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crazychaoticizzy · 2 years ago

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Late Night Birthdays

You call Jean late at night to help you make cookies, unbeknownst to him that you have something special planned.

JEAN X READER

CONTENT: fluff, kinda suggestive

WORD COUNT: 2.6k

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“Jean, do you wanna make cookies with me?”

He was just waking up, still trying to process that you had even called him. At this ungodly hour, no less.

“What?” He glanced at the clock on his bedside table, squinting at the unusually bright light. Rubbing the sleep out of his eyes to make sure he was reading it right, he let out a breath. “Y/n, it’s almost midnight. Why are you still awake?”

“I had coffee and a Monster earlier,” you said. “That’s not important, though. Anyways, do you want to make cookies or not?”

He laid on his back, putting his phone on speaker and placing it next to his head on the pillow. “This couldn’t wait until a reasonable time?”

“I mean, it probably could have, but where’s the fun in that? Anyways, if you don’t I’ll just bring you some tomorrow.”

He loved the sound of your voice, it brought him a sense of comfort he hadn’t been able to find since his best friend died. Your voice was quiet and soft over the phone, and he couldn’t tell if you were trying to be kind to his half-asleep person by keeping quiet or if it was a sign you were tired as well, refusing to let sleep consume you.

The silence from his end left you worried, and you thought he had fallen back asleep.

“Jean? Did you fall back asleep? Sorry, it’s my fault for calling so late. I guess I’ll bring cookies by tomorrow-“

“No, I’m coming over. Wait for me, okay?”

He couldn’t see you, but he could envision the smile that overcame your face. The smile that always made butterflies fly around in his stomach.

He would never say your smile makes him feel like that, though. No, to him this is a completely normal, platonic thing.

“Okay, I will. See you in a little bit.”

You hung up, leaving Jean alone with his own thoughts for just a couple minutes before he hoisted himself off his bed and threw on a shirt, grabbing his keys on his way out of his apartment.

You didn’t live far from him, almost immediately around the corner, actually. If it were any other circumstance, he most likely would have walked to your apartment, but with it being late at night and cold outside, he decided to drive to your building.

You seemed to be waiting expectantly for him because just when he was about to put his key in your lock, the door opened. You grabbed his wrist and practically dragged him inside without letting him have a second thought. It wasn’t until you had pulled him in front of your island counter, still holding his hand, that he took note of your unusually excited demeanor.

He wasn’t listening as you explained what your plan was (or maybe you were explaining something else, he wasn’t sure), instead focusing on the way your eyes had a glint in them. The way they caught the light when you turned to look at him. The way your lips were curled into that smile he loved oh so much.

From what he saw on the table, the cookies you’re were wanting to make held a lot of sugar. You slid an open notebook in front of him, making him look down to read what was written.

“Diabetes?” he read. “That’s what you decided to call my favorite cookies?”

“Yes. Look at the ingredients. These cookies are basically straight sugar.”

As much as he loved the sound of your voice over the phone, hearing it in person was much better. He was able to clearly see the expressions you made while talking, the way your lips moved to pronounce syllables.

“Okay, start working. I’ll be right back,” you said. You shoved some bowls in front of him, retreating to your room for a few minutes.

He followed the recipe written in your handwriting, fighting to keep his eyes from shutting.

He didn’t notice when you emerged from your room with blankets and something else hidden. You were glad he hadn’t noticed you, so you began setting up your couch. You unfolded the blankets and carefully placed them around your small living room, continuing to remover the box from its plastic bag and opening it, placing it on the coffee table. You checked the time, seeing that you only had a couple minutes until midnight.

You clumsily grabbed a couple candles, making more noise than was necessary before sticking five into the small cake you had bought. You debated lighting them right now, deciding to do so while Jean was still distracted.

After that was done you turned on your TV, going to Spotify and playing the playlist you made for him. You turned the volume low, tossing the remote to the side and finally returning to the kitchen.

Apparently setting everything up took longer than you anticipated, because upon returning you saw that he had already begun scooping the dough onto a sheet pan you had laid out.

“You know, I expected you to make the cookies with me,” he said, giving you a blank glare.

You chuckled. “Sorry, I had to go do something and I didn’t think it’d take that long.”

Jean rolled his eyes. “Whatever. If you were anyone else I would’ve left already. You’re lucky you’re so cute.”

He had mumbled the last part, and you didn’t quite catch it. “What was that?”

“I said you look like shit. There’s something on your face.”

Your eyebrows furrowed, and you grabbed your phone from the counter to look at your reflection in the screen. “Where?” you asked after finding nothing.

Jean glanced at you, quietly admiring you looking at yourself in your phone’s reflection. “Right there.” His thumb brushed your cheek, spreading some of the cookie dough he had grabbed on it.

You let out a fake, exaggerated gasp at his action. “Jean, that’s so mean!” You swiped the dough off with your thumb, deciding to spread it back on his nose.

He moved before you knew what was happening, and you suddenly found yourself caged against the counter with more dough on your face.

“This feels like assault. Just because you’re taller and stronger than me doesn’t mean you get to do this,” you joked, wiping away a fake tear.

“It absolutely does.”

