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georgeweasleyslostearhq · 11 days ago

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TO MY DEAREST,

Pairings: Ralph Penbury x Fem! Summary: Ralph atempts to be your secret admirer for Valentine's Day, though you seem to know exactly who keeps waking you up early in the morning with gifts. Warnings: just Ralph being a cutie.

Valentine masterlist

-Day six-

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

The first time you got one of the cards was at 7 AM on a Sunday, the first of February.

You were sleeping peacefully in your neoclassical bed, the sunlight barely filtering through the heavy curtains, when the doorbell rang, and rang, and rang, its insistent chime shattering your dream. With a groan, you rolled over, burrowing your face deeper into your pillow, hoping it would stop. But it didn't.

Finally, you relented, pushing the covers aside and stretching with a yawn as you slid into your silk robe. You shuffled down the hallway, the softness of the fabric brushing against your skin in stark contrast to the cold tiles beneath your bare feet. By the time you reached the foyer, the bell rang again, as if it had a personal vendetta against your slumber.

Opening the door with a groggy sigh, you were greeted by a young delivery man with a cheeky grin, holding a large, impeccably wrapped package. The ribbon was a deep red, and there was an odd sense of extravagance about the whole thing, as if the sender had spent an entire fortune on a single bouquet of roses and... whatever else might be inside.

"Miss, delivery for you," he said, his smile widening as he handed you the package, only to wink and quickly depart, leaving you standing in the doorway, utterly perplexed.

You stared at the parcel, the tag clearly marked in delicate script:

To my dearest, from a most secret admirer.

The handwriting was bold but elegant, unmistakably... Ralph Penbury.

The second time came even earlier, at 6:30 AM on the 2nd of February.

You were still half asleep when the bell rang again, sharp and insistent. This time, you couldn’t ignore it. Pulling yourself out of bed with a much greater effort than the morning before, you yawned and stumbled into your robe, your hair a messy halo around your face.

The doorbell rang again- louder this time, as if daring you to stay in bed a second longer.

You groaned but went to answer it, fully expecting another extravagant package.

A young man stood there holding a bouquet of roses so large it nearly covered his face. The deep red blooms were impossibly fresh, the petals slightly dewy as though they’d just been picked that morning. The scent was intoxicating, filling the cold morning air and making your heart skip in spite of yourself.

With a polite bow, he handed them over, barely meeting your eyes. “From your admirer,” he said simply before turning and walking off, leaving you once again standing on your doorstep.

You stared down at the card nestled among the roses, the script unmistakable:

To my dearest, Another token of my affection, though not nearly enough to show the depth of my admiration.

There was no mistaking it. This was Ralph Penbury- again.

The third time came at precisely 7 AM on the 3rd of February.

This time, you were barely awake when the doorbell rang- not loud enough to pull you from your slumber immediately, but insistent enough that you reluctantly dragged yourself out of bed again.

Your silk robe felt heavier than ever as you trudged down the hallway, the weight of it mirroring the growing weight in your chest. The sheer absurdity of Ralph’s daily gifts was starting to wear thin, and though part of you felt flattered by the attention, another part of you just wanted to tell him to stop.

But when you opened the door this time, your eyes went wide.

A full-sized parasol, the kind that would be more at home at a garden party or under the hot sun on a lavish estate, sat at your doorstep. It was opulent- deep green silk with gold-trimmed edges, and the handle was made from intricately carved wood, almost too beautiful to be real. And underneath it, sitting at your feet, was another bouquet of roses- this time, a mix of white and lavender, arranged like a crown fit for royalty.

You stared at the sight, a mix of disbelief and amusement crossing your face.

You picked up the parasol and the card nestled under it, noticing the fine paper and the delicate handwriting once again:

To my dearest, For your beauty, even the sun pales in comparison.

It was a grand gesture, certainly, but it felt almost... absurd. Ralph Penbury had somehow gone from sending simple cards to arranging a regal display right outside your door, and yet, despite all the opulence, there was still no sign of him.

A small sigh escaped your lips. How much longer would this go on?

The fourth time came at 8:24 AM on the 4th of February.

This morning, you’d braced yourself for yet another surprise. You had no idea what Ralph could possibly top the parasol and roses with, but somehow, you had a feeling it would be even more extravagant than the day before.

You opened the door with a bit of reluctance, still half-sleeping, and blinked in surprise.

This time, instead of a delivery man, there was a small troupe of musicians, standing at the bottom of your steps, their instruments gleaming in the early morning light. There were two violins, a cello, and a lone flutist, all waiting patiently.

