that he was in school and surrounded by children with present mothers.

But Harris shakes his head. “No, it’s for Ms. Sweetheart. I wanna write ‘Be Mine Mommy.’”

It takes Eddie a second to realize that Harris means “be my mommy,” and he massages the bridge of his nose with his thumb and forefinger. “Um, Har, you can’t just ask her to be your mom.”

“Why not?”

He doesn’t want to tell Harris that wants to make sure you’ll stick around, nor does he want to make a promise neither one of you can keep. “Because you…you just can’t, okay?” It comes out harshly, and he sputters to fix his tone when he sees Harris’s lower lip quiver.

“But it’s not fair! You didn’t have a daddy, so you got Grampa Wayne as your daddy. I don’t have a mommy, so I want Ms. Sweetheart as my mommy!”

Eddie flash backs to their zoo trip, when Harris had innocently asked him if Wayne had taken him out on father-son days. There’s no child-friendly way to articulate that Wayne had initially been legally obligated to act as his guardian. “I know, bud. I know you do–”

“Then why can’t I ask her?” His expression shifts from anger to confusion, brows pinching together.

Because she could say no, Eddie thinks. Because the responsibility of being a mommy was too much for your biological mother to handle; why would Ms. Sweetheart take it on? What if she doesn’t have a problem being your mommy, but she finds issue with the idea of being connected to me?

He takes a deep breath, gathering his thoughts. “Look, Har. I know you want her to be your mommy. And between you and me, I’d love for her to be your mommy, too.”

“But–”

“But, grown up feelings are weird sometimes,” he presses on, borrowing your verbiage from Thanksgiving, “and feelings like love take time. But I’m gonna make you a promise right now.” He sticks out his pinky finger. “I promise that if me and Ms. Sweetheart fall in love, I’ll tell you, and I’ll let you ask her to be your mommy. Is that a deal?”

Harris looks dubious, but ultimately hooks his pinky around his dad’s. Eddie breathes a sigh of relief that the crisis has been averted for now.

“Before we can ask her to be your mommy,” Eddie continues, “I need to figure out the perfect Valentine’s Day date to impress her. Wanna help?”

Harris purses his lips in concentration, resting his chin in his hand. “How about McDonald’s? They have a ball pit!”

Eddie has to tuck his lips into his mouth to keep from laughing out loud. “A definite contender,” he finally manages. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Friday night. Valentine’s Day.

You had been unsure whether Eddie wanted to do anything for the holiday; your relationship was still so fresh, and you didn’t want him to feel pressured. When he crept into your classroom Monday morning with a coffee and a heart-shaped note—far more conspicuous than he’d intended to be—you couldn’t hide the excitement on your face.

The card reads Be Mine and currently resides under a magnet on your fridge, finding a home among the plethora of drawings from Harris. It’s got some creases in it that Eddie had explained were the result of Harris shoving it into his backpack that morning. You thought it was perfect as is.

“Are you free on Friday? For Valentine’s Day?” he’d asked, shoving his hands in his jean pockets. When you answered in the affirmative, he visibly relaxed. “Great. I’m taking you out.” His smile lights up his face. “Wear something that you don’t mind getting messy, and I’ll pick you up at 6.”

You’d wanted to try and pry more information from him, but Carol Perkins and her son Frankie walked in just then, and you’d put away the heart as quickly as you could as Eddie scrambles from the classroom.

You stand in your bedroom now in your Levis 501s and a fuzzy red sweater, taking one last look at your makeup in the mirror reflection. You scrape your fingernail along the bottom of your lip to wipe off any excess gloss. Underneath your outfit is a special surprise, wishful thinking if the night goes well.

At 5:55, you sling your pocketbook over your shoulder and make your way down to the lobby. You spot Eddie the moment you step out from the elevator. He’s pacing, hands shoved in his dark wash denim pockets and lower lip pinched between his teeth.

Your voice draws him from his thoughts. “Happy Valentine’s Day, baby,” you say, wrapping your arms around his waist and pulling him so your stomachs touch. “You look really, really handsome.”

“You’re…you’re beautiful.” He’s almost breathless as he says it, eyes roaming down your body and taking in the view. The way your sweater drapes the slope of your breasts has his heart leaping into his throat. He kisses you slowly before proclaiming, “My beautiful Valentine.”

You reach into your purse and pull out a tiny red gift bag, letting it sway and dangle from your fingertips. “I got you a little something.”

The tissue paper crinkles as Eddie rifles through it to pull out a silver lighter, much heavier in his palm than the usual plastic Bic he uses. “Sweetheart, this is…” He takes a closer look and reads aloud the engraved words etched on the front. “Fill my heart with song…”

“It’s from Fly Me to the Moon. Because of Thanksgiving, when you played the record, and Grandma…” you trail off, not wanting to get choked up, “and because you’re a rockstar. My rockstar.” You kiss his lips again, feeling his palm softly cup your cheek.

“I have something for you, too. Um, I didn’t get to wrap it, but I hope you like it.” He unzips his jacket, exposing the gray t-shirt clinging to his pecs. He digs into the inner pocket and clutches a cassette tape, handwritten label stating,“Ms. Sweetheart’s Mix.”