Your eyes were so pretty, so clear and bright. He swears he sometimes sees a future with you in them. A future where the both of you didn’t have to worry about anything, where you no longer worked at that shitty office job you hated so much. A future where you lived far enough away from the city to be away from the constant honking and police sirens. A future filled with stargazing and smiles and memories and baking his favorite cookies. A future with you, sitting backlit against the setting sun, your beautifully contagious smile adorning your lips and becoming a forever in his life. A future with a dog or cat, maybe even a child if you really felt like it.

He daydreamed about that a lot, probably more than he should have.

But he couldn’t help himself. Sometimes his mind just wandered to what you might look like on your wedding day, where he was (hopefully) the groom waiting for you at the end of the aisle.

Yes, he daydreamed about that constantly, but he never acted on it. He always quieted the thoughts, leaving them for a time when he was alone in his apartment.

Except he couldn’t help himself in that moment while staring into your eyes. He leaned forward and kissed your lips, sucking your bottom lip between his teeth.

You let out a strangled sound of surprise, moving your arms to wrap around his neck and return the kiss.

It wasn’t the first time the two of you had kissed. In fact, it was a regular occurrence. The two of you would do it when one of you felt particularly lonely, or simply for the fun of it sometimes. But it had been a while since you kissed like this, and the pressure against your lips felt nice.

The kiss left you breathless, and you found yourself chasing Jean’s lips when he pulled away. You pulled him into another hard kiss, quietly moaning when you felt his hand slip under your (his) hoodie and his knee find a resting place between your thighs. You let out a quiet gasp of his name when his hand groped your ass, and he removed his lips from yours to trail a few kisses along your jaw and neck.

He loved making you feel like this. Loved the soft breaths you let out—music to his ears. He loved feeling your soft skin beneath his lips, beneath his fingers. He was always so careful with you, because you’re one thing he can’t lose.

“Jean,” you said. He hummed against your skin, deciding to start sucking on the spot where your neck met your shoulder. “We have to put the cookies in the oven.”

“The cookies can wait.” He paused the kisses on your neck, moving so he was facing you directly.

“No, they can’t. Because—“

You’re cut off by his lips on yours again. You nearly succumbed to his touch, willing to let him do about anything to you, but you could see the microwave clock staring at you from your peripheral. It was 11:57. You had wanted to get the cookies baked and done before midnight, but that wasn’t looking like it was going to happen.

Oh well.

“Because what?” Jean broke the kiss momentarily to ask this, not letting you answer before he connected your lips in again.

It took every fiber of your being for you to pull away for just a moment. “Just put them in the oven.”

He let out a breath, finally breaking the kiss for more than a couple seconds and connecting your foreheads. His eyes were closed, basking in the moment, enjoying this moment of tranquility with you.

You watched as the microwave clock moved forward a minute, now making it 11:58. Two more minutes.

“Hurry up. Meet me at the couch when you’re done.”

You left one final peck on his lips, escaping from his arms and moving to sit on the floor between your coffee table and couch as he put the cookies in the oven.

The wax on the candles had dripped by now, slightly ruining the cake. You shrugged it off, knowing he wouldn’t care about it.

It was 11:59 now. You could feel his presence looming beside you, staring at the little set up in surprise.

You turned to look at him, beckoning him to sit next to you. “Hurry up,” you said. “It’s almost midnight.”

He gave you a nod, sitting down beside you with his legs crossed.

“Not yet. We have to wait just a little longer. A few more seconds, okay?”

He nodded again, admiring your side profile as you stared at your phone and waited for the time to change. When it finally did, you smiled, pushing your phone to the side and facing him.

You took his hand, pulling him toward you so you could leave a kiss on his cheek. “Happy Birthday, Jean.”

He was still surprised. In all honesty, he wasn’t even aware his birthday was so near. He briefly wondered if you had anything else planned for later in the day, but he pushed the thought away when he saw you reaching for the cake knife again.

He put his hand over yours. “You aren’t gonna sing?”

Your eyes slightly widened at the request, but you let go of the knife anyways and asked him again if he wanted you to. When he said yes, you took a deep breath and started quietly singing to him.

You weren’t good at singing, not by a long shot, but just the sound of your voice left him speechless, completely at your mercy. You were the sun in his sky, and if someone were to tell him that you single-handedly hung the moon from a string yourself, he would believe them.

When you finished he was staring at you, and you had to remind him to blow out the candles. He did so quickly, not even needing to think of a birthday wish because he already had everything he could ever want right in front of him, even if he wouldn’t admit that. Even if he knew that despite knowing he felt that way deep down, you didn’t share those feelings.

You reached for the knife again, asking him something about whether he wanted cake or to go to bed. He’s not entirely sure what you were asking, to be honest.

He stopped you from lifting the knife again, and when you turned to meet his gaze you saw that he was wistfully admiring you. His expression was so soft, his small smile crooked as he took in your beauty.

You loved when he looked like this, because more often than not he adorned a scowl, upset or frustrated at one thing or another. It was times like when he seemed at peace that you savored, because all you wanted was for him to constantly feel that way.

He knew in his heart at that moment that he liked, loved , you, and he took a leap. He leaned forward again, connecting your lips in a slower, more passionate kiss than earlier.

