10 - The Woman He Followed Into the Dark (season 2)
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Summary: Seattle tearing itself apart. Every corner of the city feels moments away from bloodshed, but you have no intention of stopping before finishing what you came for — no matter how much you miss him. And somewhere inside Seattle’s darkness, Joel is trying to reach you before the city does.
Chapter W.C and Warnings: 16.8k ⚠️ Read warnings at your own risk if you want to avoid spoilers... SMUT +18, explicit sexual content, kissing, obsessive&possessive sex, obsessive/protective Joel, arguing, abandonment issues, emotional reunion, kissing, rough sex, fingering, unprotected p in v (optional fjdjd), praise, desperate sex, feelings realization, hurt/comfort, Joel being terrified of losing reader, killing, shooting, graphic violence, infected attacks, blood and gore, gun violence, stalkers & clickers & spores, near death experiences, Reader is a badass, WLF soldiers having a really bad week because of reader, panic, injury, bite wounds, morally gray everyone, PTSD, emotional trauma, heavy angst, Seattle chaos, WLF, Seraphites, rain, Taxi being the goodest boy alive
A/N: wellll… after a very VERY long time, season 2 is finally here. I know this update took forever and I’m really sorry about that, but I truly hope this story still has a place in your hearts after all this time, thank you so much to everyone who never lost interest in this fic while I was taking a small break from it 🥺🤍 the good news is: chapters shouldn’t take this long from now on 💋 also… god, I missed writing Joel so much!
Chapter's Song: Work Song - Hozier- "No grave can hold my body down, I’ll crawl home to her."
Seattle.
Day One.
Rainwater drips steadily from the rusted skeletons of dead traffic lights overhead. Boots hammer against soaked pavement.
One pair. Then another. Fast. Panicked.
“Move, fucking move— this way!”
The voice rips through the gray Seattle afternoon between ragged breaths as two men shove past abandoned cars, shoulders slamming hard enough into dented metal to shake loose fragments of broken glass.
Another gunshot cracks across the street.
Not close. Far. Sharp enough to split the city open.
The bullet tears past the first man’s head so close he feels the heat of it scrape his ear before it punches into the rusted hood beside him—
CLANG.
Sparks burst violently off metal. “Fuck!” he gasps, stumbling sideways.
Another shot. The second man’s head snaps backward in an explosion of blood and bone.
Red sprays across the survivor’s face.
For half a second the body keeps running. Then collapses violently against the pavement with a sick crack. The remaining man chokes on a scream.
“Aah— Jesus fucking Christ!”
He runs harder.
Adrenaline floods his legs so violently they barely feel attached to him anymore. His boots slam through puddles as he forces himself forward between abandoned FEDRA trucks swallowed by vines and collapsed barricades overtaken by moss.
Another shot cuts through the rain-heavy air. This one hits. The bullet punches straight through his thigh.
“AHH— FUCK!”
He drops instantly, shoulder smashing against wet asphalt hard enough to tear skin through his jacket. Pain detonates through his leg while blood spills hot between trembling fingers clawing desperately at the wound.
He tries dragging himself toward the nearest overturned truck.
Breathing too hard. Too loud. Too terrified.
He glances back.
His friend’s body lies twisted in the middle of the flooded street twenty feet away, rainwater slowly carrying diluted ribbons of blood toward a clogged drain.
Then—
Nothing. Silence. No third shot. The man’s chest heaves violently.
Why didn’t she kill me?
Shaking hands fumble at his torn pant leg, yanking the soaked fabric high enough to reveal the bullet wound shredding through the side of his thigh.
Clean shot. Missed the artery. Deliberate.
Then—
Footsteps. Soft against wet grass nearby.
Slow. Controlled. A revolver cocks. The metallic click echoes louder than the gunfire. The man jerks for the pistol holstered at his hip instinctively—
BANG.
The bullet tears straight through his hand. He screams.
The gun flies uselessly across the pavement as he throws himself backward in panic, scrambling away on elbows slick with blood and rainwater.
“You fuckin’ psycho bitch!” he screams hysterically, clutching his ruined hand against his chest. “I told you everythin’! What the fuck else do you want?!”
The footsteps stop. A figure emerges slowly through the drifting rain. Black jacket darkened by water. Sniper rifle hanging loose against your back. Expression cold enough to freeze blood. You crouch slowly in front of him and press the revolver against the center of his forehead.
The man’s breathing turns ragged instantly.
“Listen— listen to me, okay?” Blood bubbles faintly at the corner of his mouth as panic makes him speak too fast. “I swear to God we ain’t WLF anymore! We left! We’re headin’ south, alright? Santa Barbara! We told you where the hospital is! I wasn’t lyin’!”
Your eyes narrow slightly. No sympathy. No hesitation.
“You shot my fuckin’ dog.”
BANG.
The back of his skull bursts against the pavement. Silence crashes back over the street. Rain taps softly against abandoned cars. Thunder rolls somewhere far beyond the skyline. The faint ringing left behind by gunfire hums inside your ears. Without another glance toward the corpse, you holster the revolver. At your boots lies an unfolded map stained dark with rainwater and blood.
Earlier, while you questioned them, one of the Wolves managed slipping free from the zip ties around his wrists and bolted.
Taxi lunged before you could stop him. The gunshot came immediately after. Too fast. Too close. The bullet only grazed his front leg.
Lucky.
You crouch beside the map beneath the weak glow of your flashlight and study the markings carefully.
Hospital.
A rough circle near a cluster of taller buildings farther north. Your jaw tightens slightly. “Thirty miles,” you mutter quietly.
The map folds neatly before disappearing into your back pocket. Behind you, Taxi lets out a low whine. Your head turns instantly.
“There you are.”
The shepherd limps toward you through wet grass, ears tilted back slightly in annoyance more than pain.
You kneel beside him immediately, gently lifting the injured leg into your lap. “Hey.”
Your voice softens despite yourself. “What did we talk about, huh?”
Taxi huffs.
“You don’t throw yourself in front of bullets.”
He barks once.
You snort quietly while wrapping fresh bandages around the graze wound.
“I had it handled.” Another bark. Then a softer whine. “Yeah, yeah.” You lean down and press a kiss against the top of his head. “Good boy.” Taxi leans briefly into your shoulder before you stand again, slinging the rifle back across your shoulder.
“C’mon,” you murmur. “Let’s find somewhere to sleep.”
Your eyes drift toward Seattle looming against the storm-dark horizon. Huge. Silent. Waiting. “We move again tomorrow.”
Taxi barks once. Together, you walk past the cooling corpse left behind in the rain. Your boots splash through shallow puddles. Taxi’s paws thud softly beside you. Neither of you looks back.
The café sits dark between two collapsed storefronts, half-hidden behind overgrown ivy and years of rain damage. The faded sign overhead swings lazily in the wind. You stop across the street first.
Always across the street.
Your eyes move slowly over shattered windows, rooftop lines, alley entrances. Listening before moving. Watching before breathing.
Seattle feels wrong at night. Too quiet one second. Too alive the next.
Taxi stands beside your leg, ears twitching toward the dark building. “You smell somethin’?” you murmur.
The shepherd huffs softly but doesn’t growl.
Good enough.
You cross the street carefully, boots splashing through shallow rainwater before stopping beneath the old café awning. Rain drums softly against rotten canvas overhead.
The front door doesn’t budge at first.
Swollen wood. You shove your shoulder into it harder. The hinges groan.
Then the door finally jerks inward with a burst of stale air carrying old coffee, mildew, and wet dust.
Your flashlight cuts through darkness slowly.
Tables overturned. Broken mugs. A mold-covered pastry display near the counter. Dead vines crawl across one wall where rainwater leaks through cracked ceiling tiles.
Taxi slips inside first, paws silent against warped hardwood.
You wait. Listen. Nothing.
No clicking. No breathing. No shifting somewhere deep in the dark.
Still, your hand stays close to Joel’s revolver at your hip.
You slip inside the café quietly and pull the door shut behind you before dragging a rusted metal chair beneath the handle.
Not enough to stop somebody determined. Enough to buy you a few seconds.
Habit.
Your backpack drops beside the counter with a tired thud while you crouch near the entrance, pulling thin wire and two empty cans from one of the side pouches.
Taxi watches silently from the doorway.
You glance toward him briefly while tying the wire low across the handle. “Better find more of these tomorrow,” you mutter. “We’re officially running outta food.”
Taxi blinks once. “Yeah, don’t look at me like that. You eat more than I do.”
One of his ears twitches.
The cans clink softly together while you secure them beside the wall. Crude. Fast.
Enough to wake you if infected—or worse—wander inside during the night.
Only after that do you finally move deeper into the café. The beam of your flashlight catches an old employee sign hanging crooked near the kitchen entrance.
MANAGER
The office door sits half-open beyond it. Small room. No windows except one narrow pane overlooking the rain-soaked street outside. Rain taps steadily against the cracked window overlooking the street outside, the sound muffled beneath distant thunder rolling somewhere deep over Seattle.
Taxi limps in after you, nails clicking softly against warped hardwood.
Your flashlight beam moves across the room slowly.
Peeling wallpaper curls away from damp walls. Water stains spread dark across the ceiling above. An old chandelier hangs crooked overhead, half its glass bulbs shattered, long dead electrical wires spilling downward like black vines tangled through hanging ivy creeping in from the broken corner of the ceiling.
The whole place feels abandoned in a tired sort of way. Not violent. Just forgotten.
Your eyes land on the couch against the far wall. Dark leather. Old. Still intact somehow. “Well,” you mutter under your breath. You walk over and drag your palm across the top cushion first. Dust coats your skin immediately. You grimace faintly before smacking your hands together a few times, watching gray powder drift through the flashlight beam. “Jesus.”
Taxi huffs softly behind you.
“At least somebody around here’s clean.”
The shepherd blinks at you without remorse. You drop your backpack beside the couch before finally sitting down. The leather creaks beneath your weight. Then your eyebrows lift slightly. “Hm.” You lean back deeper into the cushions. “Actually kinda comfortable.”
The room answers only with the soft groaning of old pipes somewhere inside the walls.
Your gaze drifts toward the desk near the window. A little metal plaque still sits crooked near the edge beneath layers of dust.
LEONARD MITCHELL - GENERAL MANAGER
You stare at it for a second. “Nice office, Leonard.”
Taxi circles twice before climbing carefully onto one of the smaller armchairs nearby, turning until he finds a comfortable position despite the bandaged leg. He lets out a tired grunt before finally curling into himself.
Your mouth twitches faintly at the sight.
Then silence settles over the room. Heavy.
A leather couch rests against the far wall beneath dusty shelves stacked with old paperwork and mold-swollen binders. The room smells old.
Thunder rolls softly somewhere far outside while rain streaks down the office window in silver lines. For a moment, neither of you moves. The city groans around you. Old pipes. Distant wind. Something metallic banging somewhere far down the street. Seattle never really sleeps. Neither do you.
You finish wrapping Taxi’s leg before leaning back against the couch with a tired exhale. Your rifle rests within arm’s reach. Revolver beside your thigh. Knife still strapped near your boot. Taxi stares toward the office door, ears twitching sharply. You both listen. Nothing. Just distant movement somewhere outside. Far enough away. The sound fades slowly back into the storm. Taxi lowers his head first. You follow a second later. Neither of you fully relaxes. You doubt either of you remembers how anymore.
You lean your head back against the couch and stare upward. The ceiling above is cracked open in places, tangled electrical wires hanging loose between patches of water damage and creeping ivy. Rain leaks steadily somewhere deeper inside the café.
Drip.
Drip.
Drip.
You close your eyes for a second. And immediately think of him.
Of course you do.
Your chest tightens before you can stop it. This office—cold, damp, rotting around the edges—is so far away from the warmth of Jackson it almost feels unreal. So far from his bed. From the heavy warmth of his body pressed against yours beneath thick blankets. From the way his arms wrapped around your waist in his sleep like some stubborn instinct he couldn’t turn off even unconscious. From the steady rise and fall of his chest against your back. From the rough scrape of his beard against your shoulder. Even the occasional snoring that always dragged a laugh out of you eventually.
The corner of your mouth lifts before you can stop it. Then the smile fades just as quickly. A deep breath leaves your lungs.
You reach for your backpack beside the couch, unzipping it slowly. Metal clicks softly together inside. Ammo. Knives. Canned food. Taxi lifts his head again immediately, watching you with quiet attention like he already knows exactly what you’re looking for. Your fingers eventually find the sketchbook buried beneath everything else.
You hesitate for a second before opening it.
Joel stares back at you almost immediately.
A rough pencil sketch from Jackson. Then another. And another. The lines change slightly between pages—different expressions, different angles—but it’s always him.
Two weeks. That’s all it’s been. And somehow you already miss him enough it physically aches.
Your throat tightens. You stare at the drawings longer than you mean to. Unable to stop yourself from wondering what happened after you left. You tried not to think about it on the road. Tried not to imagine the morning after. Joel waking up. The empty side of the bed. The drugs wearing off. That look on his face when he realized.
You swallow hard.
The thought hits like a punch straight to the ribs.
You’ve never worried about people before. Except William. You’ve feared losing him before. Feared ending up alone again. But Joel... is different. Joel makes your chest hurt in ways bullets never could. Makes you understand why people in old movies ruined themselves for love.
The idea of breaking his heart somehow feels worse than breaking your own.
Your eyes burn, your heart clenching.
God.
So this is what loving someone feels like. Not the happiness part. You already knew that part. It’s him laughing quietly against your neck in bed. It’s his hand finding yours without thinking. It’s the way your body relaxes the second he walks into a room.
No—
This part. The ache. The fear. The terrifying realization that someone else now has the power to break your heart just by existing somewhere you can’t reach. Your gaze drops back toward the sketchbook. Joel’s face follows you everywhere now. You barely recognize yourself anymore because of it. You have something to lose now. Someone.
If this goes wrong… If you fail…
You may never hear his voice again. Never feel his arms around you again. Never see that tired little smile he gets when he looks at you like you’re something dangerous he decided to keep anyway.
A bark suddenly cuts through the silence.
You blink hard. Only then noticing the tear that slipped free and landed against the page. “Shit,” you mutter softly, wiping it away quickly.
Taxi climbs down from the chair immediately, limping over toward the couch.
“I know,” you whisper quietly. “I miss him too.”
Taxi rests his head against your knee. Your fingers slide automatically through the fur behind his ears.
“But I have to do this.”
The shepherd lifts one paw slowly onto your leg. You stare at him for a second. His eyes look strangely human sometimes in the dark. “You think I broke his heart?”
Taxi whines softly. Your chest tightens harder. “I couldn’t let him come with me.” Your voice turns quieter now. “Ellie needs him. Jackson needs him.” You swallow thickly. “And… maybe I just showed up and fucked that old man’s life all up.”
Taxi barks once immediately.
You let out a small breath through your nose. “Yeah. I know.” Your fingers continue stroking slowly through his fur. “He meant what he said.” Your voice nearly cracks. “But that’s not the problem.”
You stare down at Joel’s sketch again.
“Being the daughter of someone like Clouser feels like carrying rot around inside your chest.” Your jaw tightens faintly. “As long as he’s alive, I’m never gonna stop feeling it.”
Rain rattles softly against the broken windows outside.
“I can’t build a future with Joel while all this still exists.” Your eyes lower slowly. “Not while I keep lookin’ at Tommy, Maria… Dina, Jesse, Benji, Ellie…” Your throat tightens. “They deserve to feel safe around me.”
Silence stretches for a moment.
Then quieter: “I think…” You blink slowly. “I think I finally know what having a family feels like.” The words hurt to admit out loud. “And I can’t let him take that away from me.”
Taxi lifts his head and licks the side of your jaw suddenly. A weak laugh escapes you before you grab his muzzle gently. “Hey.” You rub your thumb along the bridge of his nose. “When I go back…” Your voice softens almost into a whisper. “I want my head clear.” Your fingers move slowly through his fur again. “Maybe then I’ll know how to be someone better. A better girlfriend.”
The word feels strange but warm.
“Assumin’ he forgives me.”
Taxi presses closer immediately.
You finally set the sketchbook aside before sliding down fully against the couch cushions, pulling him close against your side.
His fur still smells faintly like rainwater, old forest, dirt, and gunpowder. For years, that smell alone meant safety more than any human being ever could.
But now—
Now there’s another scent your body misses more.
Worn leather. Gun oil. Damp flannel dried near a fire. Sawdust caught in rough hands after long afternoons working wood in Jackson.
Him.
Your eyes drift slowly toward the cracked office window overhead. Beyond fractured glass and tangled ivy, the night sky barely peeks through Seattle’s storm clouds. A few weak stars flicker faintly between them.
You stare at them quietly.
And for the first time in years—
You make a wish.
Just one.
To see him again. To hear his voice again. To come back alive long enough to fall asleep in his arms one more time.
Your fingers tighten gently in Taxi’s fur.
Then slowly—
Exhaustion finally pulls you under.
Horse hooves echo hollow against cracked highway.
Slow now. Careful.
Joel keeps one hand near the reins while his eyes scan the massive quarantine wall rising through the rain ahead.
Seattle.
Even from a distance, the city feels wrong.
Too big. Too quiet.
Fog crawls low between abandoned checkpoints and collapsed military barricades swallowed whole by ivy and moss. Old FEDRA fencing stretches along the road in rusted lines, parts of it torn open long ago by something stronger than time.
Rain taps steadily against Joel’s jacket. The horse shifts uneasily beneath him the closer they get. “Easy,” Joel mutters quietly, patting its neck once.
Ahead, the massive outer gate hangs crooked on broken hinges, chains swaying softly in the wind. Faded quarantine warnings still cling to metal signs eaten away by rust. Across the center of the gate, someone has painted a message in massive white letters now streaked by rain and time:
WLF
TRESPASSERS KILLED ON SIGHT
The dripping paint almost looks like bone beneath the gray Seattle sky.
Joel squints upward toward the walls towering over him.
Dead guard towers stare down empty streets. Or at least they look empty. Seattle reminds him too much of places where people disappear. His jaw tightens.
The horse carries him slowly through the open gate. Immediately the city swallows sound whole.
No birds. No distant voices.
Just rainwater dripping from collapsed buildings and the faint creaking of old structures somewhere deeper inside the streets ahead. Joel’s eyes move constantly.
Cars. Windows. Rooflines. Habit.
Then—
Something catches his attention near the mud alongside the road. Fresh tire tracks.
Joel pulls the horse to a stop instantly.
The tracks cut sharply through rainwater and dirt before disappearing farther into the city.
Fresh. Very fresh.
Joel slides down from the saddle with a grunt, crouching low beside them. WLF vehicle. His fingers brush against wet mud before his gaze shifts farther ahead.
Then he sees it.
An abandoned pickup truck half-crashed against a storefront farther down the street. “Shit.”
Joel stands quickly and moves toward it, boots splashing through puddles. The closer he gets, the more obvious it becomes. Bullet holes shred the side panels. One tire blown out. The gas tank leaking slowly beneath the truck into rainwater mixed with oil and blood.
Joel’s eyes narrow immediately.
Not random.
Forced stop.
His hand brushes against the hood. Still faintly warm beneath cold rain. “Goddamn…”
Then he notices the steering column hanging open beneath the wheel. Wires ripped loose. Hotwired. A humorless breath escapes him through his nose. “Course she did.”
His eyes drift across the street automatically. Searching. Reading. Tracking. Then he sees blood. Not much. Drops leading toward a nearby alley.
Joel follows carefully.
One hand already resting near the revolver—your revolver—on his hip. The alley opens into another ruined street farther ahead—
And that’s where he finds the bodies.
Three WLF soldiers sprawled across wet pavement. One near an overturned patrol truck. Another collapsed against a wall. The third barely recognizable anymore.
Joel slows immediately.
His stomach tightens. Rain runs steadily down the corpses, washing blood into the gutters. Then he notices the bites. Deep tears through exposed throat. Another through the forearm. Jagged canine marks.
Taxi.
Joel exhales slowly through his nose. “Attaboy.”
He crouches beside the nearest body carefully. Then spots the spent casing laying near the corpse. Joel picks it up between rough fingers, rolling it once against his palm.
Sniper round. Your sniper round.
One clean shot. Two heads. Straight through the glass.
Precise. Efficient. Smooth. Exactly your kind of work.
“Goddamn it, Kat,” Joel mutters quietly. “You can’t take ’em all down at once.”
He rises slowly, eyes scanning the street again. Unease settles heavier in his chest with every passing second. He plants both hands briefly against his hips, jaw tightening hard.
Ten straight days riding from Jackson. Ten days barely sleeping. Ten days chasing your ghost across half the damn country—
And still he’s late.
The bodies tell him immediately. Spacing. Angles. Timing. Experience never lies.
You’re ahead of him. One day at least. Maybe more.
Joel’s back screams when he straightens fully, exhaustion dragging through every muscle in his body, but he ignores it automatically. Pain barely registers anymore. Rain continues falling steadily around him while Seattle groans somewhere deeper ahead.
Waiting. Watching.
Joel stares toward the dark streets disappearing farther into the city. “Can’t be late,” he mutters quietly. More to himself than anyone else. “Gotta find her before it’s too damn late.”
Then he turns back toward the horse. And rides deeper into Seattle.
Morning comes gray and wet.
Not bright. Not warm. Just a thin, colorless light spreading over Seattle like the city is too tired to wake up properly.
Rain still clings to everything. Broken windows. Rusted signs. The hoods of abandoned cars. The sagging awnings over dead storefronts. Every surface shines dull and cold beneath the low sky.
You move north with Taxi at your side.
The hospital doesn’t appear right away. Nothing in this city gives itself up that easy.
The map says it should be somewhere ahead, past a mess of flooded streets and half-collapsed buildings, but Seattle keeps folding in on itself. Roads blocked by wreckage. Alleys choked with vines. Military barriers left behind like broken teeth.
And people.
Too many people.
By noon, you’ve already run into more WLF deserters than you expected. Small groups. Two here. Three there. Scared. Armed. Dirty. Running from something behind them and terrified of whatever might be ahead.
The first few don’t tell you much before they die.
The next group gives you the name you're looking for.
After that, you stop killing first.
You start listening.
That is how you end up crouched on the second floor of a half-collapsed building, one hand resting against Taxi’s neck while voices drift up from below.
The ground floor beneath you is split open in places, the concrete caved inward toward a lower level thick with spores. Pale fungal growth climbs the walls down there in swollen veins, pulsing through the damp like something still alive. The air below looks yellow in the weak light, heavy and ruined.
You keep Taxi close. No way in hell you’re taking him through that.
Below, four WLF soldiers move through the street, unaware of you above them. “What the hell is goin’ on?” one of them mutters. “This is what, the sixth group?”
“Sixth if you count the ones from yesterday.”
“Jesus.”
“Isaac made an example outta the last ones. Had ’em executed in front of everybody. Thought that’d be enough.”
“Guess it wasn’t.”
“It’s that fuckin’ doctor.”
Your whole body stills.
The man beside him lowers his voice. “Clouser?”
“Yeah. People don’t wanna stay and die for Scars or for some bullshit vaccine that ain’t ever gonna work.”
“Wasn’t the whole point of taking FEDRA down to build a liberation front?”
A bitter laugh. “Does this sound like liberation to you?”
“You sound like you’re about to run too.”
“Hey. You hear what he’s been doing to pregnant women? Kids?”
The silence that follows feels heavier than the rain.
“Rumors.”
“You sure about that?”
“Fuck.” Another voice exhales shakily. “Isaac should’ve killed that old bastard when he had the chance.”
“He still sending his A-team to the hospital?”
“Yeah. The ones he trusts.”
Rain taps softly against broken concrete overhead. Then another voice lowers slightly. “Hey… you know Jordan?”
“The Firefly guy?”
“Yeah. Him.” A pause. “Heard that immune girl everyone’s looking for? Supposedly she’s Clouser’s daughter.”
Silence. “…Bullshit.”
“And apparently she was with the other immune girl for a while. Somewhere in Wyoming.”
Your stomach tightens instantly.
“Word is Isaac’s planning to send a group out there soon.” The man snorts quietly. “Abby might lead it.”
“No fuckin’ way Isaac lets Abby leave Seattle right now.”
“Why the hell would she even care?”
A longer silence follows.
Then quietly: “That smuggler from Salt Lake? The one who killed all those Fireflies in the hospital?”
Your pulse stutters.
“He’s supposedly in that town too.”
Silence crashes over the group immediately afterward. Even from above, you can feel the tension shift.
“…That’s too much coincidence for my taste.”
“Think that crazy doctor’s making half this shit up.”
“Or that Jordan guy.”
“Alright, enough gossip.” Boots scrape concrete. “Get back to your posts and keep your eyes open.”
That is enough. More than enough.
Your grip tightens around the rifle. Taxi’s ears twitch. You glance down at him and press two fingers to your lips.
Stay.
He understands. You’ve taught him this too many times to count.
Stay unless you whistle.
Stay unless you scream.
Stay unless he sees you bleeding too much.
That last part is always the problem.
Because Taxi listens until fear takes over. And fear makes him stupidly brave. You point toward a patch of tall weeds and vines growing through a broken section of wall. He lowers himself reluctantly, still watching you. “Good boy,” you mouth.
Then you move.
Silent across the cracked upper floor, stepping over broken tiles and rotted office chairs, rifle raised. The building groans softly beneath your weight.
You line up the first shot from above. The suppressor does its job, but barely. A soft, ugly pop.
One soldier drops. The others turn too late.
Second shot.
Third.
Fourth.
Each one clean.
Each one fast.
By the time the last body hits the pavement, the street is quiet again except for rainfall and Taxi’s low breathing behind you.
You stay crouched for a moment, listening.
No infected. No returning fire. No shouting.
Good.