“‘S nothin’ crazy, just some songs that remind me of you.” There’s an array of genres and artists on there. Guns ‘N Roses, of course, as well as Frank Sinatra. There’s Def Leppard’s Pour Some Sugar on Me, Un-Break My Heart by Toni Braxton, and a plethora of songs with ‘sweetheart’ in the title: Bob Dylan’s Sweetheart Like You, Bing Crosby’s Let Me Call You Sweetheart, The Spaniels’ Goodnight Sweetheart Goodnight.

Tears prickle along your lash line, and you blink them away before you smudge your mascara. “Thank you, Eddie. I love it.” You hold the gift in two hands, giving it a small shake to emphasize your excitement.

A small pang in his chest has Eddie realizing that he wishes you’d ended that statement with you instead of it, but he tries to shove the thought down by kissing you, tongue parting your lips, hand traveling up your side. His hands aren’t even touching skin, only your sweater, yet it’s so electrifying that you feel your thighs clench in wanting.

“C’mon,” you urge him gently, “let’s go on this date before we end up making out in the lobby all night.”

Eddie cocks his head. “Would that be such a bad thing?”

“Eddie…” Truthfully, you’re thinking the same thing, but your desire for a romantic Valentine’s Day date with him propels you towards the door. You take his hand so he dutifully follows.

“Fine,” he relents with an exaggerated sigh, smile showing off the soft dimples in his cheeks. “But only because you’ve got me wrapped around your little finger, y’know that?”

“Oh, I know.”

Twenty minutes later, Eddie’s car pulls up to The Novice Chef. You’ve never been–taking care of Grandma didn’t allot you much time for hobbies–but Jess has told you about their incredible cooking classes. She and Robin went to one right before Thanksgiving and insisted that they’d perfected the art of turkey basting.

“Figured we could learn how to make pizza since we’re basically funding the local Surfer Boy,” Eddie grins, turning the key in the ignition. The car stills and the two of you unbuckle your seatbelts, pushing open the car doors. “Just, uh, no olives on my half.”

You find an unoccupied cooking station with two aprons on it, the venue’s cursive logo displayed on the front in an eager advertisement. You slip one over your head and Eddie does the same, twirling his finger in a turn around motion. You feel the brush of his fingers on the small of your back as he ties the strings in a bow. After returning the favor for him, you squeeze his waist, giggling when he yelps in surprise.

“What was that for?”

“I dunno; you’re just really squeezable.”

Eddie just shakes his head, already missing your touch after that brief moment. He slides a rubber band down his wrist and ties his hair in a bun at the nape of his neck before slipping his rings off of his fingers. He flexes his hands, almost taken aback by their nakedness, and you suppress a heaving sigh when you catch sight of the protruding veins, dark purple snakes that disappear amongst soft arm hair.

“All right everyone, let’s get started.” The unfamiliar voice brings your attention to the front of the room, where the instructor is standing behind his own station. “My name’s Argyle, and I’ll be your tour guide on our journey through Flavortown.” He claps his hands and rubs them together. “First thing we’re gonna do is knead the dough.” He gives a demonstration and then invites the class to try on their own.

“Damn, that dude has some badass hair,” Eddie muses, noting the man’s long raven locks that are pulled back into a waist-length ponytail. He nods approvingly and flips the silver bowl of dough onto the table. A small puff of flour rises as it hits the surface with a thwack, and you’re very glad you’d heeded his warning not to wear something new.

Eddie presses the heel of his palm into the dough, kneading it with precision. Flatten, stretch, flatten, stretch, until he’s satisfied with the consistency. He shapes it into a thin circle, fingertips digging into the edges to form the crust. The movements are hypnotizing, and it’s not until he clears his throat that you bashfully realize you’ve been staring.

“Y’good, Sweetheart?” A sly, knowing grin stretches from one cheek to the other; now you’re certain that he’s caught you.

“Y-Yeah.”

The next step is to spread the sauce onto the dough, Argyle explains, and Eddie places the crust onto the pan and steps aside so you can take over. You dip the ladle into the pot, filling it to the brim. Bits of dried basil and oregano swim in a red tomato sea as you use the ladle’s base to evenly distribute it across the crust.

“Y’got a little somethin’ on your face.” Eddie whispers in your ear, making you stop mid-swirl.

“Huh? Where?” You use the back of your free hand to wipe at your cheeks and chin for any sauce that may have splattered, but a close inspection shows nothing.

Eddie leans over you, his chest flush against your back. You fight the urge to press the curve of your ass to the seam of his jeans, wiping a sweat-slick palm on your apron. “Right…” he swipes his finger down the ladle’s curved side, catching some sauce and dotting it on the tip of your nose, “here.”

“Eddie!”

“Don’t worry; I’ve got it.” He leans over and licks the sauce off, a quick lap of his tongue on your skin. The unexpected sensation makes you giggle louder than you’d intended. You clap a hand over your mouth, surely smudging the gloss, but you’ve already drawn the instructor’s unwanted attention.