You had never kissed like this before, not even when the two of you were most vulnerable during those rare times when you needed release.

This kiss was different. It was hopeful, almost a spark. You felt a true, genuine connection in the kiss, and you were forced to actually acknowledge the feelings you had been harboring for him since a few years ago.

Somehow you ended up on the floor, his hands holding your wrists to keep you down. His grip around your hands was demanding, but still loose enough that you could escape and reject him if you so wanted.

When he pulled away he let out a sigh so full of feeling you felt yourself falling all over again.

“Y/n, I really like you.”

The words caught you off guard, and your eyes widened as you began fidgeting with your fingers with what limited movement you had.

“Really?” you asked.

He nodded, resting his forehead against yours. He pressed his body further into you, and you swore you could feel every ridge of his torso, every line on his chest.

“I do,” he said.

It wasn’t a grand gesture, it wasn’t a plethora of words, it wasn’t him spilling his heart out to you. It was simple, straight to the point. There was no exquisite metaphors or poetics, but it’s what you wanted. It’s exactly what you wanted to hear from him.

You never liked the poetics, it was always unrealistic for you. You’ve never met anyone that could string words together in a beautiful confession, and Jean was no different.

But that didn’t mean that his confession didn’t mean the world to you. It didn’t mean that his confession didn’t make your heart pound in your chest, that it didn’t make your thoughts go wild with future possibilities.

You wanted him as he was, friendly, ridiculous Jean. You didn’t want him to fake poetics just to win your heart, you wanted him to be who he truly was, the person he showed Sasha and Connie and Eren and everyone else. You wanted him.

And thats exactly what he gave you.

You smiled at him, letting out an amused breath. “I like you, too.”

“Really?”

You repeated his earlier words, adding more flirt to it, more of a comfortable feeling. “I do.”

And you kissed him again. A sweet, slow kiss that left your mind foggy and your heart racing.

This is so late. I promise one of these days I’ll actually post something on the characters birthday. But anyways

HAPPY BIRTHDAY JEAN ILY

#izzy’s imagines ❀#attack on titan #attack on titan x reader #attack on titan x you #aot #aot imagines #aot fluff #jean aot #jean kirschtein fluff #jean kirstein #jean kirsten x reader #jean kirschtein imagine #jean kirschtein x you #jean kirschstein #birthday fluff #happy birthday jean 🥰

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littlemissmentallyunstable · 2 months ago

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@lovethornes

HAPPYYYY BIRTHDAY MY SWEET IZZYYYY 🎉🥳🎂🎊 I HOPE YOU HAVE THE BEST DAY IN THE WORLDDD AND GET EVERYTHING YOU WANT GORGEOUSSSS!! 🤭💕😜🎈🎁 THANK YOU FOR BEING SO WONDERFUL AND SUPPORTIVE AND JUST A GENERAL AMAZING PERSON 🥰🩷😘💖 I LOVE YOU SOOOOOOO MUCHHHHH

HERE IS MY BIRTHDAY PRESENT TO YOU SWEETHEART 💞💞

title: izzy’s birthday

pairing: grayson hawthorne x izzy

Izzy woke up to an empty space beside her. The other side of the bed was cold, it hadn’t been slept in for a good few hours. No Grayson. It wasn’t unusual though. Grayson would often wake at the crack of dawn to go for a morning swim or run or just to do something generally productive. Izzy was such a night owl that the one time she’d attempted to get up with him, she’d ended up asleep whilst putting her shoes on, which Grayson had of course found very adorable and ever so slightly amusing.

Last night, she’d binged nearly half of season five of grey’s anatomy for the hundredth time. All the while Grayson lay sleeping, curled up, head resting on her stomach. No matter how hard he tried he always fell asleep first. It was just his pattern of sleep. Though Izzy didn’t mind, she got to play with his soft hair and enjoy her show until the early hours before eventually falling into a deep sleep herself.

So although this morning she felt a little groggy and slightly still tired, Izzy didn’t mind because today was her birthday, so it had to be a good day, whether she was tired or not. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes and combed her hair out of her face, wondering where her boyfriend was. She looked over to his empty side of the bed again when she noticed a little slip of paper with Grayson’s familiar cursive handwriting on his bedside table. Curiously, she crawled over and reached for it, her eyes skimming over the words.

‘I am you, yet I am not. I will never lie unless you lie to me. I watch you, yet I have no eyes and should I break your good luck dies’

Izzy furrowed her eyebrows in confusion. What on earth? It was too early in the morning for her brain to be functioning properly. After three rereads and a whole lot of pondering, Izzy decided that it was a riddle, most likely some sort of game Grayson had set up for her to complete. She smiled. She loved a Hawthorne challenge. Game on.

She first focused on each section of the riddle before trying to piece it all together. That was how she usually worked. ‘I watch you yet I have no eyes’ implied that it was an inanimate object. She looked around and surveyed the large pieces of furniture in her room: the bed, the wardrobe, the drawers, the vanity, the shelves, the bedside tables. ‘I will never lie, unless you lie to me’ Izzy tried to apply the line to the list of furniture, it half worked for the wardrobe, if she lied about putting clean clothes in then she wouldn’t have any to wear but she thought it seemed a little far fetched.