You climb down carefully. The air grows colder near the broken ground floor. Spores drift lazily below through the collapsed opening, glowing faintly where thin daylight touches them. The fungal growth along the walls looks old and thick, spread in rootlike patterns beneath peeling paint.
You avoid the edge. You’ve seen enough basements like that. You search the bodies quickly.
Ammo. A dull knife. Nothing useful.
Your last suppressor is already ruined, and the one currently screwed onto your pistol is close to useless. The metal is hot from overuse, the sound less clean than it should be.
One left after this.
One.
You’ll need to save it for something that matters.
You’re about to move on when you find a photograph in one of their jacket pockets. Not an old one. A fresh one. Instant film.
You hold it between two fingers and wipe rain off the glossy surface with your thumb.
A group of people smile back at you. Young. Tired. Alive.
Behind them rises a massive structure, round and crowded, with stands and lights and lines of people moving in the background.
A stadium.
Not a checkpoint. Not a small base. A real settlement.
Crowded. Organized.
You don’t know any of their faces. You don’t care to.
But the place itself matters.
You unfold your map and compare it quickly, marking distance with your thumb and eye. The stadium sits too far west to be your target.
The hospital is north. Far enough away from the stadium to make sense. Far enough to hide things.
You crouch beside a cracked wall, using a rusted pipe as a flat edge while you sketch a rough route across the paper. Streets. Blocks. Waterlogged underpasses you’ll avoid. Higher ground where possible.
Ten miles, maybe. Two hours if the roads don’t fight you. They will.
A burst of static crackles from one of the dead men’s radios. Taxi lifts his head instantly. You freeze.
“Cooper, you copy?” The voice is rough, irritated. Static. “Cooper? Linda? Come in.”
You stare at the radio. Taxi gives one sharp bark. You raise your hand. “Shh.”
The radio crackles again.
“Cooper, listen up. We found a deserter group wiped out near your last checkpoint. Clean shots. Somebody hunted ’em. Doesn’t look like Scars.”
Your jaw tightens. Yesterday’s bodies.
“Answer me, Cooper. Goddamn it. We’re coming to your position.”
Taxi growls. Not the low warning he gives for people.
Different. Deeper.
Your eyes flick to him immediately. That growl means infected. But then you hear it too. Not infected. Footsteps. Multiple. Close.
You move to the broken window and look down through hanging ivy.
Five people. Armed.
WLF.
And a dog.
“Shit,” you whisper. The dog has its nose low, pulling against the leash. Taxi’s lip curls. “So that’s what you smelled.”
Your mind works fast. Two exits. One dangerous. One worse.
The patrol is already too close. The dog will catch your scent any second. You crouch in front of Taxi and grip the fur at the sides of his neck gently, forcing his eyes to yours. “You stay in the grass,” you whisper. “I’ll pull them away.”
Taxi whines.
“No.” Your voice hardens. “You can’t come with me. I don’t have a damn gas mask for you, understand?”
Below, the WLF dog barks.
“Hey, what is it, boy?” one of the soldiers calls. Too close.
You point sharply toward the weeds leading along the collapsed wall. Taxi hesitates. “Go.”
He goes, but he hates it. You can see that in every line of him.
You drop low and begin crawling along the upper ledge, aiming for the vines that spill down toward the lower level. If you can get to the other side, maybe you can circle out before—
A snarl erupts behind you.
You twist just as the WLF dog lunges out of nowhere.
Too fast.
You barely throw yourself sideways before its teeth snap where your arm was. Then Taxi hits it like a damn wolf.
The two dogs crash into the floor in a violent tangle of teeth and muscle. “Taxi!” you hiss.
Too late. The WLF dog yelps as Taxi’s jaws lock around its throat. Voices explode below.
“Trespasser here!”
“No—Jesus, that’s Lenny! He's dead!”
“There’s another dog!”
“Shoot it! Shoot it!”
Taxi shakes once. The WLF dog goes limp. “Stay there!” you snap at him. “Goddamn it, stay!”
Gunfire tears into the wall beside you.
You dive behind a broken concrete partition as bullets chew through plaster overhead. Your heart slams against your ribs. One soldier breaks off toward Taxi. Another moves to flank you from the rear. The man behind you rounds the broken wall too fast.
You move faster.
You catch his wrist, twist, slam him chest-first into the concrete, and drag him back against you with your revolver shoved beneath his jaw. The others freeze the second they see you.
“Drop it!” one of them shouts.
Your hostage spits blood. “Shoot her!”
“Shut the fuck up,” you growl against his ear. You shift backward, dragging him with you toward the collapsed edge. Behind you, the lower floor waits.
Dark. Yellow. Thick with spores.
The woman in front stiffens. “Ari—no!”
Good.
That matters. That means they won’t shoot through him. You press the barrel harder under his jaw. “Back up,” you shout. “Or I paint the floor with his head.”
“You got nowhere to go,” another soldier says, weapon trained on you.
You understand what he means.
The spores. The drop. The infected below. No mask. No escape.
For them.
Not for you.
You tighten your grip on Ari and take one more step back.
He realizes a second too late. “No—no, we’ll both die!”
“Maybe,” you say.
Then you throw your weight backward.
The fall is short but brutal.
Air rips out of your lungs as you hit broken concrete and roll hard, dragging the man down with you. Dust and spores explode upward around you in a sick yellow cloud.
Above, voices scream.
“Ari!”
“Fuck!”
“No, no, no—”
You roll behind a collapsed support beam just as bullets cut into the ground where you landed. “Leah, stop!” someone yells. “You’ll die too! We don’t have masks!”
“I’m gonna kill that bitch!”
“She’s already dead! Come on!”
“Isaac’s orders—nobody goes into spore zones. You saw what happened to Ramirez!”
“Fuck!”
Bootsteps retreat above. You stay still until the last one fades. The spores hang thick around you. You inhale once through your nose.
Damp. Earthy. Rotten.
It tickles faintly. Nothing more. Like mildew in an old basement.
Ari is somewhere in the dark, coughing violently. “God…” he chokes between ragged breaths. “Goddamn…”
You glance toward the sound instinctively.
Then freeze. The wall behind him moves.
No. Not the wall.
Cordyceps.
Pale fungal shelves bloom across concrete and brick in thick layered growths, veins spreading outward like diseased roots through the entire lower floor. Some of it is old and dry, cracked apart like dead bark.
Some of it still glistens wet beneath your flashlight. Fresh. Breathing.
Bodies cling half-swallowed inside the growth. Arms. Ribcages. Open mouths permanently fused into the fungus climbing over them.
The entire building smells damp and rotten enough to taste.
Then—
Click.
Click-click-click-click.
Your blood runs cold instantly. The sound echoes from deeper inside the dark.
Clickers.
The explosion upstairs must’ve drawn them down here.
And now Ari’s coughing is doing the rest.
Another clicking cry bursts through the building.
Closer.
Wet fungal chatter bouncing sharply through concrete halls while something shifts rapidly in the dark ahead.
Ari hears it too. “No…” His breathing turns panicked immediately. “No no no—”
CLICKCLICKCLICKCLICK.
Another answers somewhere nearby. Then another. The entire lower level suddenly feels alive. Movement everywhere.
You crouch lower immediately, barely breathing while Ari drags himself backward across the floor, one ruined leg useless behind him.
“Please—” he gasps. “Please help m—”
The first clicker lunges. Fast as hell. Ari’s scream cuts violently short beneath tearing flesh and wet crunching bone.
You look away instantly. Not because you feel bad. Because he’s already dead.
More clicking erupts nearby. The feeding sounds alone are enough to turn your stomach. You lower yourself silently and begin backing away through the darkness instead, keeping low beneath hanging cords of fungus spreading across the ceiling. Slow. Controlled. One careful step after another.
Then—
CLICKCLICKCLICK.
A clicker jerks its head upward somewhere behind you. You freeze instantly while it listens, twitching sharply toward the noise. Then Ari’s dying screams echo deeper in the room and the infected bolts away from you immediately.
You exhale slowly through your nose.
Lucky. Very fucking lucky.
Keeping your flashlight lowered, you slip silently between collapsed cubicles while wet ripping sounds echo behind you. Bones snapping. Flesh tearing. You don’t look back once.
The faint glow of daylight finally appears ahead through thick hanging vines near a collapsed loading exit. Fresh air. Rain. Freedom.
You push through the overgrowth and stumble outside into the cold Seattle evening just as another horrible shriek erupts somewhere deep inside the building behind you.
The city air never smelled so good.
You suck in a breath.
The street is empty. Too empty.
“Taxi,” you call softly.
Nothing.
Your heart climbs straight into your throat. You whistle once. Sharp. Low. Still nothing. “Taxi.”
This time it comes out rougher. Panic starts crawling up the back of your neck while you scan every broken window and dark doorway around you.
No.
No, no, no—
“Taxi!”
Then a bark echoes from above.
You spin just as Taxi comes barreling down from the broken upper level through a sagging stairwell, ears back, tail low, alive.
Alive.
“Oh, fuck,” you breathe.
You drop immediately, grabbing his face between both hands while he whines and pushes into you. You check him fast. Neck. Chest. Legs. No blood. No new wounds.
You exhale so hard it almost hurts. “Okay. Okay.” You press your forehead briefly to his. “You’re okay.”
Taxi licks your chin and a broken laugh slips out of you.
“Yeah, we definitely need to make you a gas mask.”
He barks once like he agrees.
You stand slowly, wiping rain and sweat from your face. Through the gap between buildings, beyond a broken bridge and the skeletons of old towers, you finally see it.
A distant building rising above the gray. Hospital lettering barely visible through the rain.
Your chest tightens.
There. Finally.
You take a long drink from your canteen before letting Taxi drink from your cupped hand too. “You ready?” you ask quietly.
He looks toward the hospital. Then back at you.
You sling the rifle over your shoulder and fold the map away. “We’re close. Let’s go.”
Seattle, Day Two.
Dusk settles over the city in bruised shades of blue and gray by the time you reach the hospital district. The rain weakens into a thin mist drifting between buildings, but Seattle still feels soaked through to the bone. Somewhere far off, gunfire rattles across distant streets before fading back into silence again.
The hospital rises above everything else. Massive. Cold. Its upper floors disappear into fog while floodlamps burn pale through rain-streaked windows below. Even from here it dominates the skyline like something watching the entire city.
Close enough to see. Still too damn far away.
Between you and the hospital stretch blocks of ruined streets, flooded intersections, and whatever the hell WLF has waiting in between. Too many lights. Too many guards.
You crouch behind an overturned bus with Taxi pressed close beside you, eyes moving carefully across the perimeter. Watchtowers. Patrol routes. Barricades. Armed Wolves everywhere.
“Jesus,” you mutter under your breath.
Taxi’s ears twitch.
Then—
A whistle echoes somewhere nearby. Sharp. Seraphites.
Your head snaps toward the sound instantly. Another whistle answers deeper in the street before shouting erupts.
“CONTACT!”
Gunfire explodes seconds later. WLF soldiers sprint across the street ahead while arrows whistle through the rain. One Wolf jerks backward with an arrow through his throat. Another drops seconds later. Chaos spreads fast.
Exactly what you need. Not to win. To disappear.
Your eyes lock onto a WLF transport truck sitting crooked near the curb thirty feet away. Driver dead. Engine still running. Headlights cutting pale beams through the mist.
Perfect.
You glance toward Taxi. He already looks ready. “We need that truck,” you mutter. Then you’re moving. You sprint low across rain-slick pavement while bullets crack somewhere behind you. The city erupts into noise around you— Wolves shouting, whistles answering back, glass shattering somewhere farther down the block.
You wrench the truck door open and climb inside fast. Taxi launches in beside you just as you slam the gear forward. The truck lurches violently. “C’mon, c’mon—”
Tires screech across flooded streets. Then somebody notices. “HEY!”
Gunfire slams into the truck immediately. The windshield spiderwebs near your shoulder. “Shit!”
You duck instinctively while jerking the wheel sideways around abandoned cars. Taxi barks wildly beside you every time the truck fishtails through standing water.
“Taxi, get the fuck down!” you shout over the engine. “Down, boy!”
He finally ducks lower as another engine roars somewhere behind you through the rain. They’re following.
You glance into the side mirror briefly—
And your stomach drops.
It’s them. Ari’s squad. The woman from earlier leans halfway out the passenger window with a rifle in her hands.
“That’s her!”
Gunfire erupts again. Bullets punch through the truck bed beside Taxi.
“Fuck—!”
You slam the wheel hard around a collapsed ambulance while the hospital looms closer between buildings. So close. Almost there—
Then headlights catch something too late.
A collapsed barricade stretches across the flooded street ahead.
“Shit.”
You wrench the wheel sideways but the truck clips the barricade hard enough to launch metal screaming across pavement before smashing broadside into a storefront.
The world snaps sideways. Glass explodes. Pain detonates through your shoulder. For a second all you hear is ringing.
Then Taxi barks. Loud. Panicked.
“I’m okay,” you choke out immediately, forcing yourself upright. Smoke curls from beneath the crushed hood outside while voices already close in.
“MOVE!”
“THEY CRASHED!”
You kick the warped truck door open and force yourself out. Taxi jumps down beside you instantly. You grab your rifle and run toward the nearest half-open building entrance beneath a flickering neon sign drowned in vines.
You and Taxi disappear inside just as bullets rip through the doorway behind you.
Darkness swallows you whole.
The air changes immediately. Wet. Rotten. Wrong.
Your flashlight snaps on. Broken shelves and collapsed walls stretch endlessly ahead inside what used to be some kind of office building. Too quiet.
Your stomach tightens instantly.
“…shit.”
Taxi growls low beside you.
Then something moves. Fast. A shape darts between walls ahead before disappearing again.
Stalker.
Of fucking course.
One of the Wolves swings his flashlight toward the hallway just in time to catch two clickers sprinting straight at them through the dark. “FUCK THIS!”
Gunfire erupts instantly.
Muzzle flashes strobe violently across fungal walls while the infected slam into the group. One Wolf screams as a clicker tackles him sideways into broken office furniture.
Another fires wildly while backing toward the exit. “Pull back!”
A stalker explodes out of the darkness behind them. The scream that follows cuts brutally short. The remaining Wolves don’t hesitate after that. “GO GO GO!”
Boots thunder back toward the entrance while infected shrieks and wet tearing sounds swallow the lower floor behind them.
Your flashlight catches movement sprinting low across the ceiling beams overhead.
“Taxi!”
The shepherd lunges before you finish the word. A stalker crashes into him midair with a shriek. The two slam across the floor together in a snapping mess of teeth and claws.
You raise your rifle—
Another infected explodes out of the darkness straight at you. You barely get your knife up in time. The stalker slams you backward into the floor hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Its fungal face twitches inches from yours, jaw snapping wildly while rotten saliva drips onto your sleeve.
“Get the fuck off me—!”
You jam the knife upward.
Miss.
The creature shrieks directly into your face. Somewhere deeper inside the building, gunfire mixes with screaming.
Taxi snarls viciously nearby.
The stalker pins your wrist harder against the floor—
Then suddenly—
BANG.
The infected jerks violently. Warm blood sprays across your throat. The body collapses instantly on top of you.
Dead.
For one second you can only hear your own breathing.
Then boots step into view beside your head. Worn leather darkened by rainwater steps into view beside you. Jeans soaked dark at the hems. Holster strapped low against his thigh.
One large hand gripping a revolver steady at his side—
Your revolver.
Your pulse stumbles instantly. Then you see the watch. Cracked glass. Worn leather strap.
His broken watch.
The one that never leaves his wrist.
Your breath catches so sharply it hurts. No. No fucking way. Your eyes lock onto his hand again. Calloused fingers. Faint scars across rough knuckles. You know that hand.
God, you know it.
That hand held your face like something precious. Fixed your weapons at the kitchen table late at night. Curled warm against your waist in bed. Your chest tightens so hard it almost hurts.
The man crouches immediately beside you, grabbing the dead stalker by the shoulder and hauling it off your body with a grunt.
Then flashlight beam finally cuts upward across his face.
Rough beard. Wet curls. Dark exhausted eyes already locked on yours like they’ve been searching for you for days. For a second your brain genuinely refuses to process it.
You just stare at him. Breathing hard.
Rainwater still dripping from his jacket onto the floor.
He looks tired. Older somehow. Terrified. Relieved. All at once.
Still unfairly handsome.
“…Joel?”
Your voice comes out barely above a whisper.
Another stalker scream echoes somewhere nearby.
Neither of you looks away.
Joel’s jaw tightens hard enough you see the muscle jump beneath wet stubble The stalker crashes into Joel so fast.
One second he’s crouched in front of you, rough hands hauling the dead infected off your body while rainwater drips from his curls onto your jacket—
The next—
Movement explodes out of the dark behind him. Fast. Too fast.
“Joel—!”
He twists instantly, revolver already snapping upward on instinct. Nothing. Just a hollow click.
Empty.
For the first time since you’ve known him, you actually see it—
Pure panic.
Not fear for himself.
For you.
Because the creature is already on him.
Its mouth opens wide enough you see strings of rotten saliva stretching between fungal-split teeth. Its face barely even looks human anymore beneath the blooming cordyceps splitting through skin and jawbone.
Joel shoves against it hard, but the stalker slams him backward into the wall before he can reload.
“Fuck—!”
Its teeth snap inches from his throat.
Joel’s forearm jams against its neck violently, muscles straining beneath soaked flannel while the infected screeches directly into his face.
The sound is horrible. Wet. Not human.
Taxi lunges across the room barking viciously, claws scraping across concrete as he tries to reach Joel. Your body moves before your brain does. You throw yourself into them. The impact knocks all three of you sideways.
The stalker turns instantly. Its jaws slam down around your forearm, just as you planned. Pain detonates through your entire body. “AHH— FUCK!” The scream tears itself out of your throat raw and sharp as teeth sink deep through muscle. You feel them puncture skin. Feel the pressure of its jaw locking harder the more you fight.
Warm blood floods instantly down your wrist.
Joel freezes. Actually freezes. His face drains of color so fast it terrifies you more than the bite itself.
“No—”
The word barely leaves him. The stalker thrashes violently against your arm, snarling through flesh still trapped between its teeth.
You could pull away. But you don't. Instead, you force your arm deeper.
Joel’s eyes widen in horror. “Kat, NO!”
Pain burns white-hot through your entire arm as the infected tears harder into flesh, fungal teeth sinking deeper with every violent jerk of its head. Taxi loses his mind somewhere beside you, barking viciously.
Joel lunges forward—
Too late.
You wrench the revolver upward with your free hand and jam the barrel directly against the side of the stalker’s head. Then pull the trigger.
BANG.
The gunshot explodes through the room. The bullet punches straight through fungal plates and skull with a sick wet crunch.
The creature spasms violently.
Its jaw clamps one final time around your arm before the body suddenly goes limp and collapses heavily against you.
Dead.
For half a second nobody moves. You can actually hear blood hitting the floor from your arm. Taxi keeps barking hysterically beside you. Then Joel grabs the infected and literally rips it off you hard enough the corpse slams against the wall nearby.
“Jesus Christ— Jesus fucking Christ—”
His voice sounds wrong. Shaking. Panicked.
You’ve heard Joel angry. You’ve heard him violent. You’ve heard him terrified.
But this?
This sounds like a man watching the world end all over again.
His hands grab your arm immediately. Too fast. Too rough. Then suddenly gentle the second he sees the damage. The bite already looks ugly. Deep punctures torn into flesh. Blood running between his fingers while fungal saliva mixes with rainwater across your skin.
Joel stares at it like he can somehow undo it if he looks hard enough. He’s not even looking at your face anymore.
Only the wound. Only the blood. Only the teeth marks.
He knows you’re immune.
But it doesn’t matter. Because watching something bite you still breaks something inside him instantly.
“Hey.” Your free hand catches his wrist hard enough to force his eyes back to yours. “Joel.”
His gaze snaps upward finally.
And God—
You’ve never seen him look this terrified before. Not even close.
“It’s okay,” you whisper quickly. “I’m okay.”
“No, you’re fuckin’ not okay!”
The words crack out of him louder than intended. “You let it bite you,” he says, staring at you like he genuinely cannot understand what he just watched.
Your jaw tightens against another pulse of pain. “It was gonna get you.”
“So you let it tear into your goddamn arm?!”
“Yes!”
The word echoes harder than expected through the ruined building. Silence crashes down afterward except for both of your breathing.
Joel looks furious. Terrified. Completely shattered.
You swallow hard before quieter: “I knew it wouldn’t kill me.”
Joel’s expression twists instantly. “That ain’t the point. You think watchin’ that was supposed to be easier just because you can survive it?”
“I—”
More screeches erupt somewhere deeper inside the building.
Not one.
Several.
The sound bounces violently through dark hallways and collapsed floors, wet clicking mixed with the frantic shouts of WLF soldiers still trapped somewhere below. Joel’s head snaps toward the noise instantly. “Shit.”
Another scream echoes. Closer this time.
Taxi barks furiously beside you while the dead stalker’s blood continues dripping slowly from your bitten arm onto the floor. Joel grabs your wrist immediately. “We gotta move. Now.”
You stagger upright beside him, adrenaline barely drowning out the burning pulse ripping through your arm.
The building groans around all three of you.
Something crashes downstairs.
Then running. Fast running. Too many footsteps.
“Infected?” you ask breathlessly.
Joel reloads while already moving. “All of ‘em.”
That answers enough.
Taxi bolts ahead first as Joel shoves open a warped emergency door leading into another hallway thick with mold and water damage.
“Where are we going?!” you shout while running after him.
“My place ain’t far!”
You blink. “Your what?!”
“Keep runnin’!”
Another stalker bursts from a doorway ahead.
Joel fires before it fully reaches you.
BANG.
The infected folds violently against the wall. “Right!” Joel shouts. “Take the right!”
You skid around the corner hard enough your shoulder slams concrete.
The hallway opens toward a collapsed loading bay exposed to rain and fading evening light outside.
The sky has turned nearly black now.
Seattle after sunset feels less like a city and more like something alive waiting to swallow people whole. Taxi leaps through the broken opening first.
You follow immediately—
Then freeze.
A chain-link fence blocks most of the alley outside except for one narrow gap near the bottom where the metal has been bent upward. “Fuck.”
“Go!” Joel shouts behind you.
Gunfire erupts somewhere deeper inside the building. Then shrieking. Taxi squeezes through the gap first before spinning around barking wildly for you. You drop low and crawl after him just as Joel grabs the fence hard enough to yank the opening wider for you.
The metal tears loudly.
Your injured arm screams in protest while squeezing through. “Joel—!”
“I’m comin’, keep movin’!”
A runner crashes through the loading bay doorway behind him.
Then another.
Joel rips a molotov from his backpack, lights it without hesitation, and hurls it straight into the entrance.
Glass shatters. Fire erupts instantly.
The hallway behind him explodes into orange light and screaming infected. “GO!” he roars.
You don’t argue.
All three of you sprint through rain-dark alleyways while flames spread violently behind you, infected shrieks echoing through the burning building. Joel catches up fast despite the extra weight of his rifle and pack.
“Left!” he shouts over the rain. “Take the left!”
You follow him blindly through narrow streets flooded ankle-deep with rainwater. Taxi keeps pace beside you, breathing hard while distant gunfire and infected screams slowly fade farther behind.
Eventually—
Finally—
The noise dies. The city quiets again.
Joel slows near an old brick building squeezed between two collapsed storefronts. A faded neon saxophone still hangs crooked above the entrance.
JAZZ • LIVE MUSIC • COCKTAILS
Or at least that’s what’s left of the sign. Joel grabs the door handle first.
Locked.
He shoulders it once. Hard. The wood gives immediately. “Inside.”
You and Taxi slip in first while Joel slams the door shut behind all of you. Darkness swallows the room.
The beam of Joel’s flashlight cuts across overturned tables, dusty bottles behind the bar, ripped velvet booths, and a stage sitting abandoned beneath hanging lights coated in years of grime.
Then Joel immediately starts moving furniture.
Fast. Efficient. Like muscle memory.
He shoves a heavy cabinet against the door before dragging another beside it.
You bend forward, hands braced against your knees while trying to catch your breath. Rainwater drips steadily from your hair onto the floorboards below. Taxi pants nearby, ears still twitching toward distant sounds outside. You glance around the bar slowly.
“…I passed this place earlier,” you mutter between breaths. “Didn’t exactly scream safehouse.”
Joel grunts while forcing another chair beneath the door handle. “That’s ‘cause you think like a survivor.” He finally looks back at you briefly. “You gotta think like a smuggler.”
The corner of your mouth almost twitches despite everything.
Taxi finally relaxes enough to lie down beside one of the booths, though he still watches both of you carefully while licking rainwater from his fur.
Outside, thunder rolls softly over Seattle. Inside, everything suddenly feels too quiet.
You straighten slowly while pressing your palm against the bandage wrapped around your arm. The bite throbs beneath soaked fabric now. Hot. Sharp. “Joel,” you say quietly. “How did you find us?”
Taxi huffs softly at the sound of his name.
Joel completely ignores the question.
Instead, he walks straight toward you, grabs your uninjured arm gently but firmly, and guides you toward one of the old leather couches near the stage.
“Sit.”
“Joel—”
“Sit down.”
Something in his voice makes you listen.
You lower yourself onto the couch slowly while he drops his backpack onto the nearby table and kneels in front of you.
“Lemme see.”
The bite still bleeds slowly through the bandage. Joel pulls fresh gauze and alcohol from his pack with practiced hands.
Your eyes stay fixed on him while he works. The furrow between his brows deepens immediately the second he unwraps the blood-soaked cloth from your arm.
There it is. That line in his forehead. The one that only appears when he’s angry or worried enough it physically hurts him.
God.
You missed him. So fucking much. More than you allowed yourself to admit.
“This’ll hurt.” Joel pours alcohol over the wound.
“Wonderful.”