“Miss,” the lead musician said with a bow, “a little serenade from your admirer.”

Before you could say anything, they began playing- a beautiful, sweeping melody that seemed to echo the feel of a classical love story. It was lovely, but utterly unexpected, and you felt your cheeks heat as you watched them play, knowing full well who was behind this.

Once the last note faded, the lead musician handed you an elegant silver box, nestled in velvet. Inside, you found a delicate brooch, its center a gleaming sapphire surrounded by tiny diamonds. The card that accompanied it read:

To my dearest, a lady whose beauty deserves to be celebrated every day.

You couldn’t help but smile at the sheer absurdity of it all. This wasn’t just a simple gift anymore; Ralph was throwing everything he had into this- grand gestures, fine jewelry, and even live music. Yet, still, you couldn’t quite bring yourself to confront him. Instead, you closed the box and sighed, wondering just how far he’d go tomorrow.

The fifth time came at 6:45 AM on the 5th of February.

You were starting to feel like you could predict the pattern now. Another delivery, another gift, and yet still no sign of Ralph. But when you opened the door this time, it wasn’t a person waiting on your doorstep.

Instead, there was a vintage wooden crate placed carefully at your feet. The top was decorated with flourishes of gold-leaf writing, the sort of thing you'd expect to find in an antique store.

Inside the crate, nestled among soft layers of tissue paper, was a hand-painted porcelain tea set, its intricate floral patterns in soft blues and pinks, the delicate cups rimmed with gold. Alongside it was a handwritten card in Ralph’s familiar handwriting:

To my dearest, for the quiet moments between us, a set to make those moments as beautiful as they are fleeting.

You felt a small smile tug at your lips. The tea set was undeniably lovely, a touch of sophistication that felt almost personal- like Ralph had tried to choose something that reflected you. But still, the extravagance of it all was starting to make you laugh, a soft chuckle slipping past your lips as you wondered just how long he planned to keep this up.

The sixth time came at 7:15 AM on the 6th of February.

By now, you were truly done. Ralph’s ridiculous gifts had gone on long enough, and you couldn’t even bring yourself to be flattered anymore. It was all just... too much. What did he think this was going to do? Was he trying to win you over with flowers and letters?

You opened the door, fully prepared for whatever absurd thing he'd come up with today, and found a massive bundle of flowers, their petals so vibrant that they nearly stopped you in your tracks.

The bouquet was an overwhelming mix of every flower you could imagine:

Roses, lilies, daisies, and even some blooms you didn’t recognize. At the very center of the pile, a set of love letters- each one sealed with wax- was stacked neatly, with a ribbon tied around them like some kind of literary treasure. And tucked underneath, nestled among the petals, was a beautifully ornate quill set, the kind you might expect to see in a Victorian parlor. The feathers were dyed a soft purple, and the ink well was etched with intricate designs.

You stared at the collection, incredulous. This was too much.

The card that came with it was more of Ralph’s flowery prose:

To my dearest, for the words I long to share with you, yet can only write for now. The letters I wish I could say aloud.

You groaned audibly, the last straw. He’s really outdone himself this time, hasn’t he? The flowers, the letters, the quill set- it was all just a spectacle now. You felt a rise of frustration bubbling inside you as you carefully placed the gifts aside.

You had no idea what you were supposed to do with all of this. Why couldn’t he just knock on your door? Why couldn’t he be brave enough to speak to you face-to-face instead of hiding behind these ridiculous gestures?

Sitting down with your head in your hands, you couldn’t decide if you were more amused or irritated at this point. Either way, you were starting to get the feeling that Ralph didn’t quite understand the meaning of subtlety.

The seventh time came at 7:30 AM on the 7th of February.

You were done- or at least, you thought you were. You had braced yourself for whatever dramatic gesture Ralph would come up with today, and yet, when you opened the door, nothing could have prepared you for this.

At first, all you saw were dozens of white doves, fluttering around your front porch, circling in the early morning air. Their soft wings brushed the ground as they moved, creating an almost magical, if absurd, scene. You stood there, momentarily caught off guard, watching as they cooed and flapped in perfect unison.

Then, your gaze shifted to the grand, black horse-drawn carriage now parked in front of your house, polished to a mirror shine. The coachman, dressed in full livery, tipped his hat to you as the carriage door opened, revealing a small, velvet-lined box placed carefully inside.

You hesitated for a moment before approaching the carriage. The driver held the box out to you, bowing slightly as he did. You took it from him, your curiosity piqued despite yourself.