She moved on to another line, ‘I am you, yet I am not’ puzzled her. How could something be her but also not? She read the riddle again, making sure there was no ultra specific hidden meaning in any of the phrasing but there didn’t seem to be. She thought about physical and mental, what could be physically her but mentally not? Still, no ideas availed. Then it hit her, as fast and hard as a train wreck.

A mirror. That was the answer, Izzy decided. It made perfect sense. She rushed to her vanity and looked over the space for any more clues or hints but came to nothing. She sighed searching for something, anything to help her solve this puzzle. Izzy then had another idea, a lightbulb moment, and took the mirror off of the wall. Much to her disappointment when she lifted it, there was nothing underneath. She checked over the exteriors, running her fingers along each and every surface with care and precision. There was no hidden levers or buttons or signals, nothing.

She questioned whether she’d gotten the riddle right and read it one last time. She thought about the last sentence, ‘should I break your good luck dies’. Of course that heavily indicated that the answer was a mirror but maybe it was alluding to something else. The mirror can’t break but it could be tampered with. She carefully and nimbly removed the glass, extra cautious so it wouldn’t break. After placing the pane on the floor the second clue was revealed.

Underneath was a flattened velvet bag. She immediately sat down and poured out the contents. Tiles. They looked like scrabble tiles, but she soon found that they were double sided, on one side were numbers and the other letters. She narrowed her eyes in confusion. What could this mean? At first, she tried creating words but with thirty nine tiles the possibilities were too endless. There had to be a more logical way other than trial and error. She flipped to the number side to see if there was a number pattern and noticed none of the numbers were the same, even if they were the same letter. They had an order. So she tried one first, then two, then three all the way to thirty nine, this had to be it but the word revealed to be something confusing.

‘lrig yadhtrib hsiw uoy revetahw otni ydaer teg’

A bunch of random letters. Seriously Grayson? She sighed, convinced maybe she’d done it wrong. Izzy was about to start over when she looked back at the mirror and then realised something… The reflection of the words made it look like an actual sentence. She read the sentence backwards, ‘get ready into whatever you wish birthday girl’. A blush arose in her cheeks and a sense of accomplishment bellowed in her chest. Two clues down, but how many more to come?

Izzy walked to her wardrobe and thought about what she might like to wear. It was always a hard decision. There was her classic pink floral dress, or the white dress with strawberry pattern, or she could go for her black skirt and lilac top with a bow. But eventually she settled for one of her favourites. It was a long shiny silver dress, that complimented her dark hair and eyes. Grayson always loved her in it, which was a bonus. But as soon as she took it out, something fell out of the bottom. Izzy peered down, lifting up the mystery items. A small wooden box and a slip of paper. Her eyes skimmed over Grayson’s handwriting once again.

thought you’d chose this dress

Of course he knew. He had a way of always knowing things like this. At first Izzy inspected the note for any hidden clues but then realised she was supposed to be focussing on the box. She suspected it to be a puzzle box but Izzy soon found after closer inspection that it was not. There were no secret levers or clues as to how it started. In fact it would’ve been a plain wooden box if not for the top. The box had a buzzer and a button attached and Izzy began to tap it. Once she stopped the buzzer flashed red.

“Two. More. Chances.”

She yelped and dropped the box, not expecting a voice to come out of it. Then she registered the words it had said. Two more chances. That meant to more chances to find the correct code to open the box. But what was the code and how could she find it? She analysed the button again, it looked familiar. Too familiar. Then it hit her. Morse code. She looked back to the note. Maybe she was meant to type it in morse code. So she did. The buzzer flashed red for the second time and the box cried out.

“One. More. Chance.”

Her eyes widened, realising that she couldn’t mess up this time, or it might look for good. But what could the words be? She searched the room for any sign that she could use but there was nothing. After the third search around the place she felt hopeless. She didn’t want to give up but she didn’t want to lose either. She threw her head back and slumped onto the floor not knowing where to turn next. She gazed at her bedframe, trying to make pictures out of the funny dents in the wood, like you do with clouds. Sometimes, her theory was, if you think nothing, the right answer will come to you. She stared at the dents again. It was weird how perfectly circular they were. She did a double take and suddenly sat up. Engraved into the bed frame was three words in morse code. This was the answer.

•• •-•• - - - •••- • -•- - - - - ••-

She grabbed the box and typed the first letter in. •• for I. The buzzer didn’t go red this time, in fact the sound of a mechanism turning slightly emitted from the box. She was on the right tracks. She typed in the second word. •-•• L, - - - O, •••- V and then finally • for E. Again the soft turning came from the box. Izzy smiled to herself as she buzzed in the final piece of code -•- - Y, - - - O and the last letter ••- U. The buzzer lit up a bright green colour and began to flash.

“You. Have. Answered. Correctly.”