The second the liquid hits torn flesh, pain rips straight through your arm. “Ah— fuck—”
Your whole body tenses instantly while Joel grips your wrist tighter to steady you.
“Easy,” he mutters quietly.
You hiss through clenched teeth while he carefully cleans dried blood from around the bite marks. Your eyes drift across his face again. The concentration. The exhaustion beneath his eyes. The tension in his jaw. You wonder how many nights he hasn’t slept.
“You showed up at a pretty convenient time,” you breathe, still staring at him like he might disappear again. “How the hell did you even find us?”
Joel keeps wrapping the bandage.
Doesn’t answer.
There are a hundred other things you want to ask him too. How long has he been here? Did Ellie know? Was he hurt? Was he angry? Did he hate you for leaving? But after drugging him and disappearing in the middle of the night, asking those questions feels almost selfish somehow. So instead you ask the smallest one. The safest one.
“…Why are you here, Joel?”
This time he finally looks up. And the expression in his eyes makes your throat tighten instantly. Dark. Tired. Hurt.
“S’pose I’m the one oughta be askin’ questions.”
Silence stretches between you.
You glance away first. Joel doesn’t.
“How the hell do you hear every damn thing I tell you,” he says quietly, “and still leave anyway?”
Your jaw tightens. “Joel—”
“That stubbornness of yours real or you just enjoy makin’ me lose my goddamn mind?” His voice sharpens now. “You come here to kill yourself? Was that the plan?”
The words hit harder than expected. Because part of you knows he’s not completely wrong.
“I got close,” you argue quietly. “I’m almost done. Tomorrow I finish this.”
Joel lets out a disbelieving laugh. “Finish it how exactly?” He rises suddenly to his feet. “You see how many Wolves are out there? This ain’t a mission, darlin’, it’s a suicide note.”
“I’m not leaving without killing him.”
“Well you ain’t gettin’ the chance if you end up dead first!”
Taxi lifts his head immediately at the sharpness in Joel’s voice. You stand too fast. Pain flares through your arm but you ignore it. “What, you think I came all this way for nothing?!”
“Yes!” Joel explodes. “That’s exactly what I think!”
You stare at him in disbelief. Rain rattles softly against the windows behind him while the neon sign outside flickers weak blue light across his face. “You don’t understand.”
“No, YOU don’t understand!” Joel snaps back immediately. “If I hadn’t found you tonight you woulda died in there!”
“I saved you too!”
“That ain’t the damn point!”
His voice echoes through the empty jazz bar. Taxi whines softly from the couch. Joel runs one rough hand through soaked curls before pointing furiously toward your bandaged arm.
“You ain’t bulletproof, Kat! You ain’t immune to gettin’ your head blown off or blown apart or buried under some goddamn building!”
“I KNOW THAT!”
“Then why the hell are you actin’ like you got nothin’ left to lose?!”
Your breathing turns uneven instantly. “I always find a way.”
Joel stares at you for one long horrible second. Then suddenly he crosses the room and grabs both your arms hard enough to stop your pacing completely. “Goddamn it, Kat—” His voice breaks lower now. Rougher. Desperate. “Why don’t you get it?” His grip tightens. “Not everythin’ goes the way you planned.”
Your heartbeat stumbles.
“One mistake,” he whispers harshly. “One bad second and everythin’ falls apart. Why you runnin’ toward death like this, huh?” His jaw clenches hard. “You don’t think about yourself, fine. But do you ever think about what happens to me?”
Your lips part. Nothing comes out. So you look away instead.
“…Ellie needs you,” you whisper weakly. “If somethin’ happened to me, you’d still have—”
“Don’t.” His voice cuts straight through yours. “Don’t you dare finish that sentence.”
You look back at him slowly. Joel’s eyes burn now. Actually burn.
“She ain’t you.”
The words hit like a punch. Joel breathes hard once through his nose before quieter now:
“You’re not Ellie to me.” He steps closer. So close you can feel warmth radiating from him despite the cold rain still clinging to his clothes. “You’re worse,” he mutters roughly. “So much goddamn worse.”
Your breath catches.
“Because I let myself love you.”
The confession lands heavy between both of you. Joel laughs once under his breath. Bitter. Broken.
“This stubborn old heart was finally startin’ to beat again and you just…” He shakes his head slightly. “You rip yourself outta my bed and disappear across the country like I’m supposed to survive that.”
Your throat tightens painfully. “I couldn’t let you get hurt.”
Joel stares at you like the words physically offend him.
“And what the hell you think happens to me if you die?”
Silence. Real silence this time.
Joel closes his eyes briefly before leaning forward until his forehead rests against yours. When he speaks again, his voice barely sounds steady anymore. “I told you about Sarah.” Your heart cracks quietly. “I told you exactly what losin’ somebody like that does to a man.” His nose brushes yours lightly when he exhales. “You’re there for me now.” The words melt something inside your chest instantly. “You understand?” he whispers. “Right fuckin' there.”
Your lips part softly.
Joel’s mouth hovers barely inches from yours now. Close enough that every breath mixes together. Close enough that thinking becomes impossible. You should keep arguing. You should push him away. Tell him to go back to Jackson. Tell him tomorrow changes nothing. But all you can think about is how badly you missed him. The smell of him. The warmth. The roughness in his voice. The way he says your name like it belongs to him. Your thighs tense unconsciously.
Joel notices immediately. Of course he does.
His eyes darken slightly while his hand slides from your arm to your waist slowly. Possessive. Careful.
Like he’s trying not to break under the weight of his own feelings.
“Listen to me,” he murmurs roughly. “I don’t give a damn about anybody or anything in this world the way I do you.” Your breath catches harder. “You hear me?” His fingers tighten slightly against your waist. “You got some kinda single-digit fuckin’ IQ or somethin’, huh? How many goddamn times do I gotta say it before it gets through that stubborn skull of yours?”
Your brows pull together immediately.
“Joel—”
“No.” His grip tightens when you try pulling back slightly. “No, you don’t get to pull that runaway bullshit and then stand there actin’ confused when I come after you.”
Heat flashes through your chest instantly.
“I didn’t ask you to—”
“Exactly!” Joel snaps. “That’s the damn problem!”
You turn your head away sharply, jaw tightening.
For half a second you almost step back.
Joel catches you immediately.
One rough hand locks around your waist and pulls you flush against him again before you can move an inch.
“You scare the livin’ shit outta me, Kat.”
The word comes out low. Dangerous. Desperate.
His forehead nearly touches yours now.
“You run into gunfights, infected, goddamn armies like your life don’t matter and it’s drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.”
Your pulse stumbles hard.
Joel’s jaw tightens once before he says the next part slower. Like he needs you to understand it this time. “You’re mine to lose sleep over now.”
Your breath catches sharply.
Joel’s eyes stay locked on yours.
Possessive. Furious. Completely wrecked by you. His hand slides tighter against your waist. “Mine to worry about. Mine to come look for. Mine to drag back alive if I gotta.”
Then he snaps. One hand grips your jaw. The other yanks you hard against him. And his mouth crashes into yours.
The kiss is brutal.
Desperate.
All teeth and heat and weeks of fear poured into one violent collision.
You gasp against his mouth immediately and Joel takes advantage instantly, kissing you deeper like he’s angry at you for making him miss you this badly.
Like he’s trying to punish himself and you at the same time.
His beard scrapes harsh against your skin while his fingers dig into your waist possessively enough to ache.
You clutch his soaked flannel automatically.
Joel groans low into your mouth the second you pull him closer.
The sound nearly destroys what little restraint you had left.
“Christ. Look what the hell you do to me,” he mutters against your lips before kissing you again harder somehow.
Raw. Messy. Needy.
Like neither of you fully believes the other is really here yet.
Joel kisses you like he’s trying to make up for every second you were gone. Like anger and relief and love have tangled together into something too big for him to hold quietly anymore.
Your back hits the edge of the old piano beside the stage with a dull thud.
Neither of you cares.
Rain fades into background noise beneath rough breathing, shifting clothes, and the scrape of calloused hands against soaked denim and flannel.
Joel’s fingers bury into your hair hard enough to tilt your head back while his mouth keeps finding yours again and again like he physically can’t stop once he starts.
You kiss him back just as desperately.
All the fear.
All the missing him.
All those nights alone in ruined buildings wishing he was there instead—
It all crashes out at once.
“Jesus…” Joel breathes against your lips, forehead pressing briefly to yours. “Missed you so goddamn much.”
The confession nearly breaks you.
Your fingers work shakily at the buttons of his flannel while he crowds closer between your legs.
“You weren’t supposed to come after me,” you whisper breathlessly, teasing despite yourself as you push the shirt from his shoulders.
Joel lets out a rough, humorless laugh against your mouth.
“Tough shit.”
His belt unfastens with a metallic clink.
Then he kisses you again before you can answer.
Harder this time.
Needier.
One large hand slides beneath your jacket, rough fingers spreading against the small of your back while the other grips your waist possessively enough to pull a soft sound from your throat.
Joel immediately catches it.
A dark smirk ghosts briefly across his face.
“Look at her now,” he mutters roughly against your mouth. “All needy.”
Heat rushes through your chest instantly.
“You keep makin’ sounds like that,” he murmurs, lips brushing yours, “I’m gonna forget we’re supposed to be arguin’.” His thumb drags once along your cheek. “Real damn loud for somebody who left me.”
The words hit harder than they should.
Before you can answer, Joel’s hands find the zipper of your jacket instead.
He yanks it down impatiently.
Then your shirt follows, leaving you in nothing but your bra beneath the dim neon glow leaking through the rain-streaked windows.
Joel’s eyes drag over you slowly.
Hungry.
Overwhelmed.
Then his gaze catches on the fresh bandage around your arm. The softness disappears immediately. Joel leans down and presses a rough almost angry kiss against your forehead. “You scare the hell outta me,” he mutters. “Don’t pull that shit again.” Your hands slide over his bare chest, palms spreading across warm skin and tense muscle beneath your fingertips.
God.
You forgot how solid he feels. How warm. How safe. It almost hurts remembering it.
Joel exhales sharply the second you touch him. Then his hands are on you again. Touching like he physically can’t help it.
Your shirt snags briefly while he pulls it over your head one-handed before tossing it somewhere behind him without even looking.
His eyes move slowly across your skin afterward. “Christ,” he whispers quietly.
The way he says it sends heat straight through you.
Joel notices instantly.
That rough little smirk flickers again before something heavier replaces it.
His fingers brush lightly along your ribs before settling against your waist, thumbs hooking into your jeans and dragging them slowly down your legs. Cold air kisses exposed skin while rain taps softly against the windows outside.
“There she is,” Joel murmurs, voice low and wrecked as his hands settle against your thighs, holding you close. His kisses trailed to your neck and you gulped back a lustful sigh. He couldn’t know how much you were enjoying it. His fingers glided in between your folds, the vibrations already making you far too excited. He chuckled to himself, cupping you so your clit was between his fingers as he rubbed your heat. “She’s so fucking pretty and always ready for me,” he purred against your neck and you loved the excited rush his breath gave your skin. You yanked his hair pulling him back into another hungry kiss. His hands roamed your body, squeezing your soft spots, groping your ass, weaving his fingers through your hair, noting the places that made you squirm when he gave them attention.
You started to retort but your knees dipped when he inserted a finger. His other hand reached around your back to hold you up and you moaned when he started to pump his fingers deep inside of you. Your hands slide up into his curls while his mouth moves against yours with enough care now to make your knees weaker than the violence of the first kiss ever could.
Taxi lifts his head from the couch nearby, ears twitching as he watches both of you pressed together beside the piano.
Joel notices immediately.
“C’mon, buddy,” he mutters roughly without taking his eyes and fingers off you. “Give us five goddamn minutes.”
Taxi huffs loudly from the couch. You grin softly against Joel’s mouth. “He’s protective,” you murmur, breathless. “Kinda reminds me of somebody.”
“Yeah? Smart dog then.”
“Smartest one around, actually. Shame he ended up with an idiot owner.”
Joel’s mouth twitches immediately. “Make that two idiots,” he murmurs.
Taxi barks once from the couch like he’s agreeing. You laugh softly. Joel points toward the dog without looking away from you. “Alright, smartass. Turn around.” Taxi lets out a dramatic huff before very pointedly turning his back to both of you and flopping back down onto the couch.
“How the hell do you just disappear on me,” he murmurs rough against your lips, his long finger curling inside you, “and take that pretty laugh with you too, huh?” You latch onto him, digging your nails into his arm, he exhales softly against your mouth. “Damn near forgot what it sounded like.” The vibrations shake through your core and curl low in your stomach, where a terrible and wonderful sensation begins to build, pulling a broken moan from your throat. “Yeah,” he mutters low against your lips. “Missed that too.”
With a grunt, he pulls his fingers out of you, still wet with your arousal, and presses them to his lips, sucking hungrily, almost angrily.
Then suddenly you’re in his arms.
Joel lifts you easily and lays you back against the old couch, one large hand settling against your waist as he leans over you. “‘M about two seconds away from losin’ what’s left of my damn self-control here.” One large hand slides up your thigh slowly before his dark eyes lock onto yours again. “So open wide for me, darlin’.”
You obey and spread your legs while he gets rid of his boxers and settles between your thighs. He leans down again and kisses you deeply. You wrap one hand around his dripping cock and squeeze softly, and simply feeling the way your grip trembles makes him weak. He can feel you smile against his mouth.
He drags his tongue across your lip and spreads your legs wider with his palm. He nibbles gently on your bottom lip, and you moan, arching against him.
He presses his swollen tip against your slick pussy and tries to still the swirling darkness inside him; he wants you, and he’s going to have you now and forever.
Even still, he feels anger clawing at the edges of his lust: anger that you left him like that, that you almost died, that you were so ready to sacrifice yourself for him and didn’t give a damn about dying so fearlessly.
Against all reason, he wants to punish you because you still don’t fully understand how much you mean to him, and because you’ve turned your immunity into an advantage, risking your life as if it were nothing. But he pushes those thoughts out of his mind.
He presses his fingers to your clit and teases you, and you moan against him, wrapping your legs around his hips, trying to urge him further. Exhaling quickly against your lips, he buries himself inside you in one smooth, severe stroke, and you cry out. You are so wet that the suddenness of it doesn’t sting, but the insistent burn and stretch inside you makes you shiver. He pulls back slightly to look into your eyes. From the way he looks down at you—like you are small and helpless and beloved, all for him—the realization makes his heart beat hard against his ribs and arouses him even further.
His next thrust is even harsher, and you dig your nails into his shoulders and writhe against him, wordlessly meeting his challenge. He grins darkly at you and fucks you in earnest, and the sound of skin slapping against skin fills the old jazz bar. He grunts with each thrust like he is exorcising something strange and wild, and you find yourself clutching at him with a ferocity that surprises you. You move against each other like animals desperate for release, but as your orgasm approaches, you realize he has no intention of finishing yet, even though he is struggling to hold back. When you grow insistent and press firmly against him each time he withdraws, he shakes his head at you like you are an insolent child. You whine and scratch his back, and he bites your shoulder where it meets your neck.
The couch shifts hard enough to bump against the wall, drawing a long suffering sigh from Taxi somewhere nearby.
Neither of you can help laughing softly at that.
His gaze stops at your bra — the last piece still clinging to your body. He reaches with his large hand and unfastens it easily, grabbing your breasts possessively and burying his face between them.“Fuck, Joel, I’m—”
He crashes his mouth against yours before you can finish, swallowing the rest of your words as the kiss turns messy and desperate, teeth clashing briefly in the heat of it.
“I know, baby,” he murmurs roughly against your lips. “Jesus Christ… keep doin’ that and I ain’t gonna last.” He pulls back just enough to look at you before drawing you closer again, moving with a rhythm that grows rougher and more desperate the longer he kisses you. “Fuck… so goddamn tight, fuck, fuck. Feels too damn good.”
You scratch your nails down his back again as he finds that spot inside you once more. Joel sucks on your neck and uses the hand that isn’t holding yours to roughly pinch and twist your nipples.
“Right there,” you gasp softly, barely able to think anymore. “Joel… right there.”
He slams into you harder with every thrust, losing whatever control he had left the second he feels you falling apart beneath him.
Your moans break into desperate little sounds that only make him rougher, his forehead pressed against yours while he pushes his thick cock deep inside you. “That’s it,” he groans hoarsely. “Fuck, baby… just like that.” You cry out his name as pleasure crashes through you, your whole body trembling beneath him while your fingers clutch helplessly at his shoulders.
Joel watches you come apart with something almost feral in his expression, like the sight alone is enough to ruin him completely. “Jesus Christ,” he breathes shakily, gripping you tighter. “… gonna fuckin’ kill me one day.”
The way your walls squeeze him finally snaps the last thread holding him together, he grips the back of your head possessively and pulls you up into a searing kiss as he begins filling you up. His masculine groans are the sexiest sound you’ve ever heard—raw, rough, completely wrecked by you—and even if you hadn’t already been overwhelmed with pleasure, you know you’do anything just to hear them again.
By the time the both of you finally come down, exhaustion settles heavily into your bones. Your entire body still trembles from overstimulation, you feel him softening inside you, and without thinking, you cling closer to him — hooking one leg over his and wrapping an arm tightly around his waist while burying your face against his chest.
Joel lets out a tired breath and settles back against the couch with you tangled around him. One hand rests protectively over your arm while the other lazily twirls a strand of your hair around his finger. He presses a soft kiss to your forehead, finally realizing how sweaty and completely spent both of you are. “Kat,” he murmurs quietly, fingertips tracing slow patterns against your skin. The softness in his voice makes you shiver more than anything else tonight. “Y’know I love you, right?”
Your eyes flutter half-shut as you look up at him. “I know,” you whisper back, voice rough and sleepy. Your fingers trace lazily across his chest. “Love you too, old man.”
A small smile pulls at the corner of his mouth — soft enough that most people would miss it entirely. Then, reluctantly, Joel starts untangling himself from you.
“C’mon,” he mutters gently, brushing your hair back from your damp forehead. “Gotta clean you up before you pass out on me.”
Seattle, Day Three.
Joel wakes first. He doesn’t move right away. For a long moment he just lies there on the narrow couch with one arm wrapped tightly around your waist beneath the heavy wool blanket he’d found sometime during the night.
The thing had smelled like dust and old cedar when he shook it out upstairs near the storage room. Probably untouched for years. He remembers beating the hell out of it against the railing while muttering curses under his breath, trying to get enough dirt off it so you wouldn’t complain.
You still complained. Half asleep. Mumbling something about “old man nesting instincts.”
Joel almost smiles remembering it.
Now you sleep against his chest completely unaware, warm beneath the blanket, breathing slow and steady while Taxi snores softly nearby. Joel watches you quietly.
Your hair’s a mess. One cheek pressed against his shoulder. One leg tangled with his beneath the blanket. Peaceful. Too peaceful for somebody who spent the last several days fighting through Seattle like a damn one-woman apocalypse.
His fingers move carefully through your hair, brushing strands away from your face slowly enough not to wake you. Then his eyes drift downward.
And the softness in his expression changes immediately.
Bruises. Scratches. Old healing cuts layered beneath newer ones. Your shoulder carries a dark purple mark from rifle recoil, probably from firing that sniper nonstop for days. Your knuckles are split open in places. Another bruise blooms faintly along your ribs.
Joel’s jaw tightens quietly.
He’s seen bodies like this before. Survivors. People who lived too long outside walls. But seeing it on you feels different somehow. More personal. More infuriating.
His eyes stop at the bandage wrapped around your arm.
The bite.
Joel exhales slowly through his nose and looks back at your sleeping face. You were probably the strongest person he’d ever met. And that scared the hell out of him too.
He thinks about everything you survived before Jackson. Ten years outside. Fighting. Sleeping in ruins and abandoned cars and forests filled with infected. Your own father hunting you.
Your own father.
Joel still can’t wrap his mind around that part completely. His old man had been many things. Mean sometimes. Hard. But there had still been moments. A hand on the shoulder. A “good job, son.” Tiny things. Enough to know he’d been loved at least once growing up.
But you?
You learned young that love came with scalpels and cages and being hunted like an animal. And somehow you still came out capable of loving people anyway. Joel honestly doesn’t know how. Maybe he never will.
Taxi suddenly lets out a soft whine nearby. Joel glances over immediately. The shepherd lifts his head slightly from the floor, favoring his injured leg again.
“Hey,” Joel murmurs quietly. “Easy there.”
Carefully making sure not to wake you, Joel slips out from beneath the blanket and pulls his jeans back on before crouching beside Taxi.
“Lemme see it, boy.”
Taxi growls softly at first. Joel clicks his tongue.
“Shh. Relax, kiddo. Ain’t gonna hurt ya.”
Taxi grumbles dramatically anyway. Joel snorts quietly.
“Yeah, yeah. You sound just like her.”
The wound isn’t terrible. Bullet graze. Angry-looking but clean. Joel pulls out antiseptic and carefully spreads ointment across the injury. Taxi flinches once.
“There ya go.” Joel scratches behind his ears afterward. “You did good lookin’ after her.”
Taxi’s tail thumps once against the floorboards.
“Hell,” Joel mutters quietly, “somebody had to.”
Taxi barks once like he fully agrees.
Joel laughs softly under his breath. “Yeah, well. That stubbornness rubbed off on you too apparently.”
“That’s rich coming from you.”
Your sleepy voice makes Joel glance over immediately. You’re sitting upright now near the couch, pulling your shirt back on while watching both of them.
“Yeah?” Joel turns slightly toward you. “Dog’s almost as hardheaded as you are.” One corner of his mouth twitches faintly. “Guess crazy attracts crazy.”
You snort softly while stepping closer.
“How’s your arm?”
You notice immediately he avoids saying bite. Like the word itself pisses him off.
You flex your fingers carefully beneath the bandage. “Sore. Little throbbing. I’ll live.”
That does absolutely nothing for the look on Joel’s face.
“Lemme see.”
You hold your arm out without arguing this time. Joel unwraps the bandage slowly. His fingers shake slightly. You notice. He notices you noticing. Neither of you says anything about it.
The bite still looks ugly. Deep crescent punctures surrounded by bruising where the stalker’s jaw clamped down. But otherwise—
“No infection,” he mutters quietly, thumb brushing carefully near the wound. “No spreadin’. Nothin’.”
The awe in his voice almost sounds uncomfortable, like he’s rediscovering your immunity all over again.
You reach automatically for the knife lying nearby on the table. The second you angle it toward the bite— Joel catches your wrist hard.
“What’re you doin’?”
“If the mark’s still fresh, I can cut over it. Make it look like something else.”
Joel stares at you like you just suggested sawing your own arm off before immediately taking the knife away from you.
“You always this eager to carve yourself up?”
“It makes sense.”
He tosses the knife aside with a sharp look. “The bite’s deep enough already. Last thing you need’s an actual infection.”
You open your mouth to argue. Joel gives you a look. You close it again.
Satisfied, he starts rewrapping the bandage carefully before reaching into his bag and pulling out two cans of food.
“Eat somethin’.”
Your stomach betrays you instantly with a quiet growl. Joel hears it. Of course he does. A smug little look flashes across his face while he hands you the can.
“Knew it.”
You roll your eyes softly. “Don’t get cocky.”
Taxi suddenly perks up at the smell of food. Joel grabs another can from his bag, pops it open with his knife, and dumps the contents carefully onto a folded paper plate near the floor. “Found dog food near Seattle’s big ‘Fuck FEDRA’ gate.”
Taxi immediately starts eating.
You blink. “I checked there.”
Joel smirks slightly. “Yeah, well. Smuggler rule number one.” He settles back against the booth beside you. “There’s always another stash.”
You shake your head while eating a spoonful from your can.
“So…” you mutter thoughtfully between bites, “Joel Miller rescues us, patches us up, finds us shelter, feeds us…” Your eyes flick toward him. “Anything you can’t do?”
Joel looks at you over the rim of his coffee tin. “Convince you to come back to Jackson.”
“There it is,” you murmur.
“Damn right there it is.”
You stare down at your food for a second before quietly: “I can’t leave before this is finished.”
Joel exhales slowly through his nose. “Alright.” He nods once. “Then tell me the plan.”
You stare at him for a second like you’re waiting for the argument to come back. Joel shrugs one shoulder lightly.
“Pretty sure I could live another hundred damn years and still not win against that stubborn streak of yours.”
A faint tired smirk pulls at the corner of his mouth.
“So I figured the next best thing is stickin’ around long enough to stop you from gettin’ yourself killed.”
His eyes meet yours then— steady and serious beneath the exhaustion.
“And help you finish this.”
You set the can aside and reach quickly for your backpack.
“Okay so—”
Joel steals the rest of your food while you’re distracted.
You whip your head toward him in disbelief. “Seriously?”
“You were done.”
“I was thinking.”
“You think better fed.”
You glare at him while he takes another completely unapologetic bite. Joel looks deeply unbothered for exactly two seconds before your expression finally cracks into genuine annoyance.
Then, with a quiet sigh like he’s dealing with the world’s grumpiest stray cat, he reaches into his backpack again.
“Relax, darlin’.”
He pulls out another can and tosses it into your lap. “Got another one.”
You look down at the label and immediately snort softly.
It’s actually your favorite.
“Wow,” you tease while turning the can in your hands, “that’s, like… suspiciously boyfriend behavior from you, Joel Miller.”
Joel immediately stops eating. Slowly lowers the spoon. “Take it back.”
You grin instantly. “What? Boyfriend?”
He exhales hard through his nose, already looking irritated in that deeply familiar way that only makes this funnier.
The second you laugh, Joel grabs your wrist and suddenly pulls you toward him hard enough that you let out a surprised noise, the can nearly slipping from your hands as you end up sprawled across his lap.