Inside, nestled in soft red velvet, was a massive diamond necklace, its diamonds shimmering like stars in the early morning light. Attached to it was a handwritten note, sealed with wax in the shape of a heart:

To my dearest, the woman whose beauty has captivated me from the first moment we met. I am but a man lost in admiration, awaiting the moment you might look my way.

The necklace was so extravagant, so over-the-top, that for a split second, you forgot about your irritation. You could almost picture Ralph- suit and tie, full of flair- handing this to you with a flourish. If he had shown up himself…

But as quickly as that thought came, frustration replaced it. Ralph was still not here. He had sent the doves, the coach, the necklace, and the poetry- all without having the decency to show up himself.

You took a deep breath, biting back the urge to laugh or yell. The absurdity of it all was suffocating. How many more grand gestures would it take before he finally took the courage to step forward and simply confess to you?

With a deep sigh, you set the box down, feeling the weight of both the necklace and the situation.

One thing was for certain- Ralph had a flair for the dramatic, but when would he stop hiding behind his spectacles and make his real move?

The eighth time came at 6:45 AM on the 8th of February.

You had been expecting it. You had been bracing yourself. After days of lavish gifts, flowers, and poetry, you were almost certain that Ralph was finally going to show up. But, as you opened the door, you realized that- of course- he hadn’t.

Instead, you found an elegant carriage parked outside your house, the horses’ coats gleaming under the soft light of the early morning. The coachman was nowhere to be found, but on the steps, there was a small table covered in white lace, and atop it lay a single, pristine white rose, its petals so delicate they could have been plucked from a dream. Beside it was a silver tray, with an envelope sealed in crimson wax and an extravagant, black silk ribbon tied around it, forming an almost perfect bow.

With your heart already racing, you carefully opened the envelope. Inside was a card, large and beautifully designed, framed with lace and embossed with gold, as though it had been crafted by the finest artisans of the era.

The message read:

To My Dearest, I can no longer stand in the shadows of my own silence. I have adored you since the first moment we met, and every gesture has been a step toward the truth I now lay bare before you. Will you be my Valentine, and let me express the depth of my feelings for you in ways beyond what mere words can capture?

Beneath the words, in delicate cursive, there was a silver key, shining in the light, attached to a small ribbon. A key to his heart- or perhaps to his house, to something deeper than words could say.

You blinked a few times, your emotions conflicted. Was this it? Was this the moment when he would finally show his face and stop hiding behind his gifts? You looked around, expecting to find him hidden behind one of the trees or perhaps hiding in the shadows of his lavishly planned final gesture, but- there was nothing.

No Ralph. Just the carriage.

You felt your frustration boil over again. Hadn’t he learned anything? The key was the most obvious sign yet- he was asking you to unlock whatever feelings he thought you might have for him, but he was still too afraid to unlock his own door to you.

And yet, despite everything, a small, irrational part of you couldn’t help but feel a flutter in your chest. The romance of it all- the key, the rose, the golden words- was almost too much to resist. But you weren’t going to let him off that easily.

You looked at the rose and the key one last time, trying to temper your own curiosity with the lingering irritation.

This was the moment. And it was up to him to finally show up- in person- and make his confession face-to-face.

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

You marched to Ralph's house, a mixture of frustration and determination boiling inside you. The road felt longer than usual, your every step heavy with the weight of your thoughts. This ends today.

When you finally arrived, you walked up to the door and knocked firmly- three times.

After a moment, the door opened with a soft creak, and there stood Ralph, dressed in his usual sharp, yet effortless manner, as if he’d just rolled out of bed and decided to throw on his finest suit. He smiled widely at you, that charming grin lighting up his face, the one you’d come to expect- but this time, you weren’t fooled.

"Ah, good morning, my dearest!" he said, stepping aside with a flourish. "What brings me the honour of your company on this fine day?"

You've never heard him speak so...formal, it was a little scary.

You stared at him, holding back the frustration that was threatening to spill over. "I’m here to talk to you, Ralph."

"Talk to me? About what?" His expression remained one of innocent curiosity, though you could see the playful glint in his eyes as if he were enjoying this far too much.

You stepped forward, holding out the letter, the key, and the rose.

"What’s this, then?" you demanded, your voice a little sharper than you intended. "What’s with all these gifts? The flowers, the notes, the key to your house, Ralph? Why haven’t you just come out and told me you were the one behind all of this?"

He blinked at the rose in your hand and then looked up at you, genuinely puzzled. "Gifts? I’m afraid I’m not sure what you’re talking about, my dear. I haven’t sent you any gifts."