Izzy heard the tiniest of clicks, an indicator that the box had now in fact been opened. She smiled as she removed the lid. Sparkling inside was a set of diamond silver earrings and a matching necklace. She gasped softly, running a finger across the gorgeous jewellery. This would’ve cost Grayson fortunes. Izzy fixed her mirror back up and reinstated her vanity before carefully putting on her gift. She admired the way it looked, beaming to herself. It suited her, making her chocolate eyes stand out against her complexion. She was about to close the box when she realised the spongy-textured material keeping the jewellery in place was oddly loose.

“That’s funny,” she murmured to herself as she slowly she lifted it up. Underneath she found another slip of paper. She’d thought the game was over. The jewellery was her prize but of course, this challenge was made by a Hawthorne, there was always more.

It read: lkvm gsv wlli zg vczxgob mrmv gsrigb in Grayson’s cursive hand.

Another clue. She tried to read it backwards but quickly found it made no sense. Of course Grayson hadn’t used the same clue twice. It was such an odd blend of letters. She tried to unscramble them but there wasn’t enough vowels to form more words. She resorted to putting them in alphabetical order which didn’t help at all and then reverse alphabetical order which was even more pointless.

She stared at the letters until they mushed into one big soup of undecipherable code. She flipped onto the back hoping for some help and sure enough scribbled in the corner was a small note. HOT = COLD. Izzy frowned in confusion. What did that have to do with the letters? She tried to make the words but there was only one O and no D or T at all. Then she looked deeper at the meaning. Hot was equal to cold, what then correlated hot and cold, hot and cold were opposites, opposites, the letters were opposites.

Izzy sat down, grabbed a pencil and some paper and wrote out the alphabet A to Z. Then underneath she wrote the alphabet again from Z to A. She began with the L and saw it met with O, then the K that met with the P and so on and so on until she’d deciphered the entirety of the sentence.

‘open the door at exactly nine thirty’

Izzy’s eyes flickered to the clock it was nine twenty eight, giving her one minute to tidy everything up that had led her to her clues and another minute it fix her hair and straighten her dress. She opened the door as the clock hit nine thirty and stood there was Grayson a bouquet of tulips in his hands. They were the most beautiful pastel shades.

“Happy birthday,” he smiled widely.

Izzy squealed with joy practically flinging herself into him arms. Lucky Grayson’s reflexes were fast otherwise she may have tumbled down the stairs.

“You got my clues then,” he said, brushing the hair from out of her face.

“I’m offended you doubted I would,” she commented.

“I didn’t say that,” he replied, with a pointed look.

“It was implied,” she responded, doe-eyed.

“Let me see if I can make it up to you,” he whispered, planting a slow kiss on her lips.

Izzy melted into him, addicted to his taste. There was nothing like sharing moments like these with Grayson. Euphoria pulsated through her heart every time.

“Consider it forgotten,” she smiled as they pulled away.

He kissed her again gently, holding her face in his palms. Grayson had never thought he could hold the whole world in his hands until now.

“You want to go downstairs?” he murmured against her lips.

“I don’t know, do I?” she giggled, fingers dancing in spirals on the back of his neck.

“I think so,” Grayson winked, suddenly sweeping her feet from under her.

Izzy squealed at the sudden surprise of having no balance and clung onto Grayson for dear life. He carried her down the stairs bridal style, where adorning the banister were ribbons in shades of perfect pink and purple. She looked up at him with a loving look in her eyes. He knew her too well. When the reached the bottom Grayson placed Izzy on the floor, taking a moment to himself to admire her beauty. She was stunning. Nothing in this world, he decided, was more beautiful than her. He could stare at her for hours and never get bored.

He didn’t understand how he’d gotten so lucky. Grayson had never felt he deserved someone like Izzy. She was a blinding light in the darkest of his moments, the gleaming diamond in a pile of rocks, a shooting star in a sky of inky black. She was everything.

“Go on then,” he ushered her towards the closed door to the next room.

Izzy grinned to herself as she approached. Her hand clasped the cold metal handle and slowly she turned it. Her jaw dropped upon entering the room. The decorations were absolutely stunning. There were clear balloons filled with confetti and glitter as well as pink and purple balloons. There were banners everywhere with cursive silver writing reading ‘happy birthday’ as well as handmade hearts out of card. On the table there were more vases of the tulips she’d been greeted with at the door.

“You did all of this,” she gaped, eyes sparkling.

Grayson took a mental picture of her like this. Standing there with her mouth wide and features enveloped in pure joy. There was such indescribable beauty in her mesmerisation. He loved her more than he could comprehend.

“Well I had a little hand,” he shrugged.

“It’s so beautiful,” she complimented, running her fingers along a pale pink balloon.

Grayson tilted his head to the side, “really?”

“Really,” Izzy nodded enthusiastically, “oh my gosh I love it so much.”

Her heart swelled to nearly double its size. Grayson had done all of this for her. She couldn’t even begin to imagine the time and plan in it had all taken

Grayson smiled widely, whenever Izzy was happy, he was happy.

“Everything is perfect,” she whispered.

“Not quite,” he shook his head.

Izzy’s eyebrows pinched together in confusion, “what do you mean?”

A very Hawthorne smirk spread across his features, “haven’t you noticed what’s missing?”

“Nothings missing, this is amazing Gray, really,” she said earnestly.

“What about the cake?” Grayson said.