“Joel—”
“Y’know,” he mutters while leaning closer, one arm locking securely around your waist before you can even think about escaping, “I still think tying your stubborn ass to the back of my horse and draggin’ you back to Jackson’s a solid plan.”
“Wow.” You shake your head, grinning. “There’s the romance.”
Joel shakes his head under his breath before leaning closer suddenly, brushing a quick kiss against the tip of your nose.
“Romance,” he murmurs low while pulling back just slightly, “comes after we get your stubborn ass back to Jackson alive.”
“Deal,” you whisper.
Joel studies your face for another second like he’s trying to memorize it all over again before finally letting you slide reluctantly off his lap.
You settle back beside him while Joel reaches over to open your canned food for you. You lean forward and dig through your backpack before pulling out the stolen WLF radio.
“Let’s see what Seattle’s assholes are up to today.”
Joel’s entire posture sharpens instantly the second he sees it in your hands.
You twist the dial slowly. Static crackles loudly through the jazz bar.
“…patrol…” hissssss “…copy…” More static. You adjust it again. “…doctor…” You turn the dial carefully. The signal clears. “…repeat, Doctor Clouser’s requested package has been transferred to the hospital facility.”
Your stomach tightens instantly. Joel’s eyes lock onto yours.
Another voice answers through static: “Copy that, Ed. Use Route Six on your return. Scar activity’s spreadin’ east— avoid conflict if possible. And keep the lower quarantine level sealed. Doctor says nobody enters without clearance after last night’s incident.”
You and Joel stare at each other.
Hospital.
Confirmed.
The streets around the hospital feel dead in the wrong way. You move beside Joel through flooded streets littered with shell casings, broken arrows, and bodies left where they fell. WLF soldiers. Seraphites. Some so torn apart by infected it’s impossible to tell which side they belonged to anymore.
Taxi walks ahead quietly now, ears twitching at every distant sound.
The city smells like wet concrete, blood, mold, and smoke.
Joel keeps his rifle raised while both of you move through the remains of another firefight. A burned-out military truck still smolders near the curb, its doors covered in bullet holes and dried blood.
One entire wall nearby is painted black with huge dripping letters:
FEEL HER LOVE.
The words stretch across the brick wall in massive white paint, dripping down the rain-soaked surface beneath crude Seraphite symbols carved deep into the concrete.
But someone answered it.
Down near the corner of the wall, sprayed violently in black paint over dried blood splatter, another message cuts across the white letters:
FEEL THIS, BITCH.
Below it, bodies are piled carelessly against the wall.
Seraphites.
You recognize them instantly from the rough dark cloaks hanging from torn limbs and rain-soaked rope belts still tied around waists. Some still clutch hammers and crude blades in stiff dead hands.
The blood beneath them hasn’t fully washed away yet. Fresh enough that the rain still carries thin red streams slowly down the curb nearby.
Your stomach twists slightly.
“Those whistling assholes,” you mutter quietly while stepping around shattered glass and blood pooling near the curb. “Saw ’em gutting Wolves yesterday. Creepy fuckers.”
Joel studies the hanging bodies for another second, jaw tightening slightly.
“Yeah,” he mutters darkly. “Spent twenty years thinkin’ I’d already seen every kinda fucked up thing this world could turn people into.”
You glance back toward the wall covered in blood and hanging corpses. “Then Seattle said hold my beer.”
Joel actually laughs under his breath at that.
Low. Brief. Real.
Then his expression hardens again as he scans the street ahead.
“Everyone’s killin’ everybody,” he mutters. “Wolves, Scars… whole damn city’s at war.” His grip tightens slightly around the rifle. “Means we keep our heads down if we wanna make it to that hospital alive.”
You glance toward the massive building looming farther ahead between flooded streets and collapsed apartments. “Front entrance probably crawling with Wolves anyway.”
“Yeah.” Joel immediately turns away from the open street. “Too exposed.”
He gestures with the rifle toward a row of half-collapsed buildings running parallel to the hospital district.
“We circle around. Stay off the main roads. Maintenance tunnels, supply docks, rooftops… there’s always another way in.”
You nod once and pull your hood lower against the rain.
Taxi falls quietly into step beside both of you as you disappear deeper into the ruined side streets surrounding the hospital.
The hospital finally comes fully into view between buildings ahead.
Massive.
Concrete gray against the dark sky.
Floodlights glow faintly near the lower levels while fog drifts around upper floors. So close now.
Your hand automatically drops to the revolver holstered at your side.
Your thumb brushes the worn grip while you pull the cylinder open and reload quietly.
“Joel.”
“Hm?”
You hesitate.
Which already tells him this matters.
Rain drips softly from broken signs overhead while Taxi pauses ahead to sniff cautiously near abandoned cars.
You finally look at Joel. “I know leavin’ was selfish.”
Joel stills slightly but says nothing.
You swallow once. “It wasn’t just for me.” His eyes lift fully now. “It was for us.”
The words feel strange out loud. Too vulnerable. Too honest. You look back down at the revolver while continuing quietly: “You and me. Future Days and all that shit.” A weak breath escapes you. “Before Jackson I never even let myself imagine havin’ somethin’ like that. Then I met you and suddenly…”
Joel’s mouth slowly curves into the faintest smug smile. “Suddenly what, darlin’?”
You roll your eyes instantly. “Don’t--”
Joel’s grin grows slightly. “C’mon now. Wanna hear this part.”
You glare at him briefly. Then finally sigh.
“…I fell in love with you, alright?” you mutter. “There. Happy?”
Joel looks devastatingly pleased with himself. “Little bit.”
You shake your head while fighting a smile. Then your expression softens again. “I just wanted peace for once.” Your thumb traces the revolver grip absently. “Wanted somethin’ that actually belonged to me.”
Joel watches you quietly for a long moment. Then he lowers his rifle and steps closer. “C’mere.”
Before you can react, one arm hooks around your waist and pulls you firmly against him. The revolver remains loosely in your hand while Joel wraps both arms around you tightly beneath your jacket.
“I know,” he murmurs against your hair. Joel pulls back just enough to look down at you. “But Christ, baby…” His thumb brushes your cheek. “Wish you hadn’t disappeared after I told you I’d help.”
Guilt flickers sharply through your stomach. “I know. When we get back,” you whisper softly, “I’ll fix your heart.”
Joel snorts. “Baby, you got yourself one hell of a fixer-upper.”
“Maybe you can teach me."
Joel raises an eyebrow slightly. “Teach you what?”
“How to fix old things. Worked pretty well with the guitar.”
“Yeah?” he murmurs low. “Guess you’re a fast learner.”
"Fuck yeah, I am."
Your chest hurts from loving him.
And that realization terrifies you a little.
Joel squeezes your waist once before both of you continue moving again toward the hospital.
Closer now.
Too close.
The streets gradually grow quieter the farther you go.
No patrols. No distant shouting. No gunfire. Nothing.
Joel slows first. You feel it too. The wrongness.
You glance toward him. “…You feel that?”
Joel nods once slowly. “Too quiet.” His grip tightens slightly around the rifle. “Don’t like it.”
Neither do you.
According to the radio traffic earlier, the area around the hospital should’ve been crawling with Wolves.
Instead the streets feel abandoned.
“We keep goin’ straight, we’re too exposed."
His eyes move toward the buildings lining the side streets near the hospital perimeter. “We circle around back first. Figure out where they got people stationed before we get anywhere near that place.”
You nod, but Taxi suddenly growls low.
Joel immediately raises the rifle scope. “Runner.” He points slightly right. “Two of ‘em.”
You spot movement on the left side too. "There’s more over there.”
Taxi suddenly bolts forward. “No— Taxi, wait!”
The shepherd ignores you completely and charges ahead.
You immediately move after him.
Joel grabs your arm hard. “Kat— stop!”
“What—”
“Trap.”
Your eyes drop instantly. Thin wire stretches low across the street between two wrecked cars.
Shit.
A runner slams into it first.
BOOM.
The explosion detonates loud enough to shake nearby windows.
Fire and smoke erupt across the street while the infected body tears apart midair. Taxi yelps painfully as the shockwave throws him sideways onto wet pavement. “Taxi!" You rip free from Joel immediately. “NO!”
Joel curses sharply behind you.
Gunfire erupts the second you move. Not one shot.
Several.
“NOW!” someone yells from somewhere above.
Fuck.
Bullets slam into the pavement around your feet. Too close. Too precise.
Joel fires back instantly. “Kat, NO!”
But you’re already sliding across the pavement toward Taxi.
The dog whines sharply on the ground, dazed and limping. “I got you,” you breathe quickly while reaching for him.
More gunfire cracks overhead.
But then—
You realize something. They aren’t aiming at you. Every bullet hits beside you.
Near your boots. Not kill shots.
Joel notices too immediately from behind cover. “What the fuck…”
Taxi struggles weakly beneath your hands while you kneel exposed in the middle of the street.
Then a voice cuts through the chaos.
Your real name. The name almost nobody alive still knows. You freeze.
Cold spreads through your chest instantly.
Only two people ever called you that anymore.
Slowly—
You turn.
Figures emerge near the hospital barricades ahead beneath floodlights.
Armed Wolves surrounding them.
And there—
Him.
Even from this distance you’d know that face anywhere.
The same calm eyes. The same awful smile. Your stomach drops violently. “we were expecting you." he said "we" like.. pointedly…
The world narrows instantly.
Then you see another figure beside him.
Bruised. Restrained. Gun pressed against his head.
William.
Your breath leaves your lungs. “…William.”
Joel’s expression changes immediately the second he understands.
This wasn’t coincidence. This wasn’t random. They were waiting.
“Drop your weapon!” another Wolf shouts.
Clouser smiles wider.
“You came all this way for him, didn’t you?” His hand tightens against William’s shoulder possessively. “See? Here he is.”
William’s eyes meet yours from across the street.
And suddenly for one horrible second you feel like you were little girl again.
“Come now, sweetheart,” Clouser calls smoothly. “Wouldn’t want him dying before your reunion.”
Joel’s rifle rises instantly.
“Kat,” he says sharply. “Get your ass back here. I’ll cover you.”
But you barely hear him anymore. Your heartbeat pounds too loud.
William.
Alive.
Your eyes flick toward Taxi lying injured beside you.
Then toward Joel behind cover.
Then back toward Clouser.
One shot. That’s all it would take. You’ve made harder shots before. Much harder. Your hand slowly drifts toward the revolver at your back.
Joel sees it instantly. His expression changes immediately. “No.”
You barely hear him.
The world tunnels.
One target. One bullet. One chance.
You draw the revolver in one impossibly fast motion and fire.
BANG.
The bullet tears straight through Clouser’s head—
Or almost.
The shot hits the side of his skull violently, ripping through his ear and grazing along his temple instead of killing him outright.
Blood sprays.
Clouser collapses sideways screaming.
Chaos erupts instantly.
You almost laugh from the sheer rush of seeing him finally bleed—
Then another shot slams through your shoulder hard enough to spin you backward onto the pavement.
Pain explodes white-hot across your body.
Joel’s voice roars somewhere distant.
Gunfire erupts everywhere now.
Joel immediately returns fire from cover, dropping one Wolf before being forced back behind concrete barriers under heavy fire.
But even through the pain he sees you move.
Still alive. Still conscious. Thank God.
Clouser screams furiously from the ground while Wolves scramble around him.
“STOP SHOOTING, YOU FUCKING IDIOTS!” Blood pours down the side of his face while medics drag him partially upright. “WE NEED HER ALIVE!”
Your revolver skids across wet pavement out of reach.
You lunge for it—
Too slow.
Three Wolves hit you at once.
You slam one in the stomach with your elbow hard enough to fold him in half before kicking another directly off you.
But there are too many.
Hands grab your wrists.
Your legs.
One Wolf twists your injured shoulder hard enough to force a cry from your throat.
Joel immediately rises again from cover. “GET THE FUCK OFF HER!”
He drops another Wolf with a headshot before bullets force him back again.
Taxi snarls viciously from the ground, dragging himself toward you despite the pain tearing through his injured leg.
“Hold her down!”
A Wolf slams your arms painfully behind your back while another drives your knees hard into the pavement.
Zip ties cinch brutally tight around your wrists.
You fight anyway.
Thrashing. Kicking. Spitting curses through gritted teeth while they struggle to pin you properly.
One soldier catches your boot directly across the face with a sharp crack.
“Fuck—!”
“Hold her still!”
“Watch her hands!”
Too fast.
You waited too long.Should’ve moved faster.Should’ve had a better plan.
Then rough hands yank you violently upright.
Your boots drag through rainwater while Wolves force you across the flooded street toward him.
Clouser’s eyes finally shift toward you.
A faint smile twists across his mouth.
Blood runs down the side of his face while rainwater drips steadily from his ruined coat.
“…There she is.”
Your stomach turns violently.
“All those years hiding,” he murmurs.
His eyes drag slowly over your face.
“Just to walk yourself right back where you belong."
“Fuck you!” You lunge toward him instantly.
The Wolves wrench you back hard enough pain tears through your shoulders.
“Easy!”
“Hold her!”
Clouser barely reacts.
“Take her inside.”
“No!” You twist violently again, panic flashing hotter now the second you realize what that means. “Get the fuck off me!”
Then your eyes snap past them.
“Joel!”
Clouser pauses.
His expression shifts slightly at the name.
Slowly, his eyes drift past you toward the gunfire beyond the barricades.
Toward Joel.
Joel sees only you. “Kat!”
And something inside him snaps completely.
He rises from cover without hesitation and opens fire again. One Wolf drops instantly. Another barely ducks behind a barricade before bullets rip apart the concrete beside his head.
But there are too many.
Gunfire explodes from three directions at once, forcing him back behind the ruined ambulance near the curb.
Taxi barks frantically through the chaos, still trying to crawl toward you.
Joel tries again anyway.
Of course he does.
The second he breaks cover, two Wolves rush him from the side. One slams into his ribs hard enough to drive him sideways into the wall while another hooks his rifle away violently.
Joel elbows the first man directly in the throat.
The second gets his nose shattered against Joel’s forehead.
Then another Wolf grabs him from behind—
Joel throws him over his shoulder hard enough to crack concrete—
But someone finally jams a rifle against the back of his knee.
“DOWN!”
The shot doesn’t fire.
Instead the force behind it kicks Joel’s leg out from under him and drives him heavily onto one knee.
Three rifles snap toward his head instantly.
One pressed directly against his temple.
Joel’s chest heaves violently as rain pours down his face.
Still fighting.
Still trying to look past them toward you.
“Taxi!” he shouts hoarsely.
The shepherd answers with another desperate bark somewhere nearby.
One Wolf glances toward the injured dog lying near the street.
“You want me to kill it?” he asks coldly.
Clouser presses a blood-soaked cloth tighter against the ruined side of his head while staggering closer through the rain.
“Leave it,” he rasps. “Thing’s practically dead already.”
Taxi growls weakly anyway.
Joel’s entire body tenses violently at the words.
Then Clouser finally stops in front of him.
Really looks at him.
Recognition flickers slowly across his face beneath the blood.
“…Well.”
Rain drips steadily from his chin while he studies Joel almost curiously.
“You’re Joel Miller.”
Joel says nothing. His jaw clenches hard enough to twitch.
Clouser lets out a faint disbelieving laugh through the pain.
“Hm.” He shakes his head slightly. “Funny.”
His ruined ear leaves blood running down his neck.
“All this way…” His eyes darken. “Just to walk into your own execution.”
Joel barely even processes the words.
Doesn’t care.
The only thing he’s still looking for is you.
One of the Wolves glances toward Clouser questioningly.
Clouser gives a small nod.
“If you touch her, I swear to God I’ll—”
The rifle butt slams violently into the side of Joel’s head. Pain explodes white behind his eyes.
Darkness swallows the rest of the sentence whole.
please don't forget that your thoughts and feelings about this story matter deeply to me so please share them with me. Thank you for being here. 💋
angel this chapter had me sooo emotional, kat and taxi wandering around together like their own little dangerous duo but she was missng Joel all the time absolutely broke my heart 🥺 and joel showing up in that scene and saving her ugh! I was literally holding my breath, the arguments, the angry confession, all that tension finally exploding between them into delicious smut… god it was so good 🥵😩 but that ending really scared me a please let them be okay 😭 love love love your brain!
series masterlist . previous chapter. next chapter
Lesson 18
Summary: Problem #1: Harry’s proposal came when you least expected it. Problem #2: Your answer definitely wasn’t what he expected either. Solution: still under negotiation.
Warnings and WC: 13.8k ⚠️ 18+ SMUT/EXPLICIT CONTENT/ MDNI kissing, morning sex, oral sex -f- receiving, pregnant & soft & possessive sex, pregnancy, dirty talk, praise kink, fingering, multiple positions, mutual orgasm, Harry goes down on Reader while she’s on a work call, soft smut, aggressive oral fixation, cum eating, body worshipping, teasing, heavy sexual tension, established relationship, exes to lovers, nipple play, creampie, high-risk pregnancy mention, overprotective daddy-to-be!Harry, possessive romance, billionaire romance, rich people problems, upper east side drama, John is back, elite Manhattan society, jealousy, corporate politics, healing journey, family dynamics, emotional vulnerability, domestic fluff, romantic tension, Pedro Pascal mention, Ron is a Pedro Pascal fan apparently, banter, humor, old money aesthetics, love vs logic, soft Harry hours, overprotective husband energy, emotionally repressed man in love, rom-com vibes. OC Characters (Ron=Harry’s assistant, Emily=Reader's bestie, Chloe=Reader's elite friend, Mikey=Readers brother Scarlet&Richard=Reader's parents, Yuliana=Reader's maid, Vivienne=Harry's mother, Sienna=Harry's sister, Dana=Reader's EA (Executive Assistant), Eloise=Harry’s Grandmother.)
authors note: Sorry for the delay babies… My eyes were absolutely killing me for the past few days, but they’re finally doing a little better now. I really hope you enjoy this chapter. And please forgive any mistakes — I literally wrote parts of this wearing sunglasses because staring at the screen was hurting my eyes too much, lol🕶️ love you all💋
• The Song: Say Yes to Heaven by Lana Del Rey
Love Is Never Logical
Tribeca.
Monday - 8:32 a.m.
“Marry me,” Harry murmured against your lips.
Sleep still clung to you in soft fragments, your mind slow to catch up as warmth pressed around you from every side. For a second, all you registered was him.
Your lashes fluttered open slowly and there he was, leaning over you beneath the pale morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom. His hair was slightly messy from sleep, dark curls falling carelessly onto his forehead, his jaw still rough with the beginnings of stubble. Bare. Warm. One arm braced beside your head while the other stayed wrapped around your waist beneath the sheets, like even in sleep he hadn’t risked letting you drift too far away.
His mouth brushed yours again, warm and slow, carrying traces of whiskey from last night mixed with his cologne and yours still lingering faintly on his skin. Beneath it all was the unmistakable scent of sex still clinging to both of you — slept-in sheets, bare skin, sweat, tangled limbs, and hours spent wrapped around each other instead of sleeping.
Your breath caught softly against his lips, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.
“Mm… good morning to you too, handsome,” you murmured sleepily, stretching slightly beneath him.
Harry’s eyes softened instantly at the sound of your voice. “Marry me,” he repeated, lower this time, his lips leaving yours to press slow kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck.
You let out a quiet breath at the sensation, fingers sliding lazily into his hair. “You’re very persistent this morning, Mr. Castillo.”
“Consistent,” he corrected smugly against your skin.
His mouth drifted lower, brushing over your collarbone now, lingering there just long enough to make your breathing deepen. You felt his smile against your skin when a small sigh escaped you.
You laughed softly under your breath. “Consistently trying to manipulate me while I’m half asleep, apparently.”
Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Worth trying.” His hand slid slowly along your bare thigh, his warm palm smoothing over soft skin as he pulled you closer against his naked body beneath the sheets, like there hadn’t been a single moment during the night where he hadn’t needed to touch you somehow. The lingering warmth between your thighs made you shift slightly, still sticky and oversensitive from hours earlier, the feeling clinging to your skin with every small movement beneath the blankets. Sleep still fogged your mind, but the faint reminder of him left against your body made your cheeks warm as you tucked yourself closer into his chest.
“Manipulation before breakfast. Impressive.”
“I prefer strategic persistence.”
Your stomach tightened instantly. “Harry,” you murmured, finally opening your eyes properly now.
Your hand pressed lightly against his chest, trying to push him back enough to look at him, but the moment his hand settled higher against your thigh, your breath caught again.
“Not wearing the ring yet is not the same thing as rejecting you.”
A slow smile pulled at his mouth. “Still sounded suspiciously close to rejection.”
You rolled your eyes lightly, fingers brushing through his curls before your gaze flicked toward the digital clock sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. “You proposed less than ten hours ago.”
“And I’m already prepared to ask again,” he murmured against your jaw. A kiss. “Repeatedly.” Another. “Until you say…” Then another, on the lips. “…yes.”
You laughed softly into the kiss this time, your arms slipping around his neck as you finally gave up trying to resist him entirely, letting yourself melt back into the sheets beneath him.
Eight hours earlier…
The Vestry— 8:17 p.m.
The Vestry had never looked like this before.
The restaurant still breathed with its usual elegance—low golden lighting, dark polished wood, the distant clink of crystal and silver somewhere far from the private section hidden deeper inside—but tonight, everything near your table had been transformed into something quieter. More intimate.
Every surrounding table had been cleared for the evening. Reserved. Untouched.
Deep red peonies bloomed across the room in low arrangements surrounded by candlelight, their petals scattered carefully along the dark floor leading toward the center table like someone had spent hours making sure every detail felt intentional.
And someone had.
Harry stood near the table in a black suit he very clearly had not worn all day. Everything about him looked deliberate tonight.
The sharp lines of the tailored jacket. The crisp black shirt beneath. The silver watch at his wrist. Even his curls had been styled back more carefully than usual, though a few strands had already fallen loose again from how many times he’d dragged his hand through them in the last twenty minutes alone.
Because Harry Castillo— was nervous. Actually nervous.
The small velvet ring box rested in his hand while he stared at it for what was probably the hundredth time tonight.
That ring.
Fresh from Harry Winston after being professionally restored only days ago, the diamond caught the candlelight in violent flashes every time he moved it.
Harry turned the ring slowly between his fingers, quiet for a moment as he imagined it where it belonged.
Back on your hand.
A faint smile pulled at his mouth before he could stop it.
Around him, the staff moved carefully, attentively, adjusting candles, straightening glasses, checking the flowers for what was probably the tenth time tonight. The Vestry had always treated the two of you differently. It was where you first met, where your first dinner turned into something neither of you had managed to walk away from afterward. Everyone here knew that.
And everyone in Manhattan knew Harry Castillo.
Some of the staff had watched your first marriage unfold in real time from these very tables. Some remembered the nights Harry used to come here alone after the divorce, sitting at the same table for hours with a whiskey in front of him he barely touched.
So the second the private reservations came in tonight, whispers had spread through the restaurant almost instantly.
Mr. Castillo is proposing again.
Which explained why every single detail tonight had been handled with almost ridiculous care. The red peonies. The candles. The completely cleared section of the restaurant surrounding your table. Even the musicians near the bar had been quietly instructed to hold At Last until the exact moment you arrived.
A few lingering guests near the main dining area had started noticing the atmosphere, especially the women openly watching Harry with varying levels of envy and emotional investment.
Because unfortunately for everyone involved— he looked devastating tonight.
One of the managers approached carefully.
“Mr. Castillo, the wine pairing has been prepared and the kitchen is ready whenever you are.”
Harry nodded once. “Thanks.”
“The flowers were refreshed twenty minutes ago as requested.”
Another nod.
“And the musicians have your timing.”
“Perfect.”
The manager smiled knowingly before stepping away again.
Harry exhaled slowly and pulled out his phone. Ron picked up almost immediately.
“Well?” Harry asked.
“She just left,” Ron said proudly. “Dana confirmed it herself.”
Harry’s stomach tightened instantly. “She’s on her way?”
“She’s on her way.”
Ron paused. Then—
“You okay?”
Harry looked down at the ring again. “…no.”
“Boss, relax. She’s going to say yes.”
“You sound very confident about that.”
“You’re wearing that suit. At this point saying no would qualify as a felony in at least three states.”
Harry laughed at that, then, before he could answer, one of the servers approached him quickly.
“Mr. Castillo,” he said softly, unable to hide his smile, “Ms. Queen just arrived.”
Everything inside Harry seemed to stop.
Then immediately start all over again twice as hard. His pulse slammed against his ribs. He swallowed. Adjusted his cuff. Straightened his jacket unnecessarily.
The server discreetly disappeared again while Harry reached for one of the untouched glasses of water on the table, taking a slow sip just to give his hands something to do besides shake.
Then— he turned toward the entrance.
And there you were.
The moment you stepped inside, the entire room seemed to narrow around you automatically.
The hostess greeted you softly while another employee carefully took your coat, but your attention had already drifted past them into the restaurant itself.
At first, all you noticed were the empty tables. The flowers. The candlelight. The scattered crimson petals across the floor.
Then your eyes lifted further.
And found him.
Harry stood waiting near the center table, one hand resting loosely near his pocket, the black suit fitting him so perfectly it almost knocked the breath from your lungs entirely.
No. Not almost. It did.
For one suspended second, you genuinely forgot how to breathe.
He looked— more handsome than you remembered. More handsome than your wedding day somehow.
And nervous.
That part hit you hardest.
His smile widened the second your eyes met, something vulnerable flickering behind all that composure so briefly most people would’ve missed it completely.
But you never missed things when it came to him.
Soft jazz drifted through the room around you.
At Last.
Without thinking, you started walking toward him. Drawn. Like your body already knew where it belonged.
Harry didn’t move either.
He just watched you approach him slowly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made the entire room disappear piece by piece until it felt like only the two of you still existed inside it.
You stopped inches away from him. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to smell the faint cedar and amber of his cologne.