“Lovebirds, are we here to flirt or to make pizza?” Argyle punctuates his rhetorical question with an exasperated sigh. You duck your head in shame and Eddie just coughs to stifle his own mischievous laughter.

“All right, now for the cheese,” Argyle continues, dipping a hand into a glass bowl and retrieving the ingredient. “Some people think that ya just pile it on; the more cheese, the better, but there’s an art to–hey, not cool, man!” He’s looking right at Eddie, and you glance over to see your date drop a handful of shredded mozzarella into his open mouth.

“Sorry,” he mumbles through a mouthful of cheese, but you’re willing to bet that his apology is anything but sincere.

Argyle rolls his eyes, not even attempting to hide his irritation. “You got one more strike, and then you’re out.” He points one finger at Eddie and then jerks his thumb backwards to emphasize his point.

“Yes, sir,” Eddie salutes, and you elbow him in the ribs.

Once the cheese has been sprinkled across the sauce–whatever remains after Eddie’s impromptu snack, anyway–you reach for the mushrooms. Eddie’s sharp gasp makes you freeze up before you can grasp any.

“What do you think you’re doing?” he demands, placing his flour-coated hands on his hips.

You flick your gaze from the bowl of mushrooms to his impatient face. “Um, putting toppings on the pizza?”

“Not that one, you’re not,” he argues with a disapproving shake of his head. “Vegetables don’t belong on pizza.” He picks up the bowl of pepperoni and starts layering the slices on top, either unaware or indifferent to the fact that some of them stick together in a double layer of cured meat. “This is more like it.”

You nudge him, triumphantly layering mushrooms around where he’s placed the pepperoni slices. “It’s called compromise, Eddie. It’s how relationships work.”

His jaw drops and he places his hand over his heart like a southern belle who’s just been presented with extraordinary gossip. “Oh, this is a relationship?” He snickers when you give him a small shove. “I had no idea. I just thought we were two friends who make out sometimes.”

“God, I hate you.”

“I hate you, too.”

An hour later, stomachs filled with pizza that might rival Surfer Boy’s, you and Eddie return to your apartment. A tense stillness fills the air when he walks you to your door, daring either of you to speak your mutual desire into existence.

You’re the one to break the silence. “I had an amazing time tonight, Eddie.”

“Yeah?” he asks almost incredulously, as though he doubts the truthfulness behind your words. He pushes the insecurity aside with a joke. “Even though I almost got us kicked out?”

The memory brings a smile to your face, though you would imagine that the annoyed instructor would not share the same sentiment. “I still need to get you back for that.” You lick his nose and giggle, knocking his hand away when he lifts it to his face. “Don’t wipe it off!”

“And what if I do?” Eddie takes a step closer, resting one hand on the small of your back and putting the other on your cheek. He kisses you and you lean into it, pressing your body against his. His tongue parts your lips, and you hook a finger into his belt loop as you melt into each other.

“Do you wanna come in? Or do you have to get back home to Harris?” You’ve pulled the trigger. There’s no turning back now, and though you’re certainly in a healthier place than the last time you’d made this suggestion, the fear of a similar reaction has your heart in your chest.

He shakes his head, nose rubbing against yours. “Wayne’s staying with him tonight.” He omits the fact that his uncle was the one who’d offered to babysit overnight, a not-so-subtle hint at his expectations of Eddie’s evening plans.

“All night?”

“All,” he kisses you again, “night.”

You fumble with your keys and unlock the door, Eddie wrapping his arms around your waist from the back as though he never wants to let go. As soon as you get it open, its grimacing creak mere background noise to the pounding in your ears, you’re kicking off your shoes and pulling Eddie into the bedroom.

Your hands on his shoulders pin him against the door, only moving them to the hem of his shirt to begin tugging it over his head. It proves to be a difficult task as you try keeping your lips on his neck, but he wraps his fingers around your wrists and stops you.

“Been dreamin’ about worshiping this body…you,” he clarifies, pupils blown so wide that they overtake his chocolate irises. “Please,” he adds, a slight break in his voice. His begging starkly contrasts the bravado that dominated his personality the night you’d met. There was no patience or tenderness, just teeth clashing and hands searching for the fastest and easiest way to bring pleasure.

You nod. “I have a surprise for you first.” You take off your sweater, drawing it slowly up your torso to build up the anticipation, and toss it to the side.

Eddie goes slack jawed at the sheer mesh bra that leaves nothing to the imagination, just as you’d expected him to. He quickly snaps his mouth shut and swallows, a last-ditch attempt to salvage his machismo before he fully loses his mind.

“It’s a matching set, if you wanna see.”

“Uh-huh.” Eddie walks over, pressing kisses to your collarbones that leave your knees weak. His thumbs graze your breasts, slipping the bra straps down and unhooking the clasp. It falls to the ground and he stoops a bit, bringing his mouth to one hardening nipple and sucking it before moving onto the other. “Perfect.” He trails kisses down your stomach, dropping to his knees as he does. “Perfect.” He lifts one hand, kissing each individual finger right on the first knuckle. “So perfect.”