Izzy hadn’t even realised that there wasn’t one, she’d been so focused on how spectacular everything else was.

“Oh,” she replied with widened eyes.

“Good thing I can help fix that,” Grayson said, the corners of his lips upturned and a twinkle in his eyes.

“You’ve got that look on,” Izzy told him softly.

He furrowed his brows, “what look?”

“Your look,” she smiled delicately.

“Is that a good thing?” he asked.

“The best thing,” she replied, raising onto her tiptoes to plant a kiss on his cheek.

“Perfect,” he grinned walking over to the fridge, “so seen as it’s your birthday I thought that you’d want to decorate your own cake.”

“No way!” she squealed, only just about preventing herself from jumping up and down.

She followed him further into the kitchen and it was only then did she notice the piping bags, bowls of coloured icing and decorations laid out on the kitchen table.

“Well I know you love to do this, so we’ve got a tier each,” Grayson explained.

“I’m so excited,” she beamed at him.

He laughed, a warm bubbly sound that sent a fuzzy feeling to Izzy’s chest. Izzy didn’t often hear him laugh like that, it was rare for Grayson. He was usually so serious, so on task it was sometimes difficult to get him to smile. When he did it was magical, he had a beautiful smile which was made even cuter by his dimples.

“Libby made everything of course,” he said.

“Then it’s going to taste incredible,” she winked before cheekily dipping a finger into the pink icing and licking it.

“Did you just-“

“Don’t leave icing out if you don’t want me to eat it,” Izzy said before he could even finish the question.

He shook his head with a chuckle.

“And by the way it’s to die for!” she groaned, tipping her head back and closing her eyes, “how does she make it taste this good, it’s impossible.”

“A mystery to me,” Grayson shrugged, walking over with two plates in his hands.

He put two cakes down onto the table, both crumb-coated and ready for decorating.

“I thought nothing was a mystery to the infamous Grayson Hawthorne,” Izzy smirked, sitting down.

“There’s only two mysteries to me in the world,” he replied.

She folded her arms and raised her eyebrows, “which are?”

“How Libby makes such good icing,” he began slowly.

“And?” she prompted him, with a grin.

“And…” he paused, “how you’re such perfection.”

Izzy’s cheeks warmed up to a much deeper shade than the bowl of pink icing, “stop it,” she giggled.

“It’s true,” he told her, rolling his sleeves up, “now let’s decorate.”

“These cakes look amazing,” she exclaimed.

“They’ll look even more amazing once we’re done decorating them,” Grayson added, reaching for a pallet knife.

“Don’t go all artistic on me now,” Izzy said, poking her tongue out.

“I’ll try not to,” he teased, reaching into the drawer behind him and taking out his glasses case.

“Oooo glasses out,” she sang, “you’re getting serious about this.”

He rolled his eyes playfully, “I’m not getting serious.”

“Oh please,” she scoffed, “you only whip those out whenever you’re doing art or photography you’re really serious about.”

“Not true,” he shook his head, putting them on.

“You’re right,” Izzy grinned, adjusting them slightly, “it’s also when you read about serious topics like philosophy and history and therapy.”

“I don’t read therapy books,” Grayson said flatly.

“So ‘how to make it through my trauma’ is a fantasy romance book,” she raised a questioning eyebrow.

“Yes, it’s about a dark brooding prince and his perfect princess,” he replied without missing a beat.

“Oh yeah,” she smirked.

“Mhmmm,” he nodded smoothly, “the prince is a cold hearted blonde and the princess is a sunshine character with dark hair and the most gorgeous brown eyes and they fall madly in love and decorate cakes together and never make fun of the others taste in books.”

“Wow that story sounds so familiar,” Izzy hummed as he guided her over to his lap.

“You must’ve read it before,” he shrugged gently as he pulled her down.

“I must’ve,” she murmured as his hands snaked their way to the small of her back, holding her as if she were the most delicate thing in the entire universe. To him she was.

The kiss was so tentative it as almost lost in the surrounding air. His lips were soft and mellowed against hers.

“Has anyone ever told you that glasses really suit you,” Izzy asked, in barely a whisper.

“They haven’t,” Grayson replied softly, kissing her again.

“That’s…weird,” she breathed between kisses,“…because… I couldn’t… help… myself…”

“I love you so much,” he smiled as they pulled away.

***

They got to work on the cakes, Izzy’s playlist blasting in the background. She was a delicate piper and an expert with any nozzle. Grayson, on the other hand, preferred to use different variants of pallet knives to create an artistic canvas on his cake. The two of them laughed and talked for what felt like eternity. It was only when Izzy went to scrape more icing into her piping bag and realised there was none left, that they noticed how long they’d been there for.

“We’ve run out of pink icing,” she pouted at the empty bowl.

“That might have something to do with the fact you smothered it over the entire cake,” Grayson flashed a witty grin.

“It tastes the best,” she reasoned.

“All the icings taste the same,” he said bluntly, “they’re just dyed.”

“Nu-uh,” she shook her head stubbornly, “the pink one tastes pink.”

He raised a sharpened brow.

“Trust me,” she insisted, “it’s just better.”

“Whatever you say my love,” he chuckled, “now let’s make some more icing.”