Your lips parted slightly, but your thoughts had stopped functioning somewhere halfway across the restaurant.
“Harry…”
Your eyes flicked around the room once more before returning to him helplessly.
Harry smiled crookedly.
God. That smile.
“Welcome, baby.”
His voice gave him away immediately. Harry tilted his head slightly, wetting his lips once before extending one hand toward you.
“I’ve been waiting for you.”
You automatically placed your hand in his.
His fingers closed around yours instantly before he lifted your hand and pressed a soft kiss against your knuckles.
And suddenly— you understood.
Really understood.
All of it.
The flowers. The empty room. The music. The way he looked at you.
Your heart climbed straight into your throat. Your eyes burned almost immediately, emotion crashing into you so fast it nearly made you dizzy. A small part of you—the part that still hated losing control, hated surprises, hated not being emotionally prepared—tried to panic for half a second.
But Harry’s thumb brushed slowly over your hand. And the panic disappeared beneath something louder. Something warmer.
Harry took one slow breath. Then another. Like he was steadying himself.
Finally— without letting go of your hand— he lowered himself onto one knee.
Your breath caught completely.
This felt nothing like the first proposal.
That one had been impulsive. Reckless. Like the two of you had collided into something inevitable too fast to stop yourselves from falling into it.
But this— this had been chosen. Thought about. Planned carefully. Earned through every mistake, every heartbreak, every impossible road that somehow led you back to each other anyway. Built carefully piece by piece by someone who knew exactly what this moment meant.
And because you knew him so well, you could see every emotion fighting behind his eyes all at once.
Hope. Fear. Love.
And something unbearably vulnerable underneath all of it.
Harry lifted your hand again, pressing another kiss against your skin before finally speaking.
“My love…”
Your tears spilled instantly at the way he said it.
“I wanted to do this here,” he said softly, glancing briefly around the restaurant. “At the place where I first held your hand. Where we had our very first dinner.” His gaze returned to yours. “It didn’t feel right anywhere else.”
Your lips trembled.
Harry smiled gently when you nodded through your tears.
Then he inhaled deeply and reached into his jacket pocket.
The moment you saw the black velvet box— your heart stopped.
Harry opened it carefully.
And there it was.
The same ring. The same one he had proposed with seven years ago. The same ring you wore for two years. The same ring you placed back into his hand on the courthouse steps the day your marriage ended.
The same ring he had apparently kept through every year apart.
Every what if. Every almost. Every version of losing you.
But now— it somehow looked different.
Not because the diamond had been restored.
Because you had.
Your vision blurred completely.
“Harry you--” you whispered shakily.
“Wait,” he said softly, smiling through his own emotion now. “Please let me ask properly.”
You nodded immediately despite the tears slipping endlessly down your cheeks.
Because suddenly you realized— he had probably spent all night thinking about this moment.
Harry looked at you for a long second before speaking again.
“Do you remember what I said the first time I asked you?”
You didn’t even have to think.
“‘I feel like I found something everyone spends their whole life looking for.’”
Your voice broke halfway through repeating the words.
The memory hit both of you instantly.
Harry smiled softly.
“When we... lost each other…” he admitted quietly, “I thought I lost that too.”
Your face crumpled immediately.
“Harry…”
He shook his head gently before you could stop him.
“But somehow…” His eyes held yours completely now. “Years later, you still chose me again.”
A tear slipped down his cheek this time too.
“You have no idea how lucky that makes me feel.”
Your hand covered your mouth as another sob escaped you.
Harry looked down briefly at the ring before lifting his gaze back to yours one final time. Completely open. Completely in love.
He held the ring toward you carefully.
“Will you marry me again, baby?”
Your hand covered your mouth as another shaky breath left you. Tears blurred your vision so badly you could barely see him anymore.
Harry stayed there in front of you, still holding the ring carefully between his fingers, his eyes locked on yours with so much hope it almost hurt to look at him.
For a second— you couldn’t speak.
Your heart was screaming yes.
God.
Every part of you wanted to say yes. Right now. Immediately.
But another feeling crashed into it just as hard.
Fear.
Not of him. Never him.
Of everything else.
Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first.
Harry’s smile faltered only slightly. Just enough for you to notice.
“Baby…” he said softly after a moment, his voice careful now. “Talk to me.”
You shook your head quickly, tears slipping down your cheeks.
“Harry…” You pressed a hand against your chest helplessly. “This is… this is everything.”
The tension in his face loosened a fraction.
But only a fraction.
“I...” you whispered instantly. “I love you. Harry, I love you so much.”
“Then say yes.”
You let out another uneven breath, looking down briefly as you tried to steady your thoughts enough to speak.
Harry waited.
Silent now.
Watching you carefully.
Still kneeling.
Still holding the ring.
Like he would’ve stayed there all night if that’s what you needed.
And slowly— the hope in his expression began to shift into something quieter.
“…is it the ring?”
You blinked. “What?”
A faint, almost teasing smile pulled weakly at the corner of his mouth despite the hurt still sitting underneath it.
“Did I make a mistake not getting a new one?”
“Harry, no,” you sighed. “Of course not.”
His thumb brushed slowly against your hand.
“Then what is it?” he asked gently.
“Because I don’t want this to happen in the middle of chaos,” you whispered.
Harry’s mouth twitched faintly despite the disappointment still lingering there.
“Baby,” he murmured softly, “our entire relationship has been chaos.”
“Exactly,” you sniffled. “And look how that turned out for us the first time.”
Somewhere behind you, a tray of untouched champagne glasses shifted softly.
The staff had still been waiting. Watching carefully from a respectful distance near the back of the private room, all clearly expecting the moment the ring slipped onto your finger.
A few of the younger servers had started leaning forward slightly, curiosity getting the better of them the longer the two of you stayed there talking quietly instead of celebrating.
The manager immediately shot them a look.
The staff scattered subtly after that, pretending very hard not to be emotionally invested while absolutely being emotionally invested.
You bent down, your hands finding his jaw gently as you pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. Then another against his lips.
Harry closed his eyes briefly at the contact.
“Don’t do that,” you murmured softly against his mouth. “Don’t look so heartbroken.”
A quiet laugh escaped him despite himself, eyes glassy now too.
“How exactly am I supposed to look right now, baby?”
Your chest tightened painfully.
You brushed your thumb gently beneath his eye before kissing him once more.
Then softer—
“Come here,” you whispered softly. “Let’s sit down and eat something while we talk, okay? I’m sttarving.”
A tiny smile pulled at your mouth through the tears.
“Apparently I’m eating for three now.”
That finally made Harry smile properly.
You took his hand carefully, helping him back to his feet.
The second he stood fully again, he pressed his lips together briefly, the faintest pout pulling at the corner of his mouth despite himself.
It was subtle. Small.
But devastatingly obvious to you anyway.
Your chest ached instantly.
“Harry…”
“I’m okay.”
Which unfortunately sounded very much like he was not okay at all.
You let out the smallest laugh through your tears and reached for his hand again before he could retreat further into himself.
“Harry, listen to me.”
He looked up quietly.
“Okay, look…” You glanced around the room helplessly. The candles. The flowers. The music still playing softly somewhere behind you. “This is beautiful.”
Your voice softened immediately.
“No, actually, it’s more than beautiful. I swear, I couldn’t have imagined something this perfect.”
Harry stayed quiet.
You squeezed his hand gently.
“And thank you,” you whispered honestly. “For all of this.”
Some of the tension in his shoulders eased slightly at that.
“But…” You exhaled shakily. “You deserve an explanation.”
Harry’s eyes stayed locked on yours.
“And if I say yes… if we get engaged again…” You shook your head slightly. “I need it to feel right this time.”
A quiet silence settled between you before you continued.
“Our lives are already constantly in front of cameras, Harry. Every relationship headline turns into a business headline too.”
You swallowed softly.
“And now with the company barely stabilizing after the scandal…”
Harry’s jaw tightened slightly.
“The board’s watching every move I make right now,” you continued quietly. “I just became executive chair. Investors are nervous. The press practically lives outside my building.”
You let out a weak breath.
“If we announce another engagement now, it becomes another spectacle. Another distraction. Another thing people use against us.”
“Baby,” Harry said softly, “the company is not more important than us.”
“I know it’s not.” Your voice caught slightly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”
You stepped closer again.
“I’m saying this matters too much for me to let it become part of all that noise.”
That landed.
You saw it immediately in his face.
Not anger. Not frustration.
Just hurt.
Quiet hurt.
“And now we’re having twins,” you whispered shakily. “Everything in my life changed overnight again.”
A weak laugh escaped you through the emotion.
“Which apparently is very on brand for us.”
That finally pulled the faintest breath of amusement from him.
But your eyes filled again almost immediately.
“I just got you back, Harry.” Your fingers tightened around his hand. “And I’m terrified of something ruining this again before we even get the chance to really live it.”
Harry swallowed once before speaking quietly.
“You think marrying me ruins this?”
“No,” you answered instantly, stepping closer again. “God, no.”
Your free hand moved gently against his chest.
“I’m saying this matters too much.”
The honesty in your voice softened something in his expression immediately.
“I’m happy,” you admitted shakily. “Too happy, actually.”
A weak laugh escaped you.
“That’s what scares me.”
Silence settled softly between you again.
Jazz music drifted through the restaurant quietly behind you while candlelight flickered against the empty tables around you.
Harry looked down briefly at the ring still sitting in his hand before lifting his eyes back to yours.
“You’re not saying no,” he said softly.
Your answer came immediately.
“No.”
Relief flickered across his face so fast it almost hurt to look at.
You stepped even closer then, your voice gentler now.
“I want you to ask me again.”
Harry’s brows lifted slightly.
“When all of this settles down a little,” you whispered. “When I can actually breathe long enough to enjoy it properly.”
Your eyes dropped briefly toward the ring.
“Because when I wear that ring again…” Your throat tightened softly. “I don’t want it to feel tied to scandals or headlines or board meetings.”
You looked back up at him.
“I just want it to mean you and me.”
Harry stared at you quietly.
So you smiled through your tears and squeezed his hand again.
“So…” Your voice softened almost shyly now. “Give me a little more time.”
A tiny smile pulled weakly at your mouth.
“Then ask me again.”
Back to now.
Honestly, you still weren’t entirely sure how you had ended up back in his bed after not saying yes the night before.
Not that you regretted it.
Because, in your defense— Harry had looked unfairly good last night.
By the end of dinner, every time he glanced at you with those dark brown eyes and that heartbreakingly soft expression, heat had curled lower and lower in your stomach until simply sitting across from him had started feeling impossible.
And the worst part?
The sad puppy look had somehow made him even more attractive.
Which felt deeply unfair to your hormonal state.
So maybe— maybe that was why, the second you got into the limousine, you had looked over at him and quietly told him how devastatingly handsome he looked tonight.
Harry had blinked at you at first. Surprised.
Then slowly smiled.
And once your hand slid across his thigh beneath the dim lights of the car— everything after that had completely unraveled.
Because Harry had touched you back immediately.
And the second your mouths found each other— logic disappeared.
After that there had only been heat. Need. Hunger.
One kiss turned into another. Then hands. Then desperate grabbing and breathless laughter somewhere between kisses while the driver very professionally pretended not to notice anything happening in the backseat.
By the time you’d stumbled into Harry’s apartment, you were already pulling at the buttons of his shirt impatiently while he kissed down your neck hard enough to make you gasp.
Clothes disappeared somewhere between the hallway and the bedroom.
And sometime later— after being pulled apart and put back together by his hands and mouth more times than you could count— you found yourself completely naked beneath him, his tongue roaming all over your skin, his hips snapping against yours as you both moaned in pleasure over and over. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your cries of his name echoing shamelessly through the penthouse, while Harry whispered against your skin like he planned to spend the rest of his life memorizing every sound you made.
The night blurred beautifully out of focus.
Until eventually—it became morning.
Again.
“Be my wife again,” Harry murmured, trailing kisses down your body, stopping to suck your nipples and dip his tongue into your belly button. He parted your thighs wider as he settled between your legs, his eyes staring intently at your pussy.
“Harry…” you breathed weakly.
His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, his mustache grazing your skin so deliciously.
“I want this every morning. Waking up with you.” Another kiss. “Starting my day exactly like this.”
A shaky breath escaped you.
“You do realize marriage isn’t technically required for that,” you managed, trying and failing to sound unaffected.
Harry lifted his head slightly to look up at you.
His curls were completely ruined now, his jaw rough with stubble, his mouth swollen from kissing you for most of the night.
And somehow— that only made him hotter.
“Is that so?” he asked, licking his thumb. “Then move in.”
His damp thumb grazed your folds, drawing a sharp breath from you.
Your thighs trembled as his thumbs spread your folds, revealing glistening pink flesh, and he didn’t hesitate—he dragged his tongue through your slit in one long, filthy stroke, savoring the tang of your arousal. You gasped, your fingers knotting in his hair as your back arched off the bed.
“Harr—rrgghhh...”
“What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you,” Harry asked playfully, lifting his head to look up at your face from between your legs.
You pushed his head.
“That’s not fair and you know it.”
“Maybe,” he said huskily, his eyes darkening, “I need to be more convincing.”
Your pulse jumped violently.
Harry’s gaze stayed locked on yours as his fingers slid inside you, curving to caress the front of your mound, increasing the pressure as your loud moans turned into screams.
Suddenly— your phone started ringing loudly against the nightstand.
The pressure of his suction continued as he moved his tongue, trailing it along your lips. You groaned in both frustration and pleasure.
“Oh my God.”
Harry barely reacted.
In fact, if anything, the faint amusement at the corner of his mouth only deepened.
You grabbed your phone quickly and glanced at the screen.
Gerard.
“Harry, wait,” you whispered immediately. “I actually need to answer this.”
Harry hummed against your folds without looking up.
“Answer it.”
Your eyes widened.
“But... ugh... you are unbelievable. Please. Behave,” you warned weakly.
That only earned you a completely unapologetic smirk against your skin.
You swallowed hard before finally answering the call, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.
“Good morning,” you said carefully, looking at Harry’s head between your thighs, making your heart jump. “Yes, I’m awake.”
Eventually releasing you from his mouth, you thought he would behave, but instead he raised his hand to part your labia, licking across your slit and pausing to pay special attention to your clit. Another slow hum vibrated against your skin and you nearly lost your train of thought completely.
Your eyes flew shut instantly.
“Oh—”
You caught yourself at the last second, pressing your lips together hard.
On the other end, Gerard continued talking casually, thankfully oblivious.
You glared downward immediately.
Harry looked entirely unbothered.
“Such a good girl,” he murmured softly. “Still talking business while I’m trying to ruin your morning.”
“Yes,” you managed shakily into the phone, Harry’s praise made your head spin, only arousing you even more. “I’ll probably come in a little later today.” A sigh and pause. “Mmhm.”
Your free hand flew over your mouth suddenly as Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist, stilling your hips and holding you in place. He increased the pressure of the hand inside you, rubbing intently against your walls as he sucked harder on your clit.
“Oh,” you breathed out automatically before quickly correcting yourself.
Your eyes flew to Harry, silently mouthing ‘Fuck, oh my fucking God’ at him, lips moving without a sound as you fought to keep your composure. Gerard kept talking about business, and you had no IQ left to understand what he was saying. Thanks to Harry’s amazing mouth and what it was doing to you, your brain was completely gone; all you wanted now was to cum, hard.
“Oh—yes. Perfect. That’s fine.”
The slight stubble on his chin rubbed against your clit when he pushed his tongue inside you deeper. Worse, you felt his nose nestle into the curve of ass next and you bit down hard on your finger immediately to stop the sound threatening to escape.
“I’m listening,” you lied shakily.
Gerard asked if you were okay because you probably sounded like you were in pain.
“Sorry,” you said quickly, pressing your fingers against your forehead as heat flooded your entire face. “Morning brain.”
You felt Harry chuckle against your wet pussy lips.
“Easy, baby,” he hummed. “Breathe. Answer him properly.”
You shot him a warning look instantly.
He only looked entertained.
“Actually,” you said quickly, your voice shaky and thinner now. You felt your orgasm approaching, legs shaking, and there was no way you could stay silent from now on. “We can discuss the board updates after lunch… Yes.” Too fast. You swallowed quickly. “Yes. I just—” your breath caught again before you forced the sentence out, “I need coffee before I can think properly.”
That, at least, sounded believable.
“Perfect,” you whispered desperately. “Thank you.”
The second the call disconnected, you tossed your phone somewhere across the bed before collapsing back against the pillows with a shaky exhale.
Harry barely gave you a second to recover.
“Mm, good girl,” he murmured against your inner thigh, his voice low with satisfaction. “Knew I could make you forget all about that call.”
“Ungh— Harry—”
Your back arched instantly as his tongue slid through your folds again, slow at first, like he was savoring every sound you made for him. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the room alongside your breathless cries, and the realization of how quickly he unraveled you only made you wetter.
One hand slid up your body, squeezing your breast while the other kept you steady against the mattress as he worked you apart with devastating patience. Every flick of his tongue dragged another broken sound from your lips until you were squirming beneath him, thighs trembling around his shoulders.
He held your thighs firmly, completely unbothered by the way you kept squirming against him.
“Stay still for me, baby,” he murmured before diving back into your pussy, twisting his tongue around your tight, wet hole.
You groaned and grinded your hips on his face, riding his tongue. Your fingers tangled in his hair as your hips rolled helplessly against his mouth while he groaned softly like he enjoyed this just as much as you did.
Harry loved taking care of you. Loved watching you fall apart. Loved pulling every trembling sound from your throat until you couldn’t think about anything except him.
For five years, he’d tried to force himself to want someone else. Tried to lose himself in different faces, different touches, different women. But every time, something felt missing—like his body refused to forget you even when his mind begged it to.
Now he finally understood.
It had never been about them. It had always been about your absence.
And now that you were here, beneath his hands and in his arms, everything in him felt terrifyingly, perfectly right.
“Oh my God—”
“That’s it, my queen,” he said smoothly, one hand sliding up your stomach before curling around your breast. “There you go.”
The pressure building inside you snapped tight so fast it almost made you dizzy. You buried your face against the pillow, trying and failing to muffle your moan as your thighs shook around him.
Harry didn’t stop.
He kept licking into you through every tremor, dragging out the aftershocks until you were breathless and oversensitive beneath him.
Only then did he finally pull back.
His lips were swollen, his expression smug, and the sight alone nearly made you groan again.
He leaned down and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.
You melted into it immediately, kissing him back harder, your fingers sliding into his hair.
When he finally pulled away, you stared at him for a second before letting out a disbelieving laugh.
“Harry Castillo,” you breathed, still dazed, “you are an actual menace.”
“Menace?” he repeated softly, raising an eyebrow. “Baby, I was simply being supportive.”
You rolled your hips against his cock, your hand slides between your bodies and covers his erection, squeezing and stroking, your voice dripping with teasing impatience.
“If you really wanna support me, you can start by fucking me with this perfect CEO cock of yours.”
Harry groaned as you both felt his cock twitch inside your palm.
“That’s not CEO cock, baby.”
He pushed your hand aside and grabbed your ass with both hands.
“That’s your future husband’s cock.”
A loud moan escaped you as he slid deep inside you in one smooth thrust.
“Ohhhh!?” you teased softly between moans and breaths. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get a confession out of me under pressure.”
“Baby, this cock got you pregnant with twins.” Harry smirked against your skin. “Don’t you think it deserves to be worshipped?”
Harry chuckled quietly when your response dissolved into another broken moan.
“Use your words, baby. Tell me you love it.”
“I—” you gasped helplessly, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck, Harry—I love your cock.”
The sound that left him was somewhere between a groan and a smug laugh.
“Yeah...” he murmured. “I know you do.”
After that, you could barely say anything at all, completely overstimulated by everything he was doing to you. He kissed and bit at your neck, sucking marks into your skin while his hands gripped your hips tightly as he fucked you.
Even then, he forced himself to stay gentle, constantly reminding himself that you were pregnant with his babies now.
His babies.
That thought alone made him shudder, arousal curling even tighter in his stomach, his thrusts growing deeper, more desperate despite his restraint.
His breathing turned ragged against your neck, and you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer either.
You clutched at his shoulders, burning at the feeling of being fucked by him first thing in the morning. Deep down, you realized you wanted to wake up like this every day for the rest of your life.
A soft cry slipped from your lips as he moved inside you, filling you so perfectly it almost hurt.
Your thoughts scattered helplessly—Harry, your twins, everything the two of you had survived together—until pleasure drowned all coherent thought completely.
Your body suddenly shuddered hard beneath him as your orgasm crashed through you fast and overwhelming. You cried out his name over and over, hips bucking against his thrusts as wave after wave of pleasure tore through your exhausted body.
Harry came with you, your walls tightening around him and dragging the orgasm out of him with a rough groan.
Breathless, trembling, he finally collapsed beside you, careful not to put too much weight on you as he pulled you against his chest.
“So,” he murmured, voice rough with amusement and exhaustion, “after all those orgasms…”
He tilted his head just enough to look at you with a smug little smile.
“Any chance you’re finally thinking about marrying me?”
Before you could answer, another shaky breath left your lips, your body still trembling faintly beneath his.
“Hey.”
His entire expression changed as he pushed himself up, one hand cupping your face while the other slid protectively over your stomach.
“Baby, look at me.”
“I’m okay,” you whispered breathlessly, trying to steady your breathing.
His brows stayed furrowed anyway, concern written all over his face.
“You sure?”
You nodded softly, smiling lazily at him.
“Well, this is what happens when you overstimulate your pregnant girlfriend before breakfast.”
Harry exhaled quietly, still not fully convinced.
He brushed your hair away from your damp forehead before pressing a lingering kiss there.
“Come here,” he murmured gently, climbing out of bed first before reaching for your hand.
You blinked up at him.
“Harry—”
“Nope.” His tone turned softly stubborn. “You’re carrying my babies. I’m allowed to worry about you.”
A weak laugh escaped you as he carefully helped you sit up.
“Come on,” he said quietly, keeping one arm securely around your waist once you were standing. “Let’s get you into the shower.”
You stepped out of the shower wrapped in steam and warmth, toweling your hair dry as you wandered back into Harry’s bedroom.
That was when you noticed your clothes scattered across the hallway floor.
Wrinkled. Ruined.
And absolutely impossible to wear to work twice in a row—especially not as the executive chair of a company currently surviving off public image and fragile investor confidence.
You let out a long sigh. “Fantastic.”
After staring at the disaster for another second, you finally gave up and crossed toward Harry’s closet instead. Your fingers brushed over rows of dark fabrics before you pulled out one of his black t-shirts and slipped it over your bare skin.
It swallowed you whole.
And somehow smelled exactly like him.
By the time you reached the kitchen, the smell of breakfast had already wrapped around the penthouse. Butter, coffee, maple syrup, something warm and savory all at once.
Your stomach growled instantly, hunger hitting you so hard it almost made you dizzy.
Pregnancy was brutal.
Harry stood by the island pouring orange juice into a glass when he looked up—and immediately froze.
His eyes dragged slowly over you in his shirt. A slow grin spread across his face. “Well,” he murmured approvingly, “that looks dangerously good on you.”
You rolled your eyes automatically, but heat still crept up your neck.
Mostly because you knew exactly why he looked so pleased.
Harry loved seeing you like this.
Barefoot in his kitchen. Wearing his clothes. Looking like you belonged there.
Like old times.
Like the first few months after your engagement, when you used to steal his shirts and he’d act personally victimized every single time you tried giving them back.
You slid into one of the chairs at the island before finally looking down at the table properly—
—and blinked.
“Harry.”
The table was covered.
Fluffy scrambled eggs with herbs. Pancakes stacked high with fresh berries. Buttered toast. Avocado slices. Greek yogurt bowls. Fruit. Fresh juice. Coffee. Tea.
And sitting beside Harry’s plate was a folded piece of paper absolutely covered in notes.
Your brows lifted slowly. “…is that my pregnancy diet list?”
Harry glanced down casually. “Doctor’s recommendations,” he corrected while checking something off with complete seriousness. “Very different.”
You stared at him in disbelief. “You made all of this?”
“Yeah,” he said simply.
You looked over the table again before narrowing your eyes slightly. “No bacon?” you mumbled in disappointment.
Harry sat beside you, already reaching for the paper again. “No,” he said firmly after rereading a line. “Too risky.”
“But the doctor said I can eat it if it’s cooked properly.”
“Mm.” He didn’t even look guilty. “We’re still choosing the zero-risk option.”
You pouted immediately. “But I want bacon.”
Without missing a beat, Harry cut off a piece of omelet with his fork and held it toward your mouth instead. “But look at this,” he coaxed smoothly. “Way better. C’mon, open up.”
You stared at him. “…are you seriously airplane-feeding me right now?”
“Yes.”
The confidence in his answer made you snort softly.
Not wanting to hurt his feelings after all this effort, you finally sighed dramatically and opened your mouth. “…fine.”
Harry looked unbearably satisfied as he fed you the bite.
And annoyingly enough? It was delicious.
Every single thing on the table was.
You watched in disbelief as he kept trying to pile more food onto your plate afterward, stopping you from reaching for the jam just to hand it to you himself a second later.
It was ridiculous. Completely over the top. And if you were being honest, the intensity of his care was starting to overwhelm you a little.
Still…
After everything that had happened, maybe it made sense.
Maybe this was temporary.
Maybe in a few days Harry would calm down.
…right?
After finishing your plate, you glanced toward the clock and sighed.
“Harry, I need to go home.”
You wiped your mouth carefully before standing.
“I don’t have anything to wear here, and I still need to get my hair done.”
Harry stood immediately after you, catching your waist before you could fully walk away.
“Well…” he started carefully.
You narrowed your eyes instantly.
“Wait—did you handle that too? What’s next? You bought me a dress? Scheduled my glam team?”
