He Calls You By His Last Name

Louis: You've been married three months now, and though everyday life has returned, you're thankful that your relationship with Louis is every bit as passionate as it ever was. He still teases you incessantly, you still can't breathe when he looks at you that certain way, and you both can't get enough of the other's laughter and kisses. Tonight's like most—you get home around the same time and scrounge up something to eat, not really caring so much what it is as long as you get to spend the time together. Louis' feeling especially silly tonight and intentionally dumps too much sugar on your strawberries, causing you to poke him in the side and chide him loudly for being such a klutz.

"Sorry," he says, grinning with absolutely no remorse showing in his eyes. You shake your head and roll your eyes at him.

"Don't even lie, you strawberry murderer. You totally meant to do that." You quip, grabbing your bowl and trying to salvage the grainy mess within. "With enough care these strawberries might pull through, but even if they do they're going to need some serious counseling after what you did to them."

"After what I did to them?" He asks incredulously.

"Yes!" You exclaim, still playing, "I can't believe you. You're a sick, twisted person."

He nods as if he's beginning to understand. "Ohh. A sick, twisted person, huh. Well too bad you're stuck with such a sick, twisted person, Mrs. Tomlinson." He says, his voice brimming with sass and sarcasm, but also a secret hint of pride. You can't help but break out into a grin.

"You know, that never gets old." You comment and he moves his arms around you.

"No.. no it really doesn't.. Mrs. Tomlinson." he grins back and kisses you on the nose, making you giggle and nuzzle your face in his chest.

"You know, Mrs. Tomlinson, I was thinking after dinner we should probably cuddle for a while and then make tea and watch a movie. Wouldn't that be nice, Mrs. Tomlinson?" he asks, and you know he's really just making it up so he can tease you more.

"You're such a goof." You mumble into his shirt, a smile on your face you can't get rid of.

"What? What was that, Mrs. Tomlinson?" he asks, inciting more giggles from you and loving every minute of it. You feel his hands spread on your back as you lean back to look at him.

"I said, 'You're such a goof.'" You repeat, grinning.

He nods. "Oh. Right. Well I guess it's a good thing I married a goof, then, isn't it?" he responds.

"What was her name again—?" you ask facetiously.

"Oh, uh.. what was it... Oh- Mrs. Tomlinson." He answers, his comedic timing making you burst into laughter, which he snuffs momentarily with a kiss.

"Dinner, cuddle, tea, movie, then?" he suggests for real this time.

"I'm sorry, were you talking to me? I didn't hear you say my name." you play, making his eyes twinkle and he clears his throat.

"So, Mrs. Tomlinson.. dinner, cuddle, tea, movie?" he asks again, pulling you a little closer than before. You grin and nod in agreement, loving the prospect of an evening at home with your husband.

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Zayn: You miss Zayn, no doubt about it. And not only in a frivolous "I just can't wait to get my hands on you again" sort of way—though that's undeniably a part of it—but rather in a way that holds meaning and commitment, joy and intimacy. A longing for a connection that runs so deep you're not quite sure where you stop and he begins. Going into the wedding you had known he would have to leave just after your honeymoon for an extended time, and you had known it was going to be hard. But that didn't make it any easier when the time actually came and you had to say goodbye. It was hard and passionate and tearful, but you'd made it and now you were sitting on your bed—one you hadn't even gotten to share with him yet—staring at the wall and considering how much more difficult the next few months are going to be than you originally thought. Out of the corner of your eye you spot a simple white envelope peeking out from underneath the lamp on your bedside table. You reach over and pull it out, seeing your name scribbled on the outside. You smile at the handwriting, sloppy as it is, knowing it's Zayn's.

"Dear Mrs. Malik," it reads, causing you to smile though tears are already welling in your eyes, "I know the next few months are going to be really hard for the both of us and I'm not looking forward to having to be away from you for so long, especially during a time when we should be together, learning our new life and enjoying each other. But, I want you to have this to read any time you doubt the decision we've made to make it this way or if this is really going to work or if you're just missing me even half as much as I miss you already. So here we go.

You're so wonderful at what you do, and you're so needed at your job. We have a life time to spend together, and it's more important to me that you keep doing what you love and what you're really good at. This is only a season in our lives—I'll be home faster than you can blink an eye—and we'll look back and know it was worth it.