She bounced up, grabbing the icing sugar from the baking cupboard. Grayson met her at the stand mixer with the butter. She began to measure out the ingredient whilst he stood behind her, hands on her hips. Izzy tried to hide her blush and focussed on the ingredients but gave up pretending after she’d measured the wrong amount of sugar for the fourth time.

“You’re so pretty,” he mumbled into her ear as she put the butter into the bowl.

It took everything in her not to drop everything completely. She blushed a deeper shade of scarlet, which she hadn’t thought was possible before today and kissed him gently.

“Now mix the icing and stop distracting me,” she grinned, walking over to get the pink food colouring.

She managed to reach the bottle and swiftly made her way back towards Grayson where a silky smooth icing had been combined. He glanced at her, an amused expression lighting up his face.

“Come here,” he chuckled, “you’ve got a little-“

“What?” Izzy asked.

“Icing sugar on your cheek,” he murmured, bringing her closer so he could bring his hand to her face and brush it away. But even when the icing sugar was surly gone, he continued caressing her cheek, her soft skin under his tender touch.

“And a little here,” he winks, blobbing a little icing on her nose with his finger.

Izzy giggles, the sound being the most beautiful music to Grayson’s ears.

“You didn’t just do that,” she said.

“I did,” he replied a cheeky look in his eyes.

She rolled her eyes, failing to suppress her laugh as she grabbed a tissue to wipe it off.

“Wait!” Grayson exclaimed suddenly.

She froze mid move, “what?”

He pulled her closer and kissed the tip of her nose.

“You look cute with icing on your nose by the way,” he said, carrying the fresh bowl of icing to the table. A blush spread across Izzy’s face making Grayson smile widely.

“So do you,” Izzy replied, following him.

“I don’t have an icing on my-“

She dolloped some onto her finger and swiped it across his nose quickly, before his lightning reflexes got a chance to kick in.

“Don’t you?” she batted her eyelashes, licking the icing left on fingers off

He shook his head and laughed, pulling her into his arms for a hug, “I love you.”

“Not as much as I love you,” she winked.

***

After another hour of decorating they were both finally done. Grayson’s was of course a work of art, despite him promising not to get all artistic. Izzy was proud of her tier, it was perfect. Maybe it didn’t look exactly like her pinterest inspiration photo but she loved it nevertheless.

“Now we need to stack them in top of each other,” he said.

“You have fun doing that,” she chuckled.

“Nu-uh sweetheart, this is your job,” he replied, handing her the tool.

Izzy stared at him blankly, “erm why are you giving me this responsibility?”

“You’re the birthday girl,” he shrugged.

“It doesn’t mean I’ve suddenly become a pro cake stacker,” she exclaimed.

“I don’t think anyone is a pro cake stacker,” Grayson responded. He couldn’t help himself.

Izzy tried to be annoyed at him but seriously couldn’t. Those dimples made her fold every time.

“You know what I mean,” she rolled her eyes, “okay, well here goes nothing then.”

She slid the flattened disc under the second tier and used the handle to lift it up. She was surprised at how dense it felt. Slowly and carefully Izzy manoeuvred it one the first. It was all going well, too well. Her hands got shaky and the cake began to wobble.

“No pressure,” Grayson commented.

“Stop!” she giggled, “I’m going to drop it.”

“Need some help?” he asked quickly.

She nodded, “please.”

Grayson moved so he was stood behind, he gripped her hands at the wrist to steady the shaking plate. His chest was pressed up against her back and she could feel his hot breath down her neck. Together, they slowly lowered the second tier on to the first successfully.

“There,” Grayson sighed, taking a step back to admire their work, “it looks stunning.”

“It’s perfect,” Izzy squealed, hugging him tightly, “I love it so much!”

“I think it’s beautiful,” he grinned, “just like you.”

She smiled so hard her jaw ached. That was when Grayson reached into his pocket and produced a box tied with a ribbon.

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

“But you already got me a present,” Izzy said as he placed the box into her hands, “the jewellery from upstairs.”

“You thought I’d only gotten you one thing?” he scoffed.

“It was two pieces actually,” she countered.

“You should know me better than to think I’d just get you jewellery,” Grayson replied swiftly.

“I don’t know what to say, thank you so much,” she said, staring at the perfect pink ribbon.

“Don’t say anything,” he told her, “just untie the ribbon.”

Delicately she pulled the ribbon, letting the fabric fall gently after coming loose. Izzy opened the box slowly, unsure of what to expect. Inside, there was an intricately designed metal key. Silver intertwined with gold. She traced her fingers over the metal carefully, memorising each detail. The spiralling patterns and twists and turns and dents and craters. She looked up to meet Grayson’s eye.

“You want to see it?” he asked, a hint of excitement in his tone.

She tilted her head to the side, “see what?”

“Oh come on Iz!” he exclaimed.

“I’m confused,” she replied. She honestly had no clue what he was talking about.

“You’ve been talking about this for months,” he said.

“What?”

Izzy couldn’t for the life of her remember. What had she been talking about for months that correlated with a key? It was like Grayson’s cryptic riddles from that morning all over again.

He chuckled, shaking his head softly, “put your shoes on.”