Harry smiled faintly.
But the look in his eyes stayed strangely serious.
“Come here. There’s something I wanna show you.”
Curiosity flickered through you as he guided you through the quieter side of the penthouse until he stopped in front of a closed door you’d never paid much attention to before.
Harry rested his hand on the handle but didn’t open it immediately.
Instead, he looked at you. “If you’d said yes to me last night…” He exhaled slowly, tried again. “You would’ve woken up this morning as my fiancée.”
You raised your eyebrows. Harry swallowed once before continuing. “And this would’ve been your present.”
Then finally, he opened the door.
You stopped completely.
Because the room—
God.
The room was unmistakably yours.
Soft cream tones mixed with dark wood accents. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Warm lighting. A marble vanity already covered with your skincare products arranged exactly the way you liked them. A closet section filled with clothes in your exact style.
Not random designer pieces.
You.
Elegant silhouettes. Cashmere sets. Soft silk dresses. Structured coats. Evening gowns in shades you always gravitated toward. Casual pieces for mornings at home. Sleek heels lined beneath custom shelves. Jewelry trays. Satin robes.
Even your favorite perfume sat beside the mirror.
And tucked farther inside—
Your favorite candle from Paris. The one you thought had sold out years ago.
Your chest tightened painfully.
Because this wasn’t some extravagant billionaire gesture.
It was personal.
It looked painfully similar to the dressing room in your old house together—the one where you used to start your mornings and end your nights while Harry sat nearby pretending not to watch you get ready.
This version was smaller yet warmer.
More intimate.
A soft place carved into the middle of his minimalist penthouse solely for you.
Like the space you still occupied in his heart.
Your fingers drifted slowly across the vanity before your gaze caught something else.
Your initials.
Pressed subtly into the leather jewelry case near the mirror.
You blinked once. Then again.
“…you built me a dressing room?”
“I figured if life’s finally decided to give us something back instead of taking from us…” He said. “You probably missed your dressing room too.”
Then leaned casually against the doorway, watching you instead of the room itself.
“Well? Do you like it?”
Your vision blurred before you even realized tears had filled your eyes.
One slipped down your cheek, making you laugh softly in disbelief as you turned toward him.
“Harry…” Your voice cracked slightly. “I love it.”
You looked around again, overwhelmed by how perfectly everything reflected you.
“There are things here I would’ve picked myself,” you whispered. “You remembered everything.”
Harry’s mouth twitched slightly.
“I may have asked Mikey to send me photos of your room.”
You turned toward him immediately.
“You what?”
“In my defense,” Harry said calmly, “your brother took the assignment very seriously.”
A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.
“That idiot.”
Harry actually looked mildly traumatized for a second.
“He sent me a lot of voice notes,” he admitted carefully.
Your smile widened instantly.
“Of course he did.”
“I know more about your preferred closet lighting than any man ever should.”
“Ugh, Mikey talks too much. And when it comes to illegally sneaking into my room, apparently he sees it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”
“Mm.” Harry stepped closer slowly. “But he was right about one thing.”
Your breath caught slightly.
“What?”
His gaze moved around the room once before settling back on you, softer now.
“You deserve to have a place that feels like you in this house.”
The words hit somewhere deep in your chest.
Harry reached for your hand gently, lifting it to his lips without breaking eye contact as he pressed a slow kiss against your knuckles. Then his arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer until the front of your body rested against his. One hand moving up to smooth your still-damp hair back from your face, your eyes lifted to his instantly.
It wasn’t even the room.
It was the fact that he remembered.
Remembered the tiny rituals of your old life together. The mornings spent in front of the vanity while he sat nearby drinking coffee. The nights you’d end there together after galas and charity dinners, exhausted and still tangled up in each other.
Harry had remembered all of it.
Your throat tightened painfully.
“Thank you, Harry,” you murmured and kissed him softly. “Really.”
Harry smiled against your lips, his hands settling naturally on your waist.
“You know,” he murmured casually, “if you wanted to call yourself my fiancée after this, I probably wouldn’t stop you.”
“Shut up.”
“That’s not a no.”
You tried to hide your smile.
“Maybe yes.”
“Wait.” Harry tilted his head slightly. “Was that a yes yes?”
You turned away before he could fully see your smile, pretending to inspect the dresses instead.
“Mhmm.”
“Hold on. What kind of mhmm was that?”
You looked back at him innocently.
“Harry. No pressure, remember?”
“Right, right.” He nodded seriously, walking closer. “I’m just saying the option still exists.”
He held up one finger.
“Option A: yes.”
Then another.
“Option B…” His mouth curved slowly. “Also yes.”
You laughed and smacked his shoulder lightly.
“Oh my God, go get dressed already, Castillo. We’re gonna be late for work.”
Castillo Capital…
09:34 a.m.
Harry stepped out of the elevator looking too happy. Not subtle happy either. Actually happy.
The kind that made people immediately suspicious.
Ron looked up from the tablet in his hands the second Harry walked onto the executive floor and nearly dropped the damn thing.
“…good morning, boss,” he said, already grinning.
Harry barely glanced at him as he walked past.
“Morning.”
Ron’s grin widened instantly.
Oh, something definitely happened.
He followed Harry straight into the office.
“I prepared all the reports and presentation files for the meeting,” Ron said, falling into step behind him. “Also—good news from London.”
Harry loosened his scarf slightly as he moved toward his desk.
“The investors liked the revised presentation package. Looks like you won’t need to fly back anytime soon.”
Harry paused halfway through removing his coat.
“…really?”
“Mhm.” Ron watched him carefully. “Apparently John handled it.”
That got Harry’s attention immediately.
He looked over.
“John’s back?”
“He landed this morning.”
Harry leaned briefly against the desk, processing that quietly.
Things with John had changed recently.
Not perfectly.
But better.
Ever since you turned John down and he moved back to London to work as CFO at Castillo Capital’s European headquarters, something between the two men had slowly started repairing itself.
Carefully. Awkwardly.
A few weeks ago, they could barely get through a conversation without tension creeping in somewhere.
Now there were occasional phone calls. Business discussions that didn’t immediately turn hostile.
Tiny improvements.
But for Harry, even that felt like progress.
And handling the London situation without being asked— that meant something.
Harry exhaled quietly. “I’ll call him later.”
Ron nodded once before slowly approaching the desk with very obvious curiosity written all over his face.
Then—
“So…”
Harry looked up already annoyed. “What.”
Ron clasped his hands dramatically. “When exactly are we celebrating?”
Harry blinked once. “…celebrating what?”
Ron stared at him in disbelief. “The engagement?”
Silence.
Harry rubbed a hand across his jaw. “…there is no engagement, Ron.”
Ron froze. Completely.
“I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “I think perhaps I misheard that because it sounded incredibly odd.”
Harry opened his laptop. “She didn’t say yes.”
Ron’s mouth fell open. “YOU GOT REJECTED?”
“I did not get rejected.”
“Harry—”
“She said she needs time.”
Ron paused. Then grimaced slightly. “…that somehow feels emotionally worse.”
Harry leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his nose while rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “It’s not like that.”
Ron’s expression softened a little.
“Well…” he admitted carefully, “to be fair, her entire life exploded in less than a month.”
Harry’s eyes lifted back toward him immediately. “I know. I’m giving her time.” Then his mouth curved slightly. “But I’m changing her mind.”
Ron blinked. “…How?”
“She’s going to say yes eventually.”
Ron leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms. “Okay but—respectfully—she already did not say yes. So what exactly changes now?”
Harry smiled faintly. “First of all,” he said calmly, “I’m going to become an extremely good husband candidate.”
Ron stared at him. “…you already are one.”
Harry raised an eyebrow.
“I’m serious. You’re rich, attractive, emotionally obsessed with her which women weirdly love, and somehow still polite. Frankly, if I looked like you I’d be unbearable.”
Harry huffed.
“Thanks, I guess. Well...That’s not-.”
“Every other woman in Manhattan would’ve said yes before you even opened the ring box.”
“She’s not every other woman, Ron.”
“Well, obviously,” he said. “She’s Queen.”
Harry leaned back in his chair again, quieter this time. “I just need to remove the things she’s scared about.”
Ron narrowed his eyes immediately. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”
A smug look slowly appeared on Harry’s face. “Already started this morning.”
Ron looked concerned instantly. “…should I be worried?”
“I made breakfast,” Harry said simply.
Not even slightly humble about it. “A very good breakfast.”
Ron blinked once. “…okay…”
Harry ignored the reaction entirely.
“I got the full dietary list from her doctor,” he continued casually. “Adjusted the temperature in the penthouse. Replaced half the kitchen. Checked every ingredient expiration date myself.”
Ron stared.
Harry kept going. “Less caffeine. Less stress. More sleep. More water. More iron.” He shrugged once like this was all perfectly normal billionaire behavior. “From now on she gets the most thoughtful version of me possible.”
Silence.
Ron slowly lowered the tablet in his hands. “…boss?”
Harry glanced up.
“That strategy feels…” Ron searched carefully for the right wording. “…a little dangerous for Ms. Queen.”
Harry frowned slightly. “Dangerous?”
“Pressure,” Ron corrected carefully. “Like… emotional pressure.”
Harry immediately looked offended. “I’m not pressuring her.”
Ron gave him a long look. “Would you like me to pull up the dictionary definition of pressure?”
Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”
Ron pointed dramatically.
“See? That right there? That’s the face of a man one scented candle away from becoming somebody’s husband again.”
Harry looked entirely unimpressed. “She likes me because I’m reliable.”
“No,” Ron corrected. “She likes you because you’re emotionally constipated in a very expensive way.”
Harry stared at him. Ron gestured vaguely with the tablet. “If you suddenly become aggressively attentive twenty-four hours a day, she might flee the country.”
Harry rolled his eyes again. “That’s ridiculous.”
Ron studied him for another second. Then— “…you know,” he said cautiously, “I could probably schedule an emergency therapy session for you.”
Harry looked up slowly.
Ron shrugged. “I’m just saying. This is exactly how it starts, by the way. First breakfast. Then matching pajamas. Then suddenly you own decorative hand towels.”
“Get out.”
“I’m leaving. I’m leaving.”
3 days earlier.
Le Bernardin — Private Dining Room
9:21 p.m.
Warm amber lighting reflected softly against crystal glasses and polished silver while the muted sounds of the restaurant drifted faintly through the private room doors.
Harry sat beside you at the curved velvet booth, one arm stretched comfortably along the back of your seat behind you, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder absentmindedly whenever he spoke.
Across from you, Ron looked one bite away from a spiritual experience.
He pointed dramatically at his steak with his fork.
“Okay,” he declared after another bite, “this is genuinely the best steak I’ve ever had in my life.”
Dana nudged him immediately beneath the table.
“Ron,” she whispered sharply, “could you maybe try sounding slightly more sophisticated? Our bosses are sitting right there.”
You and Harry exchanged amused looks instantly.
Ron looked deeply offended.
“But, honey…” He gestured vaguely with the knife. “We’re off the clock.”
Dana gave Harry an apologetic smile.
Harry just shrugged calmly.
“He’s right,” he said. “Tonight we’re here as friends.”
Ron grinned triumphantly.
“Mmph—double date,” he mumbled proudly through another bite.
You giggled as Dana immediately kicked him under the table.
“Ow—Jesus Christ.”
Harry rolled his eyes.
“Ah yes,” he drawled dryly. “Double date.”
Then he looked over at you, his gaze immediately softening.
“You should eat a little more, baby.”
You sighed quietly, already knowing exactly where this was going.
“Harry,” you murmured, leaning back slightly against the booth. “I’m full.”
And honestly?
You were.
The fitted black dress you wore tonight wasn’t maternity wear—couldn’t be, not yet. Not when half of Manhattan was still watching Queen Financial like vultures circling a wounded animal. The soft fabric still hid the slight curve of your stomach for now, but after an entire dinner, you could already feel the tightness around your waist becoming uncomfortable.
Harry’s eyes flicked downward instantly anyway, concern already forming on his face.
“You barely ate.”
“I ate plenty.”
“Then at least drink your juice. Vitamin C.”
You narrowed your eyes immediately.
“Yes, because what I really need tonight is a vitamin C overdose.”
Ron leaned back with a grin.
“You two genuinely sound like somebody’s married aunt and uncle.”
Dana laughed softly into her wine.
“No,” Ron corrected immediately. “Actually worse. You sound like a couple that owns matching vitamins.”
“Yeah, well…” You glanced briefly toward Harry before swirling your juice lightly. “I don’t think Manhattan’s emotionally prepared for us to start acting married again.”
A softer pause.
“Especially considering the pregnancy.”
Harry looked like he was about to say something—
—but Dana cut in first.
“You have no idea how many interview requests I declined today,” she muttered while reaching for her wine. “Forbes Women. Vanity Fair. The Financial Times. One podcast literally called you ‘the face of modern feminine capitalism.’”
You buried your face briefly in your hand.
“God.”
Ron looked genuinely impressed.
“…okay wow.”
Dana pointed at him immediately.
“One magazine referred to her as ‘the unattainable queen of Wall Street.’”
Ron blinked.
“…okay wait, that one’s actually kinda cool.”
You sighed dramatically.
“Until they find out I’m pregnant with twins from my ex-husband.”
Harry’s thumb brushed quietly against your knee beneath the table.
“Well,” he murmured smoothly, “technically I could solve the ex-husband part.”
You looked over at him instantly.
“We still need to stabilize the company first,” you said more quietly, taking another sip of your juice. “And considering this whole ‘powerful independent woman’ image is apparently helping the company and the market right now… maybe the word marriage shouldn’t be floating around Manhattan just yet.”
Harry’s expression barely changed.
But something calmer settled into his eyes.
“Sweetheart,” he murmured, reaching for your hand beneath the table before lifting it slowly to his mouth, “you’re not staying away from me because of a few investors and gossip columns.”
His lips brushed gently against your knuckles.
“We’ll survive all of it together. Like we always do.”
The heat that rushed to your face was immediate.
Across the table, Ron sighed dramatically.
“See?” he muttered. “Marriage is beautiful. Love is real. I support this completely.”
Dana turned toward him slowly.
“Oh?” she asked pleasantly.
Ron immediately sensed danger.
Dana tilted her head slightly.
“I didn’t realize your thoughts on marriage had suddenly become so positive,” she said sweetly. “Especially considering how creatively you’ve been avoiding dinner with my parents for three weeks.”
Harry quietly leaned closer to your ear.
“…oops,” he murmured.
You bit your lower lip trying not to grin.
Dana set her wine glass down carefully without looking away from Ron.
“Good to know,” she continued sweetly. “Very enlightening, actually.”
“Dana, baby—”
“No, no,” she interrupted calmly while standing from the table. “Please continue your passionate pro-marriage speech.”
Ron looked horrified. “Wait—I didn’t mean—”
“Excuse me, Mr. Castillo. Ms. Queen.”
Dana smiled politely before walking toward the restroom.
Ron watched her leave in genuine panic. “…how did this become about me?”
You gave him a look over the rim of your glass. “Women don’t usually enjoy being kept waiting, Ron.”
Beside you, Harry nodded in agreement without hesitation.
Ron looked betrayed. “Oh God.”
You laughed softly before standing. “I should probably go save you.”
“Please do,” Ron whispered desperately. “Thank you.”
As you followed Dana toward the hallway, Harry watched you disappear around the corner before slowly leaning back in his chair.
Ron rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m fucked... Sorry, boss.”
Harry smirked faintly into his whiskey. “No,” he said calmly. “You’re right. You’re fucked.”
Ron groaned quietly while Harry’s gaze drifted toward the hallway again, the ghost of your words still lingering in his head.
Women don’t usually enjoy being kept waiting.
Harry was almost completely certain you hadn’t meant him at all.
Back to now…
You and Dana looked at each other simultaneously across the office.
Realization hit both of you at the exact same time. “…oh my God,” Dana muttered first.
Your eyes widened slightly.
“That’s why he proposed last night.”
“And Ron immediately started defending marriage which immediately backfired on him.”
You both stared at each other for one long second—
—before bursting into laughter.
Dana shook her head slowly, still laughing under her breath.
“Men.”
You sighed deeply, leaning back in your chair.
“It’s amazing they’ve survived this long.”
Chez Akiko…
1:14 p.m.
“I’m telling you, Emily, Harry’s being absurdly attentive right now,” you complained, leaning back dramatically in your chair. “Like… concerningly attentive. How am I supposed to survive nine months of this?”
Your voice came out slightly louder than intended.
Emily only smiled knowingly as she slid the warm cup of sakura tea toward you before sitting down across from you.
“Well,” she said carefully, “to be fair… Harry is trying very hard right now.” You stared at her. “I’m serious,” you complained, taking the tea. “He monitors everything now. What I eat, what I drink, how long I sleep.” You narrowed your eyes. “This morning he adjusted the temperature in his apartment because apparently my feet were cold.”
Emily placed a hand dramatically over her heart. “That’s actually adorable.”
“He turned my office into Poison Ivy’s apartment.”
Emily immediately burst out laughing. “Okay, first of all,” she said between laughs, “she’s my favorite DC character, so that sounds cute.”
You groaned quietly, resting your forehead briefly against your hand.
“And my mother keeps calling every two hours. I swear she’s tracking my breathing remotely somehow.” You lifted your head again. “This was her fifth call today.”
Emily laughed softly before reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.
“Hon… all of them went through a huge loss with you two. I genuinely don’t think they expected to ever see this again.”
Your expression softened slightly.
Emily smiled gently.
“They’re excited. Probably too excited. But they’ll calm down eventually.” A beat. “Harry included.”
You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “You really think so?”
“No,” Emily admitted honestly. “But I think he’ll become easier to manage once you marry him.”
You blinked once. “…excuse me?”
Emily gave you an incredulous look. “Oh please. Why did you even reject him?”
“I did not reject him.”
“You emotionally delayed him. Same thing.”
You stared at her in betrayal. “Em.”
“What?” She shrugged unapologetically. “You’ve literally been waiting for that man to propose to you again.”
You opened your mouth. Closed it. “…that is not the point.”
Emily sipped her drink calmly. “Then explain the point.”
You exhaled slowly, fingers tracing around the edge of your cup.
“I’m not the same person I was back then.” Your voice quieted slightly. “Everything’s different now. The company, the board, the scandal…”
You shook your head.
“I became executive chair less than a week ago. I can’t just immediately announce I’m engaged to Harry Castillo on top of all that.”
Emily sighed dramatically. “You people genuinely never rest, huh?”
You laughed softly despite yourself.
“No seriously.” She leaned back in the booth. “When exactly are you two planning to experience love like normal people?”
You snorted.
“We are normal people.”
Emily stared at you flatly. “You own private jets.”
“Okay fair.”
Emily pointed at you. “Everything with you two sounds emotionally expensive.”
You laughed again, shaking your head. “Sometimes being completely ordinary sounds amazing.”
“You could never survive being ordinary.”
“Rude.”
“You cried once because a hotel suite in Milan had bad lighting.”
“That happened one time.”
“Twice.”
You narrowed your eyes.
Emily grinned proudly.
Before you could answer, the entrance door opened, the small bell above it ringing softly through the restaurant.
Emily glanced up first.
“Oh—wait, isn’t that…”
You turned slightly in your seat.
And immediately froze.
John.
Your eyes widened in surprise.
He spotted you almost instantly too, that familiar crooked smile appearing on his face as he started walking toward the table.
You stood automatically.
“Hey,” he said warmly. “How are you?”
“Good,” you laughed softly, pulling him into a quick hug. “You’re back already?”
“Landed this morning.” He stepped back, looking at you properly now. “Dana told me you were here.” His brows lifted slightly. “Thought I should come see Manhattan’s newest public executioner.”
You groaned. “Oh God.”
“No seriously,” John continued, pulling out the chair beside you. “That speech was everywhere in London. People were talking about it at breakfast.”
You smiled despite yourself. “Well… someone needed to be humbled publicly.”
John laughed under his breath. “That was one hell of a way to do it.”
You gestured toward the seat beside you. “Sit. I was about to order lunch anyway.”
John glanced toward Emily politely. “Hey.”
Emily smiled instantly. “Hi.” Then, already grabbing the menu: “So,” she asked brightly, “what are we feeding the international businessman today?”
At the same time—
The executive meeting had finally ended. Which meant half of Castillo Capital immediately flooded toward elevators, coffee carts, lunch reservations, and emotional survival mechanisms.
Harry walked beside Ron down the hallway, loosening his tie slightly while scanning through emails on his phone. “So,” he said casually, “if John landed this morning, why didn’t he come upstairs?”
Ron shrugged. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”
Harry gave him a look. “At one in the afternoon?”
“Jet lag affects people differently.”
Harry hummed absently. Still suspicious.
Before he could say anything else, Ron’s phone buzzed loudly in his hand. His entire expression softened immediately.
Harry looked over slowly. “…Dana?”
Ron smiled shamelessly while answering. “Hi, baby.”
Harry pulled out his own phone and called you while they continued toward the office.
The line rang once. No answer. His brows furrowed immediately. He tried again. Still nothing. Harry slowed his steps slightly. “…Ron.”
“Mm?”
“Ask Dana where she is.”
Ron blinked. “Who?”
Harry stared at him.
“Right. Right.” Ron quickly covered the speaker with his hand. “Baby, where’s Ms. Queen right now?” A pause. Then Ron’s expression shifted. “…oh.”
Harry narrowed his eyes instantly. “What.”
Ron slowly pulled the phone away from his ear. “She’s at lunch.”
“Where?”
Ron visibly hesitated. “…Chez Akiko.”
Silence.
Harry stopped walking entirely. Then slowly turned toward him. “Emily’s restaurant?” His brows pulled together instantly. “She can’t eat half the menu there.”
“In fairness, they also serve cooked foo—”
“Ron.” Harry was already turning around. “My coat.”
Ron sighed dramatically but grabbed it from the office chair anyway before hurrying after him.
“Protective daddy mode activated,” he muttered under his breath.
Ten minutes later—they were in the back of the limousine heading downtown.
Ron looked over cautiously. “You know…” he started carefully, “this does feel a little stalker-adjacent.”
Harry didn’t even look up from his phone, already sending you multiple texts in a row. “They’re my babies too, Ron.”
Ron opened his mouth. Closed it again. “…fair.”
The car slowed near the restaurant windows.
Then Ron suddenly leaned forward. “Oh my God.”
Harry looked up immediately. And froze.
Inside the restaurant—you were laughing. John sat beside you. Too close beside you.
Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly.
Ron stared through the window in disbelief. “Okay,” he said slowly, “Mr. Pitts returning from London and immediately ending up at lunch with your future fiancée does feel narratively suspicious.”
Harry didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the way John leaned behind your chair casually, resting an arm along the back of the booth while talking to you.
Ron glanced sideways at Harry’s expression and immediately swallowed. “…oh boy.”
The limousine stopped. Harry stepped out first. Fast. Behind him, Ron’s phone buzzed again.
Dana.
Ron answered quickly while jogging to keep up. “Yes, baby?” A pause. “…sweetheart, I think you’re calling about this a little too late.” Another pause. Ron glanced toward Harry. “…yeah no, he saw John. I’m hanging up.” He ended the call immediately before hurrying after him. “Apparently,” Ron continued cautiously, “John stopped by the office first and asked Dana where Ms. Queen was—”
“Yes, Ron,” Harry said coolly without slowing down. “I gathered that from the part where he’s currently halfway inside her booth.”
Ron wisely stopped talking. Then looked through the restaurant windows again. “…did he change his hair?” Harry slowly turned his head. Ron immediately raised both hands. “I’m just saying—it looks annoyingly good.”
Harry stared at him blankly.
“But not as good as yours,” Ron added quickly. “Obviously.”
Ron pointed vaguely at him while still walking. “Honestly, you kinda look like Pedro Pascal if he slept eight hours a night, owned Manhattan, and had a private equity portfolio.”
Harry kept walking. “Ron.”
“No listen,” Ron insisted immediately. “Pedro Pascal never even accepted the Sexiest Man Alive title when they wanted him to do it. Which is honestly very you. Humble. Mysterious. Emotionally repressed.”
Harry looked deeply exhausted now.
“And if you ever saw his Tumblr fanbase,” Ron added seriously, “you’d understand this is an elite compliment.”
Harry pointed at him without even looking. “Stop talking.”
“Understood.” Ron dramatically zipped his lips.
The bell above the restaurant door chimed the second Harry pushed it open.
Emily looked up first. “Oh, shit,” she said slowly. “Well. This lunch just became a live-action soap opera.”
You turned at the familiar voice before she even finished.
“Baby.”
Your head snapped toward the entrance instantly. “Harry?”
Behind him, Ron gave you a tiny apologetic smile.
John looked up too before standing from his seat. “Harry,” he greeted evenly.
“John.”
The two men shook hands. And didn’t let go. At all.
You sighed immediately.
Harry smiled politely without taking his eyes off him. “Good to see you back,” he said smoothly. “Though I have to admit, I expected to see you at today’s executive meeting first. Especially considering I was waiting for the London reports.”
His grip tightened slightly.
John smiled pleasantly right back, matching the pressure instantly. “Funny,” he replied casually. “I figured the office would still be there later. Checking on her felt more important.”
“Oh?” Harry’s smile never faltered. “Immediately after landing? How thoughtful of you.”
Their smiles somehow got tighter.
Ron immediately stepped between them with corporate-level panic management instincts.
“Gentlemen,” he announced brightly while physically separating their hands, “let’s remember Castillo Capital remains deeply committed to workplace brotherhood.”
Neither of them looked at him.
Ron continued anyway. “And Mr. Pitts, we are all extremely grateful for your work handling the London investors.”
Harry finally looked away from John then. “Yes,” he said calmly.
Then stepped directly toward you.