Yes, this is going to work. It already does, and it already did before you even said yes. Long-distance relationships are hard and I absolutely hate being away from you, but it's not going to change our relationship or how I feel about you. No one else is ever going to get in the way of us. And you can't change that either because, well.. you're stuck with me. Forever.

And if you're missing me, well, know that I love you so much. I love your face and your hair and the way you always make me hold your purse when you see a cute puppy being walked besides us and insist we stop to pet it (and no, I don't resent you for that time that dog peed on me. ... except a little bit). I love your laugh, I love your toes, I love the way you crinkle your nose and yell at me to stop when I tickle you during movies. I love knowing your favorite things, your biggest pet peeves (and the little ones too.. which all mostly have to do with me, but still), I love the huff you give when you get annoyed. And I miss you too—all the time. People think I'm just quiet and reserved, but it's because I can't ever stop thinking about you. Don't ever forget that. And if you think you are, then read this.

I'll confess I did have some help writing this letter—you know I'm not the best with words and stuff, but it all came from my heart. :)

Don't have too much fun until I get home, okay? I love you, babe."

At the end, his signature is scribbled in big letters with a heart beside it. And even though you've seen it written thousands of times on thousands of pieces of merchandise, here on this tear-soaked letter it means so much more.

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Niall:  You enter the club and make yourself over to the bar, knowing that's where you'll probably find Niall. He's rented the place out to throw a celebratory party for a friend of his, and you'd agreed to come after your shopping day with your best friend from university. He spots you as you walk down the length of the bar, raising his beer and shouting, "Mrs. Horan in the house!" His call is met with hoops and hollers, a few whistles, and lots of shots. You smile wide, your grin holding only a hint of shyness. He jumps off his stool and slides his hand around your waist, pulling you towards him and planting a kiss on your temple.

"How's my wife?" he asks, his eyes twinkling.

"Only a little embarrassed this time." You chuckle and he grins.

"How can I not show you off, you sexy—" he stops short, seeing your playful glare. "... woman."

You laugh. "Do you know what I would love?" you ask, putting one arm around his neck, pulling yourself closer so that your bodies mold together like memory foam, and playfully running your fingers through his hair with the other.

"What's that?" he asks, grinning like a lovesick teenage boy. "Anything for my wife." You giggle and quickly trace a line from his forehead to his ear with your thumb.

"A good pint." You reply, raising an eyebrow and letting it fall. His grin, already impish in nature, shows even more excitement.

"That's my girl." He says and laughs as he catches the bartender's attention. "One for m' lady, already!" to which the bartender replies with a hearty, "Aye aye." Niall turns back to you and bends his knees to pick you up, twirling you around. It's obvious he's already had a few drinks and you throw your head back in laughter at his dramatic expressions of love. As he drops you down again, you catch his lips with a kiss that quickly turns into giggles. Even though it embarrasses you sometimes, you love the fact that he's not afraid to show you how much he loves you in front of anyone and everyone—in fact, you don't think he'd even mind if the Queen of England was around. He'd still show you off and kiss all over your face and let you know when he was ready to find somewhere more private, loving the fact that you were now, always and forever, no matter what, his.

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Liam:  Even though the day has been long and tiring, you're so excited you can hardly stand it. You didn't sleep much at all last night in anticipation of the day you'd waited for all your life and it was everything you dreamed it might be and more. Aside from when your second cousin got drunk, got a hold of the microphone, and tried to convince Harry that they were meant to be together because they'd have beautiful babies, of course. But, to be fair, you laughed so hard tears rolled down your cheeks and you didn't really mind since you knew it'd make for a good memory in years to come. Other than that awkwardly hilarious moment, the ceremony and reception had gone without a hitch—except for you to Liam— and now you're finally on your first trip as man and wife. It's official. No more waiting, no more anticipation, no more wedding stress.

You burst into the hotel room, squealing with excitement, Liam not far behind.

"Can you believe it? We're married." You bubble and turn around to look at him. He grins and shakes his head, dropping the bags by the door and walking towards you.