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“To the door that the key unlocks,” he responded.

“What-“

“No questions,” he insisted, shoving her shoes into her hands, “no clues, let’s go.”

“You can’t do that!” she said, hastily slipping them on.

“I think you’ll find I can,” he smiled slyly.

“Gray!”

“Izzy!”

“I’m serious,” she groaned, “what do you mean the door that the key unlocks?”

“You’ll see,” he smirked, proud of his crypticness, much to her annoyance.

Izzy glared at him as he intertwined his hand in hers and guided her out of the door. Though, she could only pretend to be mad for so long and only made it to the car with her thunderous expression. Grayson Hawthorne was hard to say mad at.

“The suspense is killing me,” she said, as he pulled out of the driveway.

He drove on, “you’ll survive, I promise.”

“I might spontaneously combust,” Izzy sighed.

“Please not in here,” he wrinkled his nose, “these seats are white.”

“Hey!” she laughed, hitting him arm playfully, “it’s not like you couldn’t buy eight more of these if I did spontaneously combust.”

“But I like this one,” he pouted.

“Such a peacock Hawthorne,” she teased him.

“What?” Grayson complained, “it’s a nice car.”

“You know I might just spontaneously combust to spite you for not telling me where we’re going,” she stuck her tongue out.

“Why would I tell you can see for yourself?” he asked.

“What are you talking about? I can’t see for mys-“

Izzy suddenly realised the car had stopped. They were no longer moving. The drive was shorter than she’d imagined, despite having no idea where they were going anyway.

“We’re here sweetheart,” Grayson smiled.

Izzy stared out of the window. They’d arrived at a beach. Not just any beach, her favourite beach in the entire world. Before she had a moment to drink in the sight, Grayson appeared at the passenger door to open it. He then, like a proper gentleman, extended his arm for her to hold, though Izzy opted for his hand. He lead her down onto the sand where the two walked up the beach. She leant her head on his shoulder with his arm around her. Izzy got so lost in the beauty of the moment she almost didn’t hear Grayson tell her.

“There’s the door my love.”

Izzy looked up. Her jaw dropped and mouth hung open, paralysed in shock and joy and so many other overwhelming emotions.

“You bought me the house on the beach,” she murmured, tears welling up in her eyes.

She’d loved this house since forever. She’d told Grayson from when they were first dating to now what a dream it would be to own it, maybe even live there. And he’d only gone and bought the whole thing of her.

“And this stretch of beach, from that pillar to this one,” he pointed, “it’s all yours my love.”

“I can’t believe it,” she said shakily.

Izzy had never felt so lucky in her entire life. He might have well have just handed her all the galaxies in the solar system.

“You better start, it’s all real,” he beamed.

“Grayson this is the nicest thing anyone’s ever done for me,” she choked, “I don’t know what to say, I’m speechless.”

“You don’t have to say anything, the look in your eyes is more than enough for me,” he says, “do you want to go inside?”

She gave me a look, “do I?”

“Go on then Iz,” he ushered her closer with a gentle hand, “you have the key.”

Slowly Izzy placed the key into the lock, turning it clockwise. It felt so surreal to be unlocking this door. She looked at Grayson as she turned the doorknob. Together, they pushed it open, revealing a breathtaking interior. There was a regal staircase through the centre that split into two as well as a large hanging chandelier with teardrop glass pieces glistening when the light hit them in the right way. Each time her eyes darted somewhere, something new was to be seen. A stunningly designed ceiling, an alluring pattern on the oak door, wallpaper that was to die for… and that was only in the entrance.

What she couldn’t believe her eyes had missed was the thing in the centre of the room. In the middle there was an art piece. It took Izzy all of half a second to understand what it was. It was her favourite photograph of her and Grayson together but painted.

She looked to Grayson, “did you paint this?”

“Possibly,” he said, the corners of his lips twitching upwards into a smile.

“Grayson,” she murmured, absolutely stunned, “there are no words to describe how full my heart is right now, this is so beautiful.”

She threw her arms around him and squeezed tightly. She cupped his face in her hands and kissed him gently. Her lips softly brushed across his. He melted into her, his arms naturally wrapping around her waist, to keep her closer. A warmth spread through the left side of his chest, a warmth only she had the power to bring him. They pulled away and Grayson couldn’t breathe, but it wasn’t because he was breathless from the kiss, it was because his breath was taken by Izzy. Whenever he looked at her, he was unable to comprehend why someone like her would choose someone like him. The way she looked at him made his heart race, let alone when she kissed him.

“If I knew you were going to react like this I’d paint you something every day,” he flashed a smile, lowering his hands to her hips and pulling her in even closer gently.

“Oh shut up,” she grinned, hands around his neck.

He dragged his thumb gently across her jaw, when it reached her chin, he tilted her head back slightly, gazing into her irises, “I love you Izzy,” he murmured, his voice a low hum.

“I love you too Gray,” she whispers, entranced by him.

“Happy birthday sweetheart.”

I really hope you enjoyed Izzy!! Have the best day my love 💕💕 love from bella

#bella writes 🤍#happy birthday izzy 💖#moot birthday fics ౨ৎ

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