He remains on his knees as his nimble fingers, still cold from the brief walk to your building, unbutton your jeans, and you shimmy out of them eagerly. His eyes widen when he sees that your panties do, in fact, match your bra: a red-tinted mesh thong that has everything on display.

“Baby,” he moans, grabbing one ass cheek in each of his big hands and pressing soft kisses to your clothed pussy. “Baby…f’me?”

“All for you, Eddie.” Your breath hitches when you feel his lips graze your most sensitive spot. He’s not intentionally teasing you, but logic has no place in your current state.

He kisses down your thighs. “Lay down f’me, yeah?” You do as he asks, laying your head down on the pillow as your body sinks into the mattress. Eddie climbs on top of you, slotting one knee between your slightly open legs. He brings his lips to your ear, gently biting your earlobe and singing in a low murmur, “got it bad, got it bad, got it bad…”

You giggle, the breath from his whisper tickling the shell of your ear, and you tilt your head slightly so you can see his face. “Can I undress you now?” He nods, and you wrestle with his shirt to expose the pale expanse of skin. There’s a dusting of curls across his chest, thicker in the middle and thinner around his nipples. You plant a kiss on his left bicep and drag your palm down his tummy, practically concave during his teenage years but now has a slight softness to it, stopping when you reach the bulge in his pants. He groans at your touch, and you feel his cock twitch slightly. Eager to alleviate his pent-up energy, you undo the button and tug down his zipper, cupping his erection through his navy blue boxers.

“Not yet,” Eddie mumbles, “not done showing you how much I l–care about you. How much you mean to me.” With a burning in his cheeks from what he’d nearly admitted, he drags your thong, a wet patch formed on it, down your thighs and past your calves until it drops to the ground unceremoniously. He balances your legs on top of his shoulders and pulls himself in closer, nudging your clit with his nose as he licks a stripe up your folds. His lips wrap around your sensitive bud, brushing it with his tongue. Soft brown eyes peer up at you, desperately seeking your approval.

“F-Feels good,” you manage, words caught in your throat as pleasure seeps into your body. “Please keep going.”

Eddie needs no further convincing, reveling in your growing wetness against his face while slipping his middle finger into your pussy. You whimper at the feeling of him inside you, bracing yourself for a comment about how needy you are, but he just continues to draw you closer to your orgasm. His finger glides in and out, in and out, rhythmic but not too slow. The bed shifts ever-so-slightly, and you realize he’s rutting his hips against the mattress, desperate for relief.

Your hand finds purchase in the curls adorning his scalp, digging your fingers into them and giving a small tug. Eddie lets a second finger into your tight hole, curling them upwards and hitting your sweet spot over and over.

“Right there, th-that’s it, please, Eddie,” you beg, your moans barely audible over the sounds of him fervently fingering you and lapping at your cunt. “Fuck, Eddie, ‘m gonna cum!”

Eddie just lets out an “mmm,” in acknowledgment, the vibrations shooting through your core and bringing you right to the edge. Your release overtakes you and your thighs instinctively squeeze against either side of his head. He makes a mental note to ask you not to do that because he absolutely needs to hear every noise you make while you cum.

“Y’good?” he asks as you drift down from the high, still perched between your legs. He wipes his slick-glistened lips with the back of his hand before licking the taste of you from his fingers. “I can keep going, trust me.”

“Need you closer.” You try to sit up, but your legs fail you, and you flop back onto the bed. “I have condoms in the top drawer–”

“Brought my own,” he grins, reaching into his back pocket–now positioned just under his ass from the way he’d dry humped the bed–and pulls out three connected foil packages. “Ribbed, for her pleasure.”

“Such a gentleman,” you tease, but it’s the truth. The way he took care of you, made sure you were okay after, offered to continue eating you out despite the raging hard-on he’s sporting…his chivalry isn't lost on you. You watch as he strips down until his body is rid of any clothing, tearing one wrapper and rolling the rubber down his cock, and you bite your lip in anticipation of its delicious stretch.

There’s an unspoken disappointment at the addition of the barrier, regardless of its practicality. You want to be as close as you possibly can without anything in the way, but neither of you are in any rush to give Harris a sibling.

Imagine it, though, Eddie can’t stop himself from thinking. Imagine the intimacy of filling her up every night until she’s carrying my baby. Taking any little bit that drips out and stuffing it back inside to make sure it takes. Imagine kissing her growing bump every morning to greet her and our unborn child.

He puts one thigh on either side of yours, looking into your eyes as he asks, “Yes?”

“Yes.”

Eddie lines up with your entrance, pushing in gently and keeping his gaze trained on the way you take him in. Inch by inch, he disappears into your wanting hole until he bottoms out. He holds your hips while he finds a steady pace, and as soon as you arch your back, he’s slipping his hands around your waist just above the curve of your ass. “I can’t believe you’re mine,” he whispers. “You make me so fucking happy.”