His arm slid around your waist naturally before he pressed a kiss against your temple. “I’m especially grateful,” he added smoothly, “because it means I get more time with my girl.”
John smiled politely.
But there was tension behind it now.
You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Harry, what are you—”
“Baby,” Harry interrupted gently, glancing down at the table. “Why are you eating here?”
Emily blinked. “Uh…”
Harry pointed lightly toward the sushi menu. “The doctor literally gave us a list of things you can’t eat.”
You crossed your arms instantly. “She also said I need omega-3.”
Harry opened his mouth.
Emily beat him to it. “She’s eating grilled salmon and rice,” Emily informed him dryly. “I’m not poisoning your offspring, relax.”
Ron muttered under his breath: “Offspring is such an aggressive word.”
"Well,” she said dryly, “if you storm into my restaurant and start criticizing my menu, I’d suggest being grateful aggressive is the only word involved.”
You giggled. “Fair.”
John looked between all of you with visible confusion.
Harry noticed immediately. “Oh,” he said casually. “Right. You didn’t know.”
You closed your eyes briefly. “Harry—”
“She’s pregnant,” Harry finished proudly anyway. “We’re having twins.”
John blinked once in genuine shock.
You elbowed Harry immediately. “We are trying to keep that private.”
“Right.” Harry nodded once. “Temporarily private.”
John’s expression softened almost instantly as he looked back at you. “…wow.” A small smile appeared on his face. “That’s…” He exhaled quietly. “Honestly, I’m really happy for you both.”
Something about the sincerity in his voice made you soften too.
“You deserve another chance after everything.”
You smiled faintly. “Thanks, John.”
He grabbed his coat slowly. “I should probably head out anyway.”
Your brows lifted slightly. “You don’t have to leave.”
John glanced briefly toward Harry. “No,” he said lightly. “I think I do.”
He leaned down slightly beside you. “Take care of yourself, okay?”
You nodded softly.
Then John looked toward Harry again. “I’ll see you at the office.”
Harry gave a short nod. “See you there.”
The second John walked out—Ron winced dramatically. “Ouch.”
Emily crossed her arms, looking between all of you with deep disappointment. “Oh, this is absolutely becoming a circus.” Then her eyes landed on Harry. “So,” she said dryly, “would Mr. Castillo perhaps like to retract his earlier comments about my restaurant?”
Harry blinked once before the faintest hint of amusement touched his face. “My apologies, Emily.”
Harry sat beside you briefly before looking back at her. “Maybe I can redeem myself by having lunch here after all.”
Emily narrowed her eyes. “…go on.”
Harry picked up the menu calmly. “I’ll take the grilled miso black cod. Steamed rice. And whatever soup she’s allowed to eat.” You rolled your eyes instantly. “And green tea,” he added smoothly without looking up.
Emily’s expression softened despite herself. “Okay,” she admitted. “That’s actually a respectable order.”
Ron immediately slid into the booth across from you. “Perfect,” he announced. “Because all this television-level emotional warfare made me hungry.”
Harry finally looked up from the menu. “We’ll also be leaving an extremely generous tip.”
“Okay,” she grinned. “Your orders will be out shortly. And the customer is always right.”
You turned slowly toward Harry. “…are you following me now?”
“No,” Harry said simply. “I’m caring about you aggressively.” You stared at him. He gently pushed your plate slightly closer toward you. “Eat before it gets cold,” Harry murmured, holding a bite toward your mouth. “Cold food lowers body temperature.”
With your mouth still full, you rolled your eyes. “My body temperature is currently very high, actually.”
Behind you, Emily slowly leaned toward Ron. “…okay,” she whispered. “She was not exaggerating.”
Ron nodded gravely. “You have no idea.”
Later That Night…
Queen Residence.
9:41 p.m.
The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of your spoon against the ceramic mug in your hands. You stared down at the swirl of melted chocolate absentmindedly, barely noticing the steam curling upward anymore.
Somewhere behind you— “Sweetheart?”
You blinked slowly. “Hm?” You finally looked up. “What?”
Lara frowned slightly as she stepped closer into the kitchen.
“I asked you three times if you were alright.” Her brows softened. “Bad day at work?”
You shook your head immediately. “No, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled quietly, leaning your hip against the marble counter. “I think I hurt Harry’s feelings.”
“What happened?”
You looked back down into your mug. “I told him a few days ago I was moving into his place. But tonight before we left, I told him maybe I needed to think about it again. He didn’t say anything,” you continued quickly. “Not really. But I think it hurt him.”
“Why did you change your mind?”
You sighed heavily. “He’s just…” You rubbed tiredly at your forehead. “He’s become so overprotective lately. About the pregnancy, about me, about everything.” You let out a frustrated breath. “I know he means well but sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.”
“That’s probably normal.”
“Yeah. I just feel overwhelmed all the time lately.”
Lara stepped closer, gently lifting your chin between her fingers. “Harry loves you,” she said softly. “That’s all this is.”
“I know.”
“And trust me,” she added warmly, “that man is not capable of staying upset with you for longer than five minutes.”
A weak smile pulled at your mouth. But guilt still sat heavily in your chest. You looked back down again.
“He already thinks I rejected him,” you admitted quietly.
"Oh."
That hurt to say out loud. You covered your face briefly with both hands. “God, I’m awful,” you groaned. “I finally get the love of my life back and somehow I’m still hurting him.”
Lara looked ready to speak again—but Scarlet stopped her gently with one look; apparently, she heard your conversation. “Lara,” she said softly, “give us a minute?”
Lara hesitated only briefly before nodding. As she passed, she squeezed your cheek affectionately. “Don’t upset yourself over this honey… a love like yours isn’t going to fall apart over something like this.”
Then she disappeared quietly from the kitchen. Scarlet waited until the room settled again before speaking. “Come sit with me.”
You blinked slightly at her tone.
Soft.
Almost careful.
That alone surprised you enough to obey immediately. You pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down slowly while Scarlet took the seat beside you. Usually when your mother said we need to talk, it meant discussions about business decisions, press appearances, wardrobe disasters, assistants quitting unexpectedly, or family reputation.
Not this. Never this.
Scarlet looked at you quietly for a long moment before finally speaking. “You know…” she murmured slowly, “I think I may have raised you a little too harshly.”
Your brows lifted slightly. “…a little?”
A small laugh escaped her despite herself. “I taught you to survive,” she admitted. “To think logically. To never let emotions cloud your judgment.” Her eyes softened as they held yours. “And you became extraordinary because of it.” Your throat tightened slightly.
“I’m proud of you, baby,” she whispered. “More proud than you’ll ever understand.”
“Mom…”
“Wait.” She shook her head gently. “Let me finish.”
You nodded slowly.
Scarlet rarely talked about feelings like this. Rarely talked about old pain at all. To her, heartbreak had always been something you survived privately and learned from quietly. Weakness was corrected. Mistakes were buried.
Emotions were controlled. And she had taught you the same thing.
Until Harry.
Scarlet looked down briefly before continuing. “But do you know something I learned too late?”
You stayed quiet.
Her eyes lifted back to yours.
“Logic keeps you alive.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But love…” Her voice softened. “Love is what makes life worth living.”
Your chest tightened instantly.
“There are people who spend their entire lives never feeling what you feel for that man,” she continued quietly. “Do you understand how lucky that makes you?”
Tears burned suddenly behind your eyes. Scarlet smiled gently this time. “Although,” she added, “Harry is probably the luckier one.”
A watery laugh escaped you immediately.
“He is.” She reached over, brushing your hair back softly.
You felt your vision blur completely now.
Scarlet held out her hand toward you slowly.
“Give me your hand.”
You did without hesitation.
She took it carefully and lifted it toward her lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles.
Something about that nearly broke you entirely.
“Your mother, Scarlet Queen exaggerates sometimes and she does have a tendency to dramatize things,” she murmured lightly. “But this time,” she continued softly, placing your hand gently over your own heart, “don’t listen to your logic.” Your breath caught. “Listen to this instead.” Her hand stayed over yours for a second longer. “The company will survive scandals. The board will survive gossip. The world will survive headlines.” Her eyes filled slightly now too. “But life is very short, baby. You found your way back to each other after everything.” Her thumb brushed gently over your hand. “Don’t lose it again.”
You stared at her completely stunned.
Because this—
this version of your mother—
was something you had almost never seen before.
Not with you. Not about Harry. Not about love.
You moved suddenly, wrapping your arms tightly around her.
“Do you really think so?” you whispered shakily against her shoulder.
Scarlet held you immediately, one hand smoothing slowly through your hair exactly the way she used to when you were little. “No,” she whispered softly. You pulled back slightly. A tiny smile touched her lips. “I don’t think.” She tapped lightly over your heart again. “Love does.” A quiet breath left her. “That’s love speaking. Maybe it’s time you stopped listening to your logic… and started listening to this instead.”
“Wow.”
You and Scarlet turned simultaneously toward the doorway.
Mikey stood there holding a bottle of water, staring at the two of you in disbelief. “Scarlet Queen giving emotional mother speeches?” he said slowly. “Somebody alert the media immediately.”
Scarlet closed her eyes briefly. “Michael.”
“No seriously,” he continued while walking farther into the kitchen, “I think Manhattan just experienced a seismic event.”
You laughed softly despite the tears still clinging to your lashes.
Mikey placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Maybe I should start listening to my heart too. Ah yes…” he sighed dreamily toward the ceiling. “My heart is saying Sienna… Sienna…”
Scarlet pointed at him coldly. “No. Your heart says ridiculous things.”
“And it sounds like a seventeen-year-old frat boy,” you added.
“You two can mock me all you want,” he declared confidently, “but Sienna invited me to her gallery opening.”
You blinked. “…she did?”
Mikey looked unbearably smug now. “Mhm.” He pointed between both of you proudly. “You’ll see. Soon enough, I’m gonna win her heart.”
A dangerous silence followed that statement.
Scarlet stared at him for a long second before slowly looking back at you.
Then back at him.
“…I cannot believe you’re both my children."
Saturday Evening
Castillo Estate — Rhineback.
7:17 p.m.
The entire estate felt warmer tonight.
Softer somehow.
Golden light spilled across the sitting room while the fireplace crackled quietly nearby, the scent of fresh espresso and vanilla lingering faintly in the air after dinner. Eloise sat between you and Harry on the large cream-colored sofa, still holding the ultrasound photos carefully in her hands like they were something sacred.
The second you had shown them to her after dinner, she had burst into tears immediately.
Now she kept looking down at the tiny blurry images every few seconds like she still couldn’t quite believe they were real. “Dios mío…” she whispered emotionally, pressing a hand over her chest. “Dos bebés…”
Harry smiled softly beside her while one of his arms rested around your shoulders. “Twins,” he corrected gently.
Eloise looked up at both of you, eyes shining.
“Double blessing,” she murmured in Spanish-accented English. “Two little angels…” Her voice trembled slightly. “Ay, gracias a Dios. I have never been this happy in all my life. Seeing you together like this…” Her eyes filled again. “Now I can die peacefully.”
“Eloise,” you groaned immediately.
Harry sighed.
“Mama…” Vivienne murmured.
“What?” she defended herself innocently. “I’m old.”
You laughed softly and leaned closer to squeeze her arm. “You’re literally healthier than half of Manhattan,” you told her.
“Exactly,” Harry added dryly. “You yelled at a gardener for touching your roses yesterday. You’re clearly surviving another twenty years minimum.”
“He deserved it.”
You and Harry laughed together while she continued clutching the ultrasound photos possessively against her chest.
“Besides,” she added smugly now, patting your hand, “I need to meet my great-grandbabies properly before I go anywhere.”
Harry’s entire expression softened at that word.
Great-grandbabies.
You felt his fingers tighten slightly around yours.
—
Later that evening, after dinner had settled and the house grew quieter, you stepped out onto the back veranda with your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear.
“…No, Dana, if one more magazine calls me ‘the feminine face of corporate resilience,’ I’m actually going to commit crimes.”
Dana laughed loudly through the speaker. “You say that now, but your approval ratings are terrifyingly high.”
You rolled your eyes fondly, pacing slowly beneath the soft terrace lights.
The evening air had turned cooler outside, enough to send a small shiver through you. “…okay, email me the revised board schedule tomorrow,” you murmured. “And tell Ron to stop sending me engagement ring memes.” You sighed before ending the call.
The second you lowered your phone, a soft warmth settled over your shoulders.
You turned slightly.
Vivienne stood behind you holding the edges of a cashmere shawl gently around you.
“There, ” she murmured warmly. “Better.”
“Thank you.”
Vivienne smiled faintly. “Do you have a minute?”
“Of course.”
She nodded toward the garden seating area, and the two of you slowly sat down together beneath the soft glow of the terrace lights.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Then Vivienne smiled quietly to herself.
“You made Eloise very happy tonight,” she said softly. “She fell asleep smiling.”
A small laugh escaped her.
“She was mumbling about twins in Spanish ten minutes ago.”
You smiled down at your hands. “She deserved to know.”
“She did.” Vivienne’s eyes softened. “And honestly?” She exhaled quietly. “I think all of us needed something joyful again.”
A silence settled between you.
Gentle.
Comfortable.
Then Vivienne looked over at you fully.
“You bring light into this family,” she said softly. “Especially for Harry.”
Your chest tightened instantly.
You stayed quiet.
Vivienne’s gaze drifted somewhere distant now.
“When you left…” she admitted quietly, “he thought he lost that light forever.” You blinked slowly. “He tried not to show it to me.” A sad smile touched her lips. “But mothers know.” Her eyes glistened slightly now. “I used to hear him come home and sit in silence for hours. Sometimes I’d call him and immediately know he’d been crying before he answered.”
Pain twisted sharply in your chest.
Vivienne reached over then, taking your hand gently into hers.
“I was terrified,” she admitted honestly. “Terrified that his heart would never fully heal.” Your eyes burned immediately.
“But now?” Her expression softened beautifully. “Whenever he visits me… or even when I hear his voice on the phone…” She smiled through the emotion gathering in her eyes. “I always know when he’s just been with you.”
A weak smile pulled at your lips.
Vivienne laughed softly.
“He gets this ridiculous smile on his face.” She shook her head affectionately. “Even his voice changes.”
Your throat tightened painfully.
“And when you become a mother,” Vivienne continued gently, squeezing your hand, “you’ll understand exactly what I mean. How deeply you learn someone. How a single expression or change in tone can tell you everything.”
You looked down briefly, trying to steady yourself.
Vivienne waited patiently before speaking again.
“I suppose what I’m trying to say is…” She smiled softly now. “There are things in this world money can never buy.”
Her thumb brushed gently over your hand.
“Love. Peace. Belonging.” Her eyes held yours carefully. “Those feelings are what make life worth living.”
Your vision blurred slightly. “So don’t lose them,” she whispered. “And don’t lose each other.”
A tiny breath left her afterward before she added carefully:
“And I hope this doesn’t sound selfish…” You looked at her immediately. “…but I do hope you marry my son again someday.
A watery laugh escaped as you wiped quickly beneath your eyes. “Vivienne,” you whispered shakily, “are you trying to make me cry? Because my pregnancy hormones are already dangerously unstable right now.”
Vivienne laughed softly through her own tears before immediately pulling you into her arms. “Come here, honey.”
You held onto her tightly.
And for the first time in a very long time, it didn’t feel like you were being held by Harry’s mother.
It felt like family.
Vivienne kissed the side of your head gently. “Thank you,” she whispered emotionally. “For everything.” Your chest tightened painfully again. “You gave me my son back.” A tear slipped down your cheek. Vivienne only held you tighter. “And I hope the two of you spend the rest of your lives making each other happy.
Later That Night…
The bedroom was quiet except for the faint sound of rain tapping softly against the windows.
Warm lamplight spilled across the room in golden shadows while Harry sat against the headboard, sleeves rolled up slightly, distracted by something on his laptop.
You stood alone in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror one last time. Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding.
The silk babydoll Harry had bought for you in London draped softly against your skin, the deep shade of violet making your flushed cheeks even warmer somehow. Delicate lace traced over your chest and thighs, the matching set beneath it expensive enough to make you nervous all over again.
For a second, you almost laughed at yourself.
You had negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking.
But this? This terrified you. Not because of the lingerie. Because of what you were about to say.
Out in the bedroom, you heard Harry shift slightly before the sound of his laptop finally closing.
“Baby? Everything okay in there?” A tiny beat passed. “You’re not getting sick again, are you?”
Your chest tightened painfully at the concern in his voice.
God.
You loved him so much.
Slowly, you opened the bathroom door.
And Harry froze. Completely. His eyes lifted from the bed—
then stayed there. On you.
The expression on his face changed instantly, somewhere between awe and complete devastation. “…fuck,” he breathed quietly.
You walked toward him slowly, pulse thundering in your ears beneath the soft fabric brushing your thighs.
Harry watched every step like he physically couldn’t look away.
“Do you,” he asked hoarsely, eyes dragging slowly over your body, “have any idea how dangerous you are?”
A nervous smile tugged softly at your lips.
Then you climbed carefully onto the bed and settled into his lap, your arms sliding around his neck while his hands instinctively found your waist.
Warm. Safe. Home.
“Harry…” you whispered softly against his lips.
He swallowed hard immediately.
Your fingers brushed lightly against his cheek before you slowly lifted your left hand between you.
The ring still sat there.
His ring.
Your eyes met his again.
“I was thinking…” you murmured quietly. “I don’t think I ever want to take this off again.”
Harry’s breath caught instantly.
You smiled faintly through the emotion rising in your chest.
“Pretending we were married again for Eloise, only made me realize something.” Your thumb brushed over the diamond carefully. “This was always mine anyway.”
Your voice softened even more.
“Whether I wore it or not.”
Harry stared at you silently now, his arms tightening around your waist almost unconsciously.
“And my heart…” you whispered shakily, “was always yours too.”
“Baby,” Harry breathed, visibly overwhelmed now as his forehead pressed briefly against yours.
You closed your eyes for one second before continuing softly:
“I think I spent so much time being afraid of losing everything again…” Your fingers curled slightly against his shoulder. “That I forgot losing you would hurt so much more.”
Harry’s entire expression broke open at that.
“So…” you whispered, finally meeting his eyes again, “if that offer still stands…”
Harry sat up straighter so fast it almost made you laugh through your nerves.
“…yeah?” he asked immediately, voice rough with hope. A watery smile touched your lips. “I’m ready to be your wife again.”
Silence.
For one breathtaking second, Harry just stared at you.
Like he couldn’t believe this was real.
Then his hands suddenly cupped your face and he kissed you hard.
Desperately.
Relieved.
Happy.
The force of it stole the breath from your lungs instantly as he pulled you closer against him, kissing you again and again like he physically couldn’t stop.
“Baby,” he whispered breathlessly between kisses. “Jesus Christ—”
Another kiss.
Then another.
His forehead rested against yours for half a second before he looked at you again, smiling so widely it almost looked boyish.
“Do you have any idea what you just did to me?”
You laughed softly through the emotion burning behind your eyes.
Harry kissed you again before you could answer.
Slow this time.
Deep.
Full of everything the two of you had survived to get back here.
“I love you,” he whispered against your mouth. “So fucking much.”
Your heart melted instantly.
“I love you too, Harry.”
He kissed the corner of your mouth again, smiling against your skin while his hands slid along your waist beneath the silk.
“Now,” you murmured softly, brushing your nose against his, “considering we’re officially engaged again…”
Harry’s eyes warmed immediately.
“I think you should kiss me one more time.”
“Only one?”
Then he kissed you again—
slowly pushing you back against the pillows while the rain continued falling softly outside the windows.
thanks for reading, likes, comments, reblogs are appreciated ❤️
AND PLEASE SHARE YOUR THOUGHTS WITH ME ❤️ IT'S SOOOO IMPORTANT TO MEEEE 🥰
pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader
content warning(s): EXPLICIT CONTENT (18+ MDNI), fake/pretend relationship, friends with benefits, two idiots in love and neither of them want to admit anything, sexual tension, lingering touches, harry puts sunscreen on you ;), description of alcohol/drinking, minimal physical description, smut - oral (f!receiving), protected piv, tipsy/drunk(?) + kitchen counter sex, dirty talk, no use of y/n.
word count: 7.2k
a/n: alright y'all, the entire look during this trip will be pedro from the corona commercials bc i think we moved on way too fast at how good he looked there lol. and the island they're on btw is the "kudadoo maldives private island"! anyway, it's only day one for these two... i wonder what'll happen next??? ;)
pt 1. - pt 3. || series masterlist. || read on AO3.
“Are you sure you’re packed?” Harry asked, looking over at you. “Got everything you need?”
“Yes,” you answered. “Thanks to you.”
He chuckled and nodded, leading you through the airport with both hands holding both of your luggages. You shouldn’t have been surprised that he was such a gentleman, making sure he held the doors open for you first, holding your bags so that you could walk freely, but you didn’t expect how it made you feel.
Even as he led you through the airport, Harry walked like he owned the entire place. With so many eyes on him, he kept his own either focused ahead of him or on you. It made you feel kind of special.
“And flying? You gonna be okay?” He asked.
“Too late to be asking me that. Should’ve thought that before you asked me to be your pretend girlfriend,” you teased.
“It’s a long flight.”
“And I know you put us in first class, so I’ll be fine.”
Harry sighed. “Okay, just let me know if there’s anything I can do.”
“Oh, I see,” you said, arms crossed over your chest as you both were now checking in. “You’re nervous.”
“Of course I’m nervous. I’m lying to my family.”
“Could end it before you even get on that plane,” you suggested. “But I’m keeping the clothes.”
He scoffed. “I’m not ending it. I’ll be fine.”
“You sure? Because we’re not even there yet and you’re already stressed.”
Harry sighed. “I’m fine.”
You leaned in and whispered quietly, “maybe we should join the mile high club. I’m sure that’d ease some stress.”
His eyes narrowed as he pulled back to look down at you. “You’re enjoying this.”
“I am.” You watched him check in your luggages before taking your hand and leading you through the airport once again. “I promise I’ll behave once we’re with your family. I just gotta let it all out now.”
He looked at you and tugged you to his side, his arm snaking around your waist protectively.
“You better.”
“Or what?”
His eyes narrowed. “You know what.”
You smiled. “See, you want me bad too.”
“Don’t I always?”
You laughed and leaned against him, arm looping around his lower back too.
It took both you and Harry about twenty hours to arrive to the Maldives and it was already nighttime by the time you landed. He led you through the plane and airport effortlessly too—hand resting on your lower back or his hand encompassing yours. Maybe this was his way of assuming the role as protective and doting boyfriend before you meet up with his family.
“Tired?” He asked.
“Yeah,” you answered. “Just glad I could stretch my legs. I don’t know how I’d be if I rode in coach.”
“Poor you,” he teased. “We can grab something to eat at the villa.”
“Villa?”
“On the water.”
“You’re speaking in riddles.”
Harry chuckled. “We’re staying on a private island where the villa is on the water.”
Your eyes widened. “Are you serious?”
“You know my parents,” he answered. “Did you think they wouldn’t go all out for their anniversary?”
“Maybe not like that.”
“Then maybe you don’t know them. Come on. I’m hungry and I want a shower.”
You nodded and followed him eagerly, spotting a driver holding up his name immediately. You reached for his hand and saw him look back at you with a furrowed brow.
“Girlfriend, remember?” You said.
He squeezed your hand and then tugged you closer. “Girlfriend.”
You had fallen asleep on the car ride to the private island. It was Harry who picked you up from the car and carried you into your shared villa, setting you on the mattress carefully. He stared at you for a few seconds before leaving the bedroom to walk into the kitchen. He knew the rest of his family would be arriving soon, but they would be meeting you tomorrow. He poured himself a drink and walked towards the living area, sitting on the couch and staring out the large windows. The moon was reflecting against the water, casting a natural glow into the villa.
His mind drifted and wondered how this week was going to go. He knew it’d be easy to slip into such a normal dynamic with you, but he wasn’t sure why he kept hearing his mother’s words in his mind.
I see the way you look at her sometimes. It lingers.
It lingers.
Lingers.
Lingers…
He sighed and set his drink down on the coffee table, leaning back against the couch. Harry wasn’t sure what to expect for this week, but he was just hoping that it’d pass quickly. He pulled his phone out and sent a text in the family group chat to let them know that they arrived before grabbing his drink and walking back into the bedroom.
You had shifted your position, lying on your abdomen with your leg bent forward and your arms underneath the pillow. You looked so calm and at peace like this. Sure, he’d seen you asleep before but never like this.
And never in this type of setting either.
You awoke early in the morning to an empty bed. You sat up and widened your eyes at the room you were in, followed by the view just right outside. Harry wasn’t lying, you were on the water. You stood slowly and looked around, noticing your luggage in the corner next to Harry’s but with him nowhere to be found. Pulling your hair into a messy bun, you stepped out of the room to see him fast asleep on the couch in the living area.
You furrowed a brow and sat at the edge of the coffee table, biting your lower lip as you looked at him. Harry had always been attractive to you. His deep brown eyes, dark curls and dimples—you wondered why he couldn’t settle down, why he had such a difficult time finding someone to commit to.
Even now, with Lucy being just another failed relationship, you wondered what truly was wrong with him. Was he too picky? Did he have a side to him that he hadn’t shown you? Was he just truly incapable of putting himself out there and being vulnerable?
You were taken out of your thoughts when you heard his voice. Deep and gruff from sleep.
“You’re being creepy,” he mumbled.
“Am not.”
“You’re staring at me while I’m sleeping.”
“Well, you’re awake, so…”
He opened his eyes and looked up at you. “I am now.”
“Why are you in the living room?”
“We don’t sleep together, remember?”
You sighed. “We might have to break that rule for the entire week we’re here, Harry.”
He sat up slowly and nodded, bringing a hand up to rub the sleep from his eyes. “Right.”
Then, you stood up and looked around with a smile. “It’s beautiful here.”