Your jaw nearly dropped. Was he for real?

"You haven’t sent me any-" You cut yourself off, exhaling sharply. "Ralph, don’t play coy. You know exactly what I’m talking about. The doves, the cards, the roses, the chocolates- everything! You can’t seriously tell me you haven’t been sending those."

He put on a mock expression of deep thought, crossing his arms. "Hmm, doves? Roses? The tea set. Well, now, I must say I’m flattered you think so highly of me, but I’m afraid I’ve been too busy to orchestrate any such… elaborate gestures."

You glared at him, now fully aware that he was not only pretending not to know but doing so with that trademark charm of his. "You’re telling me someone else has been doing all of this? Someone else has been sending all of this to me?"

"Absolutely," Ralph said with a smooth nod, completely unfazed. "Why, if I had known you enjoyed all these lovely gifts so much, I might have started sending you more myself!" He chuckled, completely casual about it.

You stared at him in disbelief, the nerve of this man. He was standing there, acting like he wasn’t responsible for any of this- like the past week had never even happened. Your fingers tightened around the rose stem; the petals crushed in your grasp.

"Ralph," you said, your voice low but still firm, "I don’t know whether you think this is some sort of joke, but I’m done playing games."

"Games?" He leaned forward, a smirk on his lips. "I think you might be imagining things, darling. No need to get upset."

You stepped closer to him, the frustration in your chest bubbling over. "I’m not imagining anything. I’m standing here in front of you, holding the evidence, and you’re pretending it’s not you behind all of this. Why won’t you just admit it?"

His smirk only grew wider, and he shrugged dramatically. "Because, my dear, I really haven’t done anything. You must be quite mistaken. But, if you’d like, I’d be happy to start sending more of these gifts... just to keep you on your toes."

You were at your breaking point. You took one final step closer, practically toe-to-toe with him. "You’re infuriating," you muttered, shaking your head.

"Am I?" he asked with an innocent blink, as though he hadn’t been the one pulling every string behind the scenes. He leaned in, his voice dropping a little lower, more teasing. "But I do have to admit, you’re here now… and that’s something, isn’t it?"

The nerve. You were so done with his games, yet a part of you couldn’t help but feel that small spark of intrigue- because even as maddening as he was, he was still Ralph. And this absurd little act of his? Maybe it was the final test.

But you weren't going to let him have the last word this time.

You stared at him, your patience hanging by a thread.

How could he keep pretending that he didn’t know what was going on? All these gifts, all these thoughtful gestures- it was him, no doubt about it. But still, he refused to admit it, and it was getting harder and harder to keep your composure.

“You…” you started, your voice trembling with frustration. “You are the most infuriating man I’ve ever met.”

Ralph’s eyes widened in surprise, as if he hadn’t expected you to get so worked up.

“Me? Really?” He shifted on his feet, looking genuinely concerned. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to upset you. I just thought… maybe you’d like it? The mystery, I mean.”

“Like it?!” you almost shouted, throwing your hands up in the air.

“I would’ve been your Valentine by now if you weren’t such a nincompoop! But no, you keep sending me all these gifts like some mysterious stranger and won’t just show up and say it’s you!”

Ralph looked more confused than anything, his brow furrowing as if he was trying to make sense of what you were saying. “But… I thought you liked the surprises. You don’t?”

“No, I do like them! But if you weren’t so afraid to admit it’s you behind all of this, we could’ve been done with this already!”

Your chest was tight with a mix of anger and confusion. “Why can’t you just be honest?”

“I am honest!” Ralph protested, stepping back as though the weight of the situation was sinking in.

“I’m just… well, I thought you might like it better if it was a bit of a game. I didn’t mean to upset you.” He wrung his hands nervously, looking even more like a deer caught in headlights.

“You’ve been sending me things for days, Ralph! And I’ve had enough! If you can’t just fess up and admit you’re behind it all, then I’m leaving.” You were practically shaking now with frustration.

“Oh,” Ralph said softly, almost as if he hadn’t realized how serious you were. “Well, if that’s how you feel, I guess there’s nothing I can do.” He shifted uncomfortably on his feet, staring at the ground like he was lost for words.

“I really didn’t mean to make you upset.”

You shook your head, still seething. “It’s not about the gifts or the mystery! It’s about you pretending you don’t know what I’m talking about! If you cared about me at all, you’d just tell me the truth.”

Ralph bit his lip, his eyes wide with a mix of guilt and confusion. He didn’t know how to respond. “I… I didn’t want to make things weird,” he muttered, looking away from you. “I thought maybe… you’d think I was being too forward.”