Your hands grasp at his shoulder blades and you kiss him, tongues intertwining while you moan into each other’s mouths. “I’m always yours, if that’s what you want,” you promise, wrapping your legs around his.

“Of course, that’s what I want. Most beautiful girl in the world, asking me if I want her to be mine.” He grins cheekily, burying his head in the crook of your neck and sucking on it lightly before asking, “do you want me to be yours?”

“Yeah,” you exhale as his cock presses against your walls. “Yeah, I want you to be mine.” You smile, moving your hands to the nape of his neck and deepening the kiss. You want to be the only one he touches like this, the one who goes to bed next to him every night and wakes up next to him every morning. The one who celebrates his wins with him and brings comfort during the losses. You want everything that comes with belonging to each other.

Eddie thrusts into you, pulling wanton moans from your lips. “Say my name,” he pleads. “Need to hear you say it.”

“Eddie,” you pant, not able to fathom a single thought beyond the pleasure you’re feeling and who’s bringing it to you. “Eddie, ‘m so close. You feel too…too good.” Good is an understatement; perhaps a more accurate adjective would be euphoric, but finding a more elaborate term is low on your priority list.

Eddie’s peak is not far behind, with the feeling of your warmth around him bringing him closer every second. “Always wanna make y’feel good, baby,” he says. His face hovers just above yours, a bead of sweat sliding down the bridge of his nose onto the tip of yours. “I gotta–”

“Cum for me, Eddie,” you tell him, and with your permission, he pistons his hips a final time and spills into the condom. Your walls contract around his length as you finish with him.

Eddie stays inside you as the two of you catch your breath, smiling and stealing kisses from each other. He’s never felt anything like this before; for him, the thrill of sex is typically fueled purely by the primal instinct to get laid, but he’s in no rush to let you go. His cock begins to soften and he slowly pulls out, chuckling when you whine at the loss of fullness.

“Gotta toss this,” he says, removing the condom with a soft hiss and tying a knot. “Then I’m gonna hold you, mmkay?” Part of him is waiting for the post-sex adrenaline to wear off and the inevitable crash down when he realizes he’s mistaken lust for passion, urgency for belonging, but that doesn’t happen. As much as he’d love to be inside you again, hearing and feeling your satisfaction as you unravel for him, what he wants more than anything is to lay next to you and keep you safe. Safe from what, exactly, he’s not sure, but something compels him to protect you.

He takes you in his arms, the two of you a tangled, sweaty mess of naked limbs. Perspiration mats his sparse chest hair to his skin, but you press your cheek to it anyway and breathe in his scent. Your body grows heavier as sleep overtakes you, but Eddie’s low voice pulls you back for just a second.

“Baby?”

“Hmm?”

I love you. The words want to flow freely but come to a screeching halt on the tip of his tongue. It’s only your second date, and his mind is clouded with the sappiness of Valentine’s Day and oxytocin; what if he just thinks he loves you? Or what if he truly does, but you don’t feel the same way? Would you tell him, or would you pretend to reciprocate to spare him the hurt? Which is worse?

I love you. But it’s too soon to feel that, to know it for certain. And if he rushes things, he’ll get Harris’s hopes up–get his own hopes up–only to be met with heartbreak and disappointment.

I love you. And what would that admission accomplish, anyway? Where would you go from there? What would it change?

“Get some rest,” is what he settles on, biting the inside of his lower lip in shame. He kisses your forehead and watches you drift off, grateful when the exhaustion of the evening hits him and he follows suit.

I love you, is his last thought before he falls asleep, but he convinces himself that he’s not ready to speak it into existence.

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daisyblog · 3 months

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Love Day

Our Story Masterlist Summary: Harry and YN celebrate their first Valentine’s Day as a married couple.

“Happy Valentine’s Day baby!” Harry whispered to YN, whose eyes were still closed as they laid in bed. With his hand resting on her now rounded tummy, Harry placed a small peck to her exposed skin, where his white t shirt at risen up her bump. “And happy Valentine’s Day to my other favourite girl!”.

YN’s lips turned up slightly when she felt his lips kissing her baby bump, where their little girl was growing nicely. “Happy Valentine’s Day Mr Styles!”. YN tugged at his arm so he was now hovering above her, her hands sitting on his bare shoulders.

“G’morning Mrs Styles!”. Harry smiled into the kiss, their lips moving slowly against the other. Their hands gently exploring the others body. “God I love calling you my wife.”.

Wednesday had started with a lazy morning for the newly wed couple, Harry had made them both breakfast in bed, which later resulted with their clothes being thrown on the floor and the pair tangled in between the sheets.

Before they got out of bed, Harry pulled a white envelope from behind his back. “I know we said we weren’t going to do presents…but I couldn’t resist this one and it’s kind of for both of us”.

“Harry!” YN whined and her now plump lips from a busy morning pouted. “We agreed”. She carefully opened the envelope and inside was an appointment card for a private baby scan dated for that day. “Is this a joke?”.

“No…no joke baby”. Harry reassured her, as he smiled brightly, his white teeth on full display. “We’re going to see our baby!” YN pulled him closer and placed her lips on his whilst she mumbled ‘thank you’ over and over again.