"It's hard to believe, isn't it? I feel like I'm still a kid in love with his crush, but like.. you're my wife." He agrees, pulling you close to him, and you laugh. "You're mine. All mine. Forever." He grins, but then makes a derp face. "You're kind of stuck with me."

"But, I'm stuck with you by choice, and that's the most important part." You beam, placing your arms around his neck. He quietly laughs.

"Yes yes, I supposed you did agree. That's comforting." He plays, then gets a pondering look on his face, his eyes crooked up in thought. "Mrs. Liam James Payne..." he trails, "that's quite a beautiful name, isn't it?" he states cheekily, looking back at you. You grin up at him and nod in agreement.

"Oh yes, yes. Quite so." You respond, totally lost in the moment.

"Well, should we explore the room? Apparently there's even a mosaic in the bathroom that supposed to be really nice. This place has got everything you could ask for." He offers, looking around.

"Honestly, the only think Mrs. Liam James Payne is concerned about right now is what the bed looks like." You slide your fingers up neck to his hairline. His eyes get wide with shock for a moment, then impishly squint before resting into a cocked eyebrow.

"Well then.. let me, um, let me get the bags." He replies, making a quick turn on his heels and leaving you in giggles.

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Harry: "Harrryyy.." you whine, tugging on his arm. "Must we go to another art show? You know I find them terribly boring."

He grins and looks down at you as he slides the arm you're tugging around your waist and continues to lead you down the sidewalk. "Oh stop your complaining. It's not as bad as you make it out to be."

"But it is!" You interrupt. "It's boring and tedious and awkward. I just don't enjoy staring at pictures of nude women and badly painted boats and weirdly colored landscapes."

He chuckles. "They're not badly drawn, they're impressionistic. Or.. something like that." He mumbles and you take the opportunity to tease him.

"See! You don't even know!" You exclaim and he laughs.

"Alright fine, we won't stay that long. But I promised Lou and Sam I'd go. One of their friend's pieces is being featured and it's a pretty big deal."

"You promise?" You ask, glancing up at him.

"Promise." He replies, causally kissing the top of your head. "Once we're married, you're really going to have to get used to doing stuff like this, you know, to be the perfect doting wife."

"Doting wife? Doting wife? Harry, you haven't even proposed to me. You've barely committed to anything past next week's karaoke night at Blanchett's." you playfully glare. "And you know it freaks me out when you talk about that. The fans would murder me if they even heard you say that."

He laughs, "Oh yeah? You think they'd get upset if asked you to MARRY ME?" he yells a little louder.

"Hush, you weirdo!" you exclaim, nudging in to him, "You don't know who could be around! The press would have a field day with that story and you know it. I'm fearing for my life here."

"But what if I meant it?" he continues his loud tone.

"HARRY." You pull him to a stop and face him with wide eyes. "YOU'RE GOING TO GET ME KILLED." You forcefully state, melodramatic in nature, but hinting at some sort of seriousness.

"But Mrs. Harry Styles would suite you so well." He cackles, loving how he can egg you on so easily.

"Well if I vow to never speak to you again, there's no way you have a chance of marrying me, so I suggest you shut your little trap before I do." You sass. Giggles accompany his playful grin.

"Okay, okay, I'm sorry. I'll try really hard not to ASK YOU, MY LOVE, TO MARRY M—oww!" he exclaims as you whack him on the chest and hiss his name.

"You're really lucky you have a lot of money or else I'd be out of here so fast you couldn't shake a stick at it. Or.. however that saying goes." You try to sass again, but fail.

"Ooh. Right. Sure." He nods patronizingly and you purse your lips together, shaking your head.

"Whatever, Styles, just know you're not on my good side. I don't appreciate it when people try to get me killed." You reply, beginning to walk again. He laughs and trots to catch up with you.

"Well, one day, when you are my wife, I'll be sure to use some of that money for extra body guards. You know, in case the fans come after you." He plays, but you know there's truth behind his words.

"How comforting." You sarcastically reply, but look up and share a look with him that makes you more excited than anything has in a long time. He's serious and you know it.

Not a QOTD buuuuut I want you guys to get involved! Give me book ideas that I can start! Whether it be fanfiction, real life, etc! I wanna do more writing and aspire more as an author! So any request with be greatly appreciated :)))