Your hand was already on the door, ready to leave. “Well, I’ve had enough of this. If you can’t be honest with me, then I’m done.”

You turned and opened the door, stepping out without looking back.

Ralph stood in the doorway, looking helpless as you left. He didn’t stop you. He didn’t try to explain. He just stood there, as if he was still trying to understand what had just happened.

As you walked away, you felt a strange mix of relief and frustration. He was still acting like it was all some kind of game, and you had no idea how to make him see that it wasn’t.

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

February 12th

A knock at your door.

You ignored it at first.

Then came another knock. And another. More urgent. More insistent.

With an exhausted sigh, you pulled yourself up, tightened the belt of your robe, and stomped toward the door, fully prepared to give whoever it was a piece of your mind.

The second you opened it, though, all that frustration hit a wall.

That wall was named Ralph Penbury.

He stood there on your doorstep, bundled up in his finest coat and waistcoat, gripping a ukulele like it might float away if he loosened his grip. His hair was slightly mussed from the wind, and his face—already pink from the cold- somehow got redder the moment he saw you.

“Oh,” he said, blinking rapidly. “Hello.”

You folded your arms. “Ralph.”

Silence.

Then, after an awkward pause, he perked up like he suddenly remembered why he was there. “I- well, I thought that since my previous attempts at, um, expressing my… intentions may have been a bit much, I’d try something a little less… er… grandiose this time.”

You arched a brow.

“A song,” he added quickly, lifting his ukulele with a hopeful little smile.

You said nothing, just stared at him.

Ralph cleared his throat and set his fingers on the strings. He strummed once.

A horrible, ear-piercingly flat note rang out.

Ralph winced like he’d physically hurt himself. You blinked.

“Oh dear,” he muttered, frowning at the instrument. “That’s- that’s not right at all.”

And then, to your absolute bewilderment, he started tuning it, right there on your doorstep, flicking the pegs with intense concentration, plucking the strings, and murmuring to himself in frustration.

You stared.

Then, despite yourself, you felt your lips twitch.

He was completely oblivious to your reaction, too focused on adjusting the ukulele, muttering, “Honestly, this was in perfect tune when I left the house, I don’t know what- oh, bother, now I’ve made it worse-”

You pressed a hand to your mouth, pretending to cough, anything to disguise the fact that you were very much not annoyed anymore.

Finally, after a few more adjustments, he gave the strings a satisfied little pluck, nodded to himself, then looked up at you with the proudest, most innocent grin.

“Right then,” he declared, shifting his stance. “Take two.”

And then he played.

The song was sweet and soft and maybe a little bit clumsy. His fingers weren’t the most practiced, and he still hesitated on a few chords, but his voice- when he dared to sing- was gentle, warm, and filled with the kind of sincerity you couldn’t fake.

The worst part? It was working.

Your heart- your very annoyed, put-upon, exasperated heart—was melting.

By the time he strummed the last note, you weren’t even pretending to be mad anymore.

He looked up at you then, his wide brown eyes searching, nervous. He swallowed hard. “I, um… I just wanted to say I’m sorry. For everything.”

A long moment passed.

Then, without a word, you stepped forward and wrapped your arms around him.

Ralph made a tiny, surprised noise in the back of his throat- like a squeak, almost- but then he all but melted, his arms hovering in the air for a moment before he finally hugged you back, gentle and hesitant and so incredibly warm.

You closed your eyes, resting your head against his shoulder.

He let out a small, breathless laugh, then whispered, “Does- does this mean you’ll be my Valentine?”

You sighed dramatically. “If you weren’t such a nincompoop, you’d have figured that out already.”

His arms tightened just a little, and though you couldn’t see his face, you could hear the giddy little smile in his voice.

"So, you will?!" he smiled brightly as you pulled away, his whole body twitching in excitement, bouncing on his feet.

You had to admit it now; he was so cute...so pretty.

You hugged him once more, your face digging into his neck, making him squeal of happiness.

"How did you know it was me? that send you the gifts?" he asked softly

"Your handwriting is quite disguinishable, Ralph. Besides, no one else calls me 'My Dearest'" you laughed, earning a blush in return.

౨ৎ ₊˚ 𓍢ִ໋ ⬷ ♡ ⊹₊⬷ ₊˚ 𓍢⋆౨ৎ˚

#fluff #x fem!reader #ralph timewasters #ralph penbury #joseph quinn #imagines #oneshot #ami's valentine event #eddie munson #1920s #valentines day #time wasters

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