After showering and getting ready for the day, they headed out for the afternoon for a walk around London. They had stopped off at a small coffee shop for a drink and some donuts. They were sat at the back of the cosy vintage shop and Harry couldn’t help but smile as YN took a bite of her donut.

“Whot?” YN eyed Harry suspiciously, wondering why he was grinning at her all of a sudden. She dabbed the napkin against her mouth quickly. “Do I have something on me face?”.

“No…I was just thinking about our first Valentine’s Day and now we’re married with our baby girl on the way”. Harry’s hand naturally went to YN’s tummy, where he could feel some movement of their daughter.

“I guess our wishes did come true!”.

---

12th of February 2012

As One Direction were on tour in Glasgow on Valentine’s Day, Harry had planned for YN to stay at the flat after their London show to celebrate early. He wanted to wine and dine her, but with YN still being seventeen it just wasn’t possible. So to Harry’s benefit, Louis was travelling to Scotland earlier than the rest of the boys which meant he had the flat to himself.

Whilst YN was in the bath, and pampering herself ahead of the relaxing night they had planned, Harry was getting the living room ready with blankets, pillows, duvets, snacks and everything else they needed. He had just finished lighting some candles, that created a soft glow in the room, when YN entered.

YN was cuddled on Harry’s lap, the film playing in the background as they both spoke, not really paying attention to the film. YN’s fingers played with the strings on Harry’s hoodie. “Do you ever think about the future?”.

“Yeh quite a bit actually” he confessed, as he moved his hand to YN’s exposed thigh. “Why? Do you?”.

She only nodded as her fingers continued to twist the cotton. “What do you want yours to look like?”.

Harry scratched the back of his neck, whilst he thought. “I want to be happy…I’d like to have a wife and children…uh yeah keep making music and touring”. He could see YN try to hide her smile. He wanted to add that he’d like that life with her, but only being a few months into their relationship he was worried it may come across too much. “What about you?”.

“Well I’m just going to be really forward…I want to be your wife and have a family with you”. YN said matter of fact. Harry could feel the pink appear on his cheeks as he tried to act cool about the conversation.

---

Entering the small private clinic, Harry and YN were greeted with a warm welcome from the lady behind the reception desk. “Oh waw…you are glowing!”. She complimented YN as she stood in front of her.

“Aww thank you…I think being pregnant is my new favourite thing!”. YN smiled and let out a chuckle at Harry’s raised eyebrows.

The receptionist took some details from YN before they were both told to sit in the waiting room. They didn’t have to wait long until a young female called.

“Mrs Styles?”. Her voice was soft and a warm smile filled her face. They followed her into a smaller room which had a bed and a few chairs by the side of it. “Come on in…I’m Jessica and this is Paula”. She pointed towards the older woman who sat on a chair near a desk.

“Ahh so you’re the famous Harry that Jess is always talking about!” Paula revealed, a teasing tone to her voice, showing the type of relationship the two colleagues had.

“Paula!”. The younger of the two gave her a warning look. But Harry and YN only laughed and reassured her that it was okay. “I am a fan…but I am professional and I wouldn’t reveal any of your details”.

“You’re alright babe…it’s nothing I wouldn’t reveal myself”. YN’s laid back tone was enough to reassure her.

YN laid down on the bed, Harry taking a seat next to the bed. They had been to a few scans already so it was like second nature to them both now. As Jessica got the probe ready, YN pulled up her jumper and lowered her leggings down that exposed her bump.

Within a few minutes, they could see their baby girl moving her arms and legs around on the smaller screen. “Oh you have a very active little one”.

“She’s following her Daddy!”. YN teased Harry.

“You know you’re having a little girl…how sweet!”. Paula smiled over to the couple, totally in her element at the scene in front of her.

“YN’s always said I’m a girl Dad…whatever that means”. Harry revealed, looking between the screen in awe at how much their daughter had grown.

Jessica smiled down at YN. “She’s growing beautifully in there…she’s weighing about two pounds always so whatever you’re doing Mama, keep doing it.”.

YN and Harry walked out of the clinic with bright smiles, new photos of their little girl, along with a few extra gifts from the two women, a teddy that played their daughters heartbeat and a free appointment for another scan.

“The best Valentine’s Day yet…don’t you think”. YN spoke as they spoke drove home.

“And next year will be even better!”. Harry looked down at YN’s bump.

ynstyles

liked by annetwist, lottietomlinson, and 2,675,986 others

ynstyles Happy Valentine’s Day to my Husband and Baby Daddy❤️ View all 12,877 comments

harrystyles Happy Valentine’s Day Mrs Styles! X ⌞harryfan4 HARRY!! ⌞ 1dfan6 MRS STYLES!! 🥹🥹🥹 ⌞ harryfan9 hi Harry!!!

niallhoran Aww my three favourite Styles’😂See you soon xx ⌞ ynstyles Baby Styles is excited for her Uncle Niall’s tour 🫶🏼

gemmastyles Too cute 🥹

annetwist Love you three very much 🤍🤍🤍

lottietomlinson Look beautiful sis😘 ⌞ ynstyles It runs in the genes babes ❤️

louist91 Watch your hands Harold!!😂 ⌞ynstyles A bit late for that Lou, not sure if you’ve noticed but I’m already pregnant xx ⌞harryfan3 these two never fail to make me laugh😂😂😂 ⌞louisfan7 the best siblings❤️

louteasdale How are you married? I swear we were just on tour😉

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ada7201 · 4 months

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what do the blue lock boys do for you on valentine’s day?（╹◡╹）♡

Shidou, Rin, Sae, Kaiser x reader (seperate)

→ part 1 ⭢ part 2 ⭢ part 3 on the way!

gn! reader, google translated German for Kaiser’s part

don’t forget to suggest me things if you have any ideas! happy early valentine’s day (๑>◡<๑)

Shidou Ryusei

he gets you a TON of sweets (which he eats half of)

Sae once told him that love letters were a common thing for valentine’s day, so he tried to make you one.

it was a piece of paper, which was poorly folded and drowned pink glitter glue. he used scented gel pens to write a few “i love you’s” and smiley faces… it’s the thought that counts?

wrapped a ribbon around his neck and called himself your valentine’s gift.

decided it would be fun to wear your lipstick and kiss your cheeks - staining your skin with kiss marks

for lunch, he brought you to the park where you both played around, and afterwards sat down somewhere on the playground and munched on sweets (of your choice!)

the two of you watched those romance dramas together in the evening and fell asleep on an episode you weren’t paying attention to

“come on sweets, it’ll be fun!” Shidou whined, clinging onto your arm like a monkey, smushing his cheek against your shoulder as he pouted. why wouldn’t you let him do your makeup? “im great at makeup! you know that! i’ll do a special valentine’s day theme〜”

“Shidou- no!” you groaned, attempting to pry the taller man off of your arm. “you will not do my makeup, and that’s final!”

“fine…” Shidou sighed dramatically, letting go of you and falling to the floor in a pathetic manner. “guess you just hate me… and you’d even do this on valentine’s day?”

you huffed. he could be such a pain sometimes…

“alright, you can do my-“ your voice was cut off by Shidou’s big hand on your lips, a grin on his face.

“no need to talk more, bae - let’s get started…” he’d chuckle, almost evilly, before pulling out your makeup bag from the pocket of his sweatpants.

“how did you—?” you were cut off once again by his hand, and that stupid smile on his face.

“ah-ah,” he’d wiggle his pointer finger, before poking your cheek.

“let me do my magic!”

by the end of that hour, your face was decorated with sparkly stickers and hearts drawn in pink lipstick. your eyeshadow was almost terrifying, with the way it was so bright - brighter than Shidou’s eyes.

“perfect.” he’d giggle, hand on his mouth as he tried to hold back from full on cackling in your face.

surprisingly, Shidou isn’t bad at makeup - he just wanted to be a little silly for you on valentine’s day!

he posted a photo of you and your makeup, along with cute photos of the two of you throughout the day - like one of the heart engraved onto a bench with your initials, or maybe the photo of you sleeping peacefully with a bow stuck to your forehead - totally not Shidou’s doing!

he also baked with you - but it didn’t turn out great so you both decided to order takeout instead.

takeout wasn’t the most romantic meal, but it sure best whatever you both made…

Itoshi Rin

poor baby didn’t know what to do at first.

he spent a couple weeks planning and brainstorming ideas in his free time - even considering asking Isagi for advice.

instead of turning to that lukewarm freak, he chose to go with what he thought you’d like the most.

he bought you a sweet and simple bouquet, assorted with flowers of your favorite colours and type.

he wrote you a card, and got a plus he’d toy with it too.

he placed everything next to you in the morning, since he wakes up considerably earlier than you do.

when you woke up, you were pleasantly surprised with everything. thanks Rin!

when he got back home, he made the two of you some lunch.

he didn’t want to admit it, but he had been waiting to use the cute little heart plates you had bought especially for valentine’s day.

“this bowl is so cute!” you’d smile, admiring the pretty white plate decorated with pink and red hearts. “is this the one i got you valentine’s day?”

he simply nodded, placing down his plate - and sitting on the chair opposite you.

posted a photo of the two of you holding hands, along with a pretty sunset you both witnessed on your evening walk.

he definitely wasn’t too embarrassed to include the photo he took of your plates! he just wanted to be the only ones to see them

yes, he took you out on a walk in the evening - and when he noticed you shivering, he was quick to wrap his scarf around you and drape his jacket over your shoulders - not realising he just exposed himself and the pink shirt you had gotten him.

his face turned the same colour as his shirt! cute!

“Rin, why is your face so pink? are you getting cold?” you ask him, worried gaze focused on the way his cheeks were pink. “do you want your jacket back—?”

Rin quickly cut you off with a small peck, cheeks blushing even more after the small gesture.

“i was just… blushing.” he mumbles, looking away from you as a teasing smile made its way onto your face.

“aww, you were blushing〜”

Itoshi Sae

bought you a bouquet of purple roses.

purple roses mean love at first sight. <3

he also got you a matching set of earrings, a necklace, bracelet, and an anklet.

along with jewellery, he got you a piece of fancy clothing that he saw you eyeing. (example: dress, suit, button up, tie, skirt, and more! your decision)

got you a pack of cupcakes as a desert for lunch (or any yummy food if your choice)

he spent most of the day taking photos of you and admiring how beautiful you were - even with morning hair, even if you were still in your cheesy pyjamas matching that Sae got you, even if you had your face stuffed with sweets - you were beautiful and Sae wanted to capture that moment. (this is a regular occurrence, but was feeling it a bit more today!)

either takes you to a beautiful and expensive restaurant, or hosts one at home with candles lit nicely.

this valentine’s day, he chose to eat out with you - and brought you to one of the newest and most expensive restaurants in town.

“wow, Sae! this is really nice!” you smiled, placing your fork down next to your plate before looking up at Sae, who was sat opposite you.

“you deserve 10 times more.” he’d respond simply, shrugging off your words with a slight blush on his cheeks.

he watched the way your smile grew. cute.

could it be the perfect time?

“y/n.” Sae said, almost quietly - before pushing his chair back and standing up.

his slim fingers reached into the pocket of his nice dress pants - and you couldn’t help but feel your heartbeat quicken. what was he about to do?

“i have loved you since the first day i met you.” he started, hand wrapping around a small velvet box, before pulling it out of his pocket - he wasted no time on getting down on one knee, eyes looking up at the way you stared back down at him. “do you think that… you could make me even happier, and marry me?” he asks with a small smile on his face.

im sorry, but i definitely feel like he’s the type to propose on valentine’s day!

on the drive home, you had to remind him to her his eyes on the road because he kept admiring the pretty ring on your finger!

bought you another pair of cheesy pyjamas - this time, they were pink cat onesies.

he took so many photos of you and your cute little smile!

he posted a photo of your hand with the ring, being held by his

it took him a good 15 minutes to decide what photo to choose for the ring photo

along with the ring photo, he posted a picture of the two of you in your onesies, a photo of his hand on your thigh as you were both in his car - along with some others of the two of you having fun

Sae was stood in the jewellery shop, looking down at each glimmering ring in the display case.

his cheeks blushed as he imagined each one of them on your pretty hands, how could he ever choose?!

he just could not wait to hold your hand, and look down at the ring.

“um, Sir?” the accountant could ask, waving a hand in front of Sae’s face - who was currently spacing out and fantasising about holding your hand.

oh, guess he got caught up thinking about you.

just then, his eyes caught the most beautiful ring. he could practically see the happy face you’d make when he presents it to you!

he wasted no time pointing to the ring, neutral gaze looking back at the woman.

“i want that one.” he says flatly.

no woman other than you deserves to even look at him. how dare that saleslady even talk to him?

(this wasn’t on valentine’s day, but he practically danced out of the shop when he finally bought the ring)

Micheal Kaiser

how bold of you to assume he’d get you something?

jokes!

he bought you a bouquet of blue roses (a little cliche, but you it’s his thing!)

like Sae, he bought you a lot of pretty jewellery.

got you the prettiest piece of clothing, one that would match an outfit he bought for himself.

he absolutely insisted that it was a coincidence.

for lunch, he brought you to a diner he knew you liked - but when you asked, oh you liked this place? he never knew!

made sure to show you off more than usual the whole day, saying things like “they’re the only person worthy of my love” and other egoistical love confessions, if you get what i mean

for dinner, the two of you dressed up in your matching outfits

he practically begged you to be able to do your hair. (he’ll never ever admit it though, not with his ego)

when you were both finally dressed, you went to a party that his team was hosting.

when the two of you got home, he basically fell asleep on you!

“i’m not falling asleep.” he’d huff, unconsciously nuzzling further into your stomach as her hugged your waist. he just … wanted attention.

“sure,” you’d tease, fingers threading through his hair gently. “is that why you’re cuddled up to me right now?”

“ruhig sein,” he’d huff. “or you’re sleeping on the couch tonight.”

ruhig sein = “be quiet” / “pipe down”

you simply giggle at his words, patting his head gently.

“i’m sorry.” you’d pout playfully, before leaning down to press a gentle kiss to his forehead.

Kaiser had always loved being babied by you.

it was somehow… comforting?

posted a mirror selfie of the two of you, and maybe, just maybe, a photo of your cute smiling face - if i felt like it!

The next morning, Kaiser woke up to his phone buzzing constantly - and you clinging onto his side. he couldn’t help but bask in the glory of being so famous. he had a pretty person next to him in bed and his post has most likely gone viral once again.

he reached over to the side table and picked his phone up, u locking it quickly to read the comments left on his newest post - which was of the two of you yesterday.

“best couple!” “they’re made for each other.” “y/n looks so pretty!” “they’re matching!?”

was very excited to have so many compliments.

he realised that he gets a lot more when he posts photos of you

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