He just answered with a quiet grunt. “Did you sleep okay?”
“Yeah. Did you carry me in?”
“Yeah,” he answered. “I know how cranky you get when you’re woken up.”
You rolled your eyes. Harry stood and walked over to you. His body lingered, not quite crossing that threshold just yet. His fingers moved at his sides though, lightly brushing them over your hand.
“Want some coffee?”
“You gonna make?”
“Gonna try,” he answered.
“Then yes,” you smiled. “Do we have plans today?”
Harry nodded. “Gonna meet up with my family, have some lunch.”
“Great, so I have time to swim?”
“Guess so.”
“Will you join me?”
He shook his head. “No.”
“Oh, come on,” you said, turning your body to face his. “You’re on vacation. Try to relax and have some fun.”
“I’m lying to my family about my love life,” he argued. “Nothing about that screams fun.”
“At least you’re not lying to them with someone you barely know,” you pointed out. “Come on. We have to make this believable, right? Just… dip your toes in.”
“Do I look like someone who just dips my toes in?”
You leaned back to look at him, eyeing him up and down. “Truthfully, yes.”
Harry chuckled. You felt yourself relax at the sight of him smiling.
“Fine, but after coffee, okay?”
You nodded and leaned in to kiss his cheek. “We’re gonna have so much fun.”
“Debatable,” he mumbled, but watched you turn away to go back into the bedroom.
Harry sighed and walked towards the kitchen, preparing coffee for the both of you. He glanced down the hallway and into the direction of the bedroom, watching you kneel down in front of the luggage to grab some change of clothes.
He grabbed his phone and noticed the messages from his parents and Peter, the rest of them saying they had finally arrived now too. He sighed and set down his phone, grabbing two mugs from the cupboard to pour the coffee in.
Harry just had to get through today. Day one. It would be fine, wouldn’t it?
He almost spilled his coffee when he saw you walk out of the bedroom. It was a deep red floral print two-piece bikini with a short skirt in the same pattern tied at the side of your waist. You had your hair pulled into a loose braid with a few strands falling over your face.
Harry looked over your frame, eyes lingering on every exposed inch of your body. You set the towels on the couch and the sunscreen before you walked over to him, smiling broadly in his direction as you reached for your cup.
“Thanks for the coffee,” you said, sipping it carefully like you had no idea the effect you had on him.
He rounded the corner to you and reached out to the side of your exposed leg, fingers trailing upwards. “This is nice.”
“Yeah?” You smiled, staring at him from the rim of your mug. “You like it?”
Harry nodded, bringing his hand further up your leg until he started to play with the tie at your hip. “Looks good.”
“Thanks,” you said, setting the mug down. “You paid for it.”
He scoffed and then pulled back, clearing his throat as he looked at you from top to bottom again. “Of course I did.”
“Can you hurry up and get ready so that we can go into the water together?”
“I’m only dipping my toes, remember?”
“Sure… sure.”
His eyes narrowed before he grabbed his mug from the counter. “I’ll be quick.”
“You better. I need help with putting sunscreen on my back.”
“And I’m the help?”
“Exactly,” you grinned. “But don’t worry, I’ll do you too.”
“Won’t need it,” he said, beginning to walk down the hallway now. “I’m only dipping my toes in.”
You laughed quietly to yourself and walked out of the villa onto the deck, inhaling sharply as you looked around. You couldn’t believe you were actually here, on the water on a private island. You knew Harry’s family was rich, but this was on a different level.
Harry came out after a few minutes, dressed in dark navy blue swimming trunks and a white knit shirt, the buttons at the top undone to reveal his tanned and broad chest.
You looked over at him and smiled. “You really should show your legs more often,” you said. “They’re nice.”
“Even with my scars?”
“You made an investment on yourself,” you shrugged. “You shouldn’t be ashamed of that.”
“Most people tend to look at you differently when you admit you’ve gotten some work done to alter the way you look.”
“Who says you have to tell the truth?” You smiled, grabbing the sunscreen from his grasp. “Besides, I think it makes you look hotter.”
“The scars?”
You nodded.
“You’re ridiculous.”
“I’m being truthful.”
“You’re flirting,” he said simply.
“What can I say? It’s easy to flirt with you when we’re in the Maldives.” You opened the bottle sunscreen and applied a small amount onto your hand to rub along your arms and chest.
“Let me,” he mumbled.
“I can get my front,” you said.
“Then turn around,” Harry replied.
“You just want to put your hands on me.”
“Maybe,” he smirked.
“Now who’s flirting?”
“You make it easy,” he answered, hands resting on your hips and turning you swiftly until your back was facing him. Once you finished applying sunscreen to your front, you reached back to hand him the bottle.
“Try not to get all hot and bothered,” he teased. “I know what happens to you when I get my hands on you.”
You scoffed. “Only when we’re having sex.”
Harry stepped forward and whispered quietly into your ear. “We both know that’s not entirely true.”
You cleared your throat.
Harry started applying some sunscreen to your shoulders first, spreading it evenly along your skin.
A moan escaped you accidentally.
“Told you,” he chuckled into your ear.
“Shut up,” you mumbled. “Maybe I just need a massage.”
“That can be arranged.”
You rolled your eyes, but bit your lower lip to hold back another moan that wanted to slip out. His hands moved from your shoulders and down your back, thumbs digging softly I your muscles to relieve some of the tension.
Harry let his eyes deviate along your lower back and down to your backside, one of his hands coming up to undo the tie of the skirt to let it fall to your ankles.
“Hmm,” he murmured to himself.
“You’re staring,” you said. “And I can get my own ass, thanks.”
“Shame,” Harry whispered, stepping away from you to look at you from top to bottom. “I wouldn’t have minded.”
“Uh huh,” you smiled, turning to kiss his cheek. “Thanks, baby,” you teased before you turned back around to jump into the ocean with a splash.
Harry chuckled to himself and sat at the edge of the deck to watch you. He dipped his toes into the cool water, hands resting at either side of him as he watched you come up from underneath the water, stroking your hair back and away from your face now.
“You sure you don’t want to come in?” You asked, swimming slowly over to him. “It feels great.”
“I’m fine,” he said, gently kicking his feet back and forth under the water. “I can feel it just fine like this.”
“Will you get in the water with me at some point this week?” You asked.
“If you’re good,” he teased.
“If I’m good?”
He nodded. “And if you behave.”
“You act like I’m not a good girl,” you grinned, licking your lower lip.
“You’re not… sometimes.”
“Maybe that’s intentional.” You laughed, moving to lay back against the water and you floated against the surface with the sun beating down on you and your body. “Please just come into the water with me.”
Harry shook his head. “Next time.”
“We both know there won’t be a next time.”
He heard his phone ring from inside the villa. Harry stood up and looked at you. “I’m gonna get that. You stay… have some fun for the both of us.”
“Boring… you’re boring, Castillo!”
Harry chuckled to himself and gave you one last look before he stepped back inside the villa once he dried his feet.
When he looked down at his phone, he sighed. He hadn’t told you that he signed up for Adore’s matchmaking services and the message he thought would be from his family was instead his matchmaker telling him that there was a woman who would be perfect for him.
He heard your laughter from outside. Harry sighed and began typing. This wasn’t real, you weren’t his.
So, he told his matchmaker that he couldn’t wait and to get something set up for when he would get back home.
Harry was seated on the couch, typing away on his phone to let his family that he’d be seeing them soon. He was dressed casually—a pair of tan linen shorts with a dark, olive-colored polo shirt. It was breathable, considering the heat.
“Hey, are you almost ready?” He called out.
“Coming!” You answered, walking out of the bedroom and down the hallway into the living area. He turned to look over at you, once again, shocked at what you were wearing.
It was a pale green strapless dress with floral print (again) that stopped just right above your ankles. It hugged your curves in all the right places and when you turned, he felt his throat go dry. It was a backless dress too.
“Ready,” you said, running a hand through your hair. It was loose, purposefully undone to give that beach look.
“Another one that I paid for?” Harry asked, standing up from the couch.
“This one I actually owned already,” you smiled.
“Oh? How come I’ve never seen it?”
“Because you never take me to places like this,” you laughed. “So, we’re on the same page with our story, right?”
Harry nodded. “Yeah. Disastrous first date, but—”
“But we had fun,” you finished.
“And you kissed me.”
“Yes, I did,” you smiled. Then, you took a step closer and moved a hand to his chest. “We’ll have to be affectionate.”
“Yeah,” he said. “But we don’t have to make it too obvious. Maybe some hand holding, a peck here and there.”
“Alright,” you nodded, taking a deep breath. “You feeling okay?”
Harry shrugged. “Just gotta get through the week.”
“Right,” you said. “But hey, I’ll be right here with you.”
He smiled.
Then, you caught him by surprise when you leaned in to kiss his cheek. “Let’s go, boyfriend.”
He chuckled, shaking his head as he pulled away to look down at you. “By the way,” Harry whispered. “You look beautiful.”
You smiled and moved your hand from his chest to cup his cheek.
“Flirt.”
He leaned in and lightly pecked your lips. “Again, you make it easy.”
You sighed against his lips before pulling away. “Stop being charming. Let’s go.”
He chuckled and nodded, moving a hand to your lower back as he led you out of the villa.
Harry wasn’t sure how today was going to go, but surely it wouldn’t be as worse as he’d expect it to be if he came alone.
He saw his mother first, looking as radiant as she always did. Harry wouldn’t admit it, but his mother had always been a soft spot for him. Peter liked to joke around and say that he was a mama’s boy growing up, always wanting to be near her and making sure that she was taken care of. Harry would argue and say it was just his way of protecting her, of making sure that she didn’t work too hard.
But he knew there was some truth to it.
“Today’s going to be very lowkey… but the rest of the week will ramp up,” Harry explained. “Today is just the immediate family.”
“You mean more people will be coming?”
Harry nodded. “Yes.”
“Guess having a private island is worth it then.”
Almost like he could sense your anxiety, he reached over and rested a hand on your knee. “It’s just lunch.”
“I know, but I think it’s starting to hit me that I’ll be lying to your parents… and they’ve both been so good to me.”
“Hey, I’ve been good to you.”
You looked over at him. “In a different way.”
He smirked. “We’re both nervous,” he said softly. “I think that’s okay. Makes it more realistic because meeting your partner’s family for the first time should be nerve wracking.”
“Will you hold my hand?”
“You know I will.”
The driver put the car in park and he leaned down to kiss the crown of your head. “We got this, baby.”
You turned your hand to squeeze his own. “Okay.”
The driver opened the door and Harry stepped out first, taking your hand to help you out as well. When you did, he stayed close by your side, keeping a hand resting on your lower back.
“Harry, honey,” his mother called out, greeting the both of you halfway.
“Hi, ma,” he smiled, leaning down to kiss her cheek.
She smiled and turned to you. “You look gorgeous.”
“Thank you, Mrs. Castillo,” you smiled, leaning into Harry. “And thank you for having me. It’s such a beautiful place.”
“I’m just surprised Harry didn’t say anything sooner about the two of you seeing each other,” she laughed quietly. “But then again, he always was the quiet one anyway.”
You looked over at him and smiled. “This is actually a big step in our relationship, right, baby?”
Harry looked down at you and nodded. He looked into your eyes a second longer than he needed to but he found it comforting, grounding, to have you here.
“That’s right.”
“Well,” his mother said. “We’re glad to have you here… and to be honest, we’re relieved that you both ended up with each other.”
“Ma,” he mumbled.
She smiled. “Okay, okay. I won’t say a word,” she winked.
“About what?” You asked, furrowing a brow.
“Nothing,” Harry answered. “Should we head inside for lunch? I’m sure you and dad can’t wait to start all the festivities you have planned for the week.”
“Fifty years of marriage, honey,” his mother said. “That’s a big milestone.”
You looked up at Harry and nodded in agreement. “Imagine where you’ll be in fifty years, Harry,” you said.
“Hopefully with you,” he blurted out.
Your eyes widened just slightly but he leaned in to kiss your cheek before you could say anything else. You wondered if it was just his way of playing the role as your boyfriend or if he was really telling the truth. Either way, you tried not to dwell on it too much.
Because that meant allowing yourself to think about life with him.
And that wasn’t what you needed. It wasn’t what you wanted either. Harry was, and always will be, just someone to pass time with. Nothing else. Nothing more. That was the agreement.
“Charmer,” you teased.
His mother laughed quietly. “He does have a way with words, doesn’t he?”
“He really does,” you answered, eyes narrowing slightly at him.
“Okay, I’m starving,” Harry said. “Can we go inside now?”
His mother nodded and led the two of you inside. She was a few feet away from the both of you, which gave Harry enough space to whisper into your ear without his mother hearing.
“Sorry about that,” he whispered. “It just kind of came out.”
You looked up at him and nodded. So, he didn’t mean it. He was just playing a role.
“I know,” you lied, forcing a small smile. “It was smooth.”
“Glad you thought so… because you looked a bit surprised.”
“Just wasn’t expecting it.”
“Besides, fifty years of marriage sounds like a lot of work,” he mumbled.
“Not with the right person,” you replied too quickly.
“What?”
“I just mean that when it’s with the right person, fifty years won’t be enough.”
His eyes softened as he looked down at you. Harry opened his mouth to say something but realized he didn’t have anything worth saying anyway. So, he shut his mouth and nodded.
Because in the back of his mind, all he could hear was Lucy.
Love is supposed to be easy.
He shouldn’t have been surprised by the fact that you just fit in so naturally with his family. Harry was seated to your right with his arm draped over the back of your chair as you leaned against him. Throughout lunch, it was like your bodies knew just the right amount of space to give each other in certain moments or when to move in closer in others.
He ran his fingertips lightly along the back of your shoulder as you reached for your glass of wine, sipping it with a smile as you listened to the story of how his parents met. He tuned them out almost instantly, having heard the story before, but all he could focus on was how the two of you looked like to the rest of the family.
Could they sense any hesitation from either of you?
Did they have an idea that all of this was a lie?
Even Peter noticed that he wasn’t all that there. So, he stood from his chair and pointed at Harry briefly, motioning him towards the bathrooms.
Harry furrowed a brow and then leaned in to kiss your temple briefly, excusing himself from the table to follow his younger brother towards the back.
“What?”
“Are you okay?” Peter asked.
“I’m fine.”
“You don’t look fine.”
“Jet lag,” he lied.
Peter rolled his eyes. “Right.”
“Just thinking, Peter,” he sighed.
“About?”
Harry shrugged. “Everything.”
“Hm.”
“Hm what?”
“If I can notice something’s wrong, then your girl will too,” Peter said.
Harry let out a sigh of relief. He thought Peter had called him away from the table to tell him that he knew just exactly what he was doing, but instead, he pulled him aside to just check in.
And he hated the way it made him feel when Peter called you his girl.
Because then he started thinking about it and something territorial came over him.
“I’m fine,” he sighed.
“Okay,” Peter nodded. “If you say so.”
“Charlotte looks good,” Harry said.
“Yeah, we’re actually trying for a baby right now,” his younger brother smiled.
“Oh?”
“No luck so far, but it’s definitely fun trying,” he chuckled. “We’re trying not to put too much pressure on it, you know?”
“Makes sense,” Harry replied, moving his hands into his pockets. “Who knows? Maybe she’ll get pregnant during this trip.”
Peter laughed quietly. “Let’s hope so. I know mom would love that.”
“She sure would,” Harry smiled. “She and dad have been asking for a grandkid and we know it’s not gonna be me who’s going to have a kid first.”
“You never know,” he winked.
Harry shook his head. “We’re safe. We take protection very seriously,” he shrugged.
“They’re not a hundred percent, though.”
“Sure, of course, but it’s still much safer than just doing it without contraception.” Harry shook his head then. “Anyway, why the hell are we talking about my sex life?”
Peter laughed. “Sorry, sorry, let’s head back.”
Harry nodded.
“By the way,” Peter said. “You look… happier,” he pointed out. “And different than when you were with Lucy.”
He bit his lower lip as he followed Peter back to the table. He saw you talking and laughing with his parents and Charlotte and he started thinking just how easily you fit in.
Then, he remembered Peter calling you his girl.
And when your eyes met his, all Harry could think about was:
Mine.
Mine.
Mine.
You’re mine.
Lunch soon turned into afternoon drinks back at his parents’ villa. Obviously, it was much bigger than his own and Peter’s, but neither of them minded. They were used to their parents spending money on the finger things in life anyway.
“So…” Charlotte smiled, leaning back against Peter. “Tell us how you two became… a thing.”
“Oh,” you smiled, looking over at Harry who was sitting next to you. “You wanna tell it, baby?”
“You can, baby,” Harry said.
You held his gaze for a few seconds.
His parents were on the loveseat across from you, his father’s arm around his mother affectionately.
“Okay, I’ll tell it,” you said, turning back to glance at Charlotte. “Well, as you know, I’ve worked for the family for about five years now.”
“Right,” Charlotte smiled. “Did you guys finally have some kind of epiphany during one of your gigs?”
You shook your head. Harry kept his eyes on you.
“It’s funny, actually. We bumped into each other at a coffee shop one morning.”
“Coffee shop?” His mother asked. “Which one?”
Harry cleared his throat. Neither of you established which coffee shop and didn’t think anyone would ask.
So, Harry chimed in instead. “The one near Central Park,” he answered.
You nodded in agreement.
Harry continued.
“It was after Lucy,” he said quietly. “And we just… we started talking.”
“Spent most of the morning just talking actually,” you smiled. “He was… familiar, you know? A friend.”
Harry smiled. “It was easy,” he added.
“Then, I asked him out to dinner.”
His mother grinned.
Peter’s eyes widened.
“You made the first move?”
“He had just come back from Iceland. I figured I’d… put myself out there and let him know that I was interested. Worst case scenario, he’d reject me.”
“That’s brave of you,” his mother smiled.
“Very courageous,” his father chimed in. “Not many women would do that.”
You smiled and leaned further into Harry. “We had a really great conversation.”
Everyone laughed.
Harry relaxed just a bit.
“But dinner was a disaster,” he continued. “Nothing was working to our favor that night. Food took so long and when we did get our food, it wasn’t even what we ordered.”
“Definitely a bad first date,” you teased. “But not because of Harry… it was because of the circumstances.”
“Still had fun,” he smiled, kissing your cheek lightly.
“I did too,” you said. “We spent the entire night just… laughing together… so when he dropped me off, I kissed him.”
“I knew I liked you,” his father laughed. “Going after what you want, I like that.”
“Took me by surprise,” Harry said, arm wrapping around your shoulders now. “Wasn’t used to that.”
You looked up at him and smiled. “And we’ve been together ever since,” you nodded.
“About two months, yeah,” Harry confirmed.
“Well, we’re glad that Harry finally found someone that makes him genuinely happy,” his mother said. “And we see the way you look at him too.”
You cleared your throat and let out a nervous chuckle. “He makes it easy,” you said quietly.
Harry suddenly stood up and then pointed to your empty glass. “Want a refill, baby?”
You nodded and stood with him, taking one of his hands in yours. “Yeah, I’ll come with.” You forced a smile and then, “does anyone else want a refill?”
They all shook their heads.
“We’re gonna head back to our villa,” Peter said.
“And your mother and I… have some other plans,” his father said.
“That means it’s time to go,” you laughed.
Harry nodded. “Okay then, we’ll see you guys tomorrow.”
He released your hand to hug Charlotte and shake Peter’s hand before he walked over to his parents. He kissed his mother’s cheek and pulled her into a hug before doing the same to his father.
You followed him and felt his mother pull you into her arms. She had always been so kind to you, but this version—the version as your “boyfriend’s” mother and not your boss—wasn’t something you were used to.
“We really are so happy you’re here,” she whispered. “You look at him the way he looks at you.”
You pulled back to look at her, confused. “What?”
“You look at him like there’s something you want to say, but can’t quite bring yourself up to say it.”
“I don’t—”
“There’s something you two aren’t admitting to each other,” his mother said with a small smile. “But that’s okay because it’ll come out sooner or later.”
You didn’t know what to do but just nod at her.
“Good night,” she continued.
“Night, Mrs. Castillo.”
Back at your own shared villa with Harry, you had switched from wine to hard liquor. You downed a single shot of tequila when he came into the kitchen.
The air around the both of you felt charged now.
The lunch was successful, but both of you were thinking of different things—things that made you both start wondering what this could really be like if neither of you were lying.
“Can you pour me one too?” Harry asked.
You nodded and grabbed another shot glass. You were barefoot now against the tiled floor, still in your dress, as you poured tequila in both glasses.
Harry walked over to you and took the shot glass, clicking it against yours softly.
“Salud,” he whispered, downing the shot with ease.
You did the same, feeling it burn in the back of your throat. You were tipsy now, so was Harry, and the tension between the two of you thickened.
“It was a good day,” he said.
“It was.”
“You did good.”
“So did you.”
Harry looked down at you and reached out to the touch the fabric of your dress, letting out a quiet breath. “I like this on you.”
You weren’t sure if the warmth you felt was from the alcohol or from the way his compliments were hitting you harder than before. It felt like there was weight to it now, like Harry was noticing you in a different light.
“Makes me wonder what other dresses you brought with you.”
“You’ll find out,” you whispered.
Harry nodded and used his free hand to pour himself another shot. He downed it quickly and refilled both shot glasses.
“Do you think they bought it?” He asked.
“I think so,” you answered. Your mind drifted momentarily to what his mother said: You look at him the way he looks at you. You weren’t sure what she meant by that because nothing in the way Harry looked at you ever gave you a different impression that this was something more.
That maybe there always was.
“Good,” he said.
You grabbed your shot glass
So did Harry.
Another clinking of the glass.
You stared at each other as you both downed the liquor at the same time. Your eyes glanced at his lips. Harry’s did the same.
“You looked good tonight,” you complimented. “As much as I like seeing you in a suit, this type of clothing also suits you.”
“Yeah?”
You nodded. “You seem more relaxed.”
“I am.”
“You are now,” you replied teasingly.
“I’m always relaxed when you’re here.”
You cleared your throat.
He didn’t have to say that and neither of you needed to fake anything behind closed doors, but the attraction you felt towards each other always felt so intense.
“You’re flirting.”
He just hummed. Harry stepped forward against until you turned to face him, back resting against the counter. He reached out and rested a hand on the edges of it, caging you in between his body and the kitchen counter.
“You sure it’s okay to sleep next to you?” Harry asked, leaning down and brushing his nose lightly over your cheek.
You nodded as your own hands moved to rest on his chest. “Yes,” you answered. “I’m sure.”
“I promise I’ll keep my hands to myself,” he said quietly.
“What if I don’t want you to?” You asked.
Harry’s gaze darkened. “You want me to touch you?”
You nodded slowly. “Yes.”
That was all he needed before he bent down to pick you up into his arms. Harry set you down on the kitchen counter, stepping between your legs as he leaned in to lightly press his lips against your own.
Your hands moved to his hair immediately, raking your fingers through his curls as you felt him lift the ends of your dress higher up your legs.
It was always felt like this with him.
Intense. Charged. Rushed.
Always like you both had limited time and tried to do as much as you could within that timeframe.
But now, now you both had an entire week with each other. No distractions and reality, at least for this week, wouldn’t catch up to either of you.
His strong hands moved to grip your hips, tugging you roughly to the edge of the counter. Harry’s lips moved eagerly with your own, tongue sliding to meet yours. He felt your hands move to grab his shirt, tugging on it as he pulled back from the kiss to pull the shirt over his head.
“Mm,” you grinned, leaning forward to press kisses along his collarbone and up his neck.
Harry groaned, using his free hand to unzip your dress before he pulled it down your body. He cleared his throat at the sight of your matching white lace bra and thong.
“Gonna take those shorts off?” You teased, reaching behind you to unclasp your bra as you tossed it over your shoulder.
“Y—Yeah,” he muttered, pushing his shorts and boxers down in one swift motion. He looked down at himself, already hard and leaking at his tip.
Then, Harry reached up to tug down your thong until you were sitting on the counter completely bare for him.
“Condom,” you pointed out.
“Not yet,” he said, moving his hands to keep your legs spread apart. “Want a fucking taste of you first.”
Harry knelt down before you and let out a loud groan at the sight of you already glistening wet for him. He leaned forward and licked a stripe along the length of your sex, feeling your hands immediately down to tug on his hair.
“Greedy,” he grinned.
You tugged on his hair and pulled him closer to where you needed him the most.
“Don’t worry, baby. I’ll take care of her,” Harry winked. He didn’t normally do this, at least not with other women, but for some reason, he felt crazed enough to do this with you. When he had tasted you for the first time, it was like he couldn’t get enough—he spent that entire night between your legs, pulling orgasm after orgasm out of you.
And the moans that escaped you always fueled him further. You’d always try and push him away when you felt like you couldn’t handle anymore, but he just kept going.
And going.
And going.
Because with you, Harry couldn’t ever contain his excitement.
So, he leaned forward and lapped at your juices eagerly, keeping your legs spread with his large hands on your upper thighs. Harry flicked his tongue repeatedly, fingertips digging into the flesh of your thighs.
You curled your hands into his hair, tugging on it roughly. Harry didn’t stop though. He knew you were close, especially by the way your hands gripped his hair even tighter.
“Fuck, Harry, wait—”
He growled against you and shook his head. He draped an arm over your midsection to keep you still as his other hand gripped your wrists.
It was obscene, the way he was holding you firmly against the counter and the wet sounds of him eating you out. You were so fucking wet that your arousal dropped down his chin.
Your back arched as you abruptly closed your legs around his head. Harry grinned against you, pressing himself further into your sex.
“Fuck!” You exclaimed. Your orgasm hit you harder than you expected. You weren’t sure if it was because of how good Harry was at doing this or if today’s events always played a factor.
Harry pulled away from you and stood up, grinning down at you.
“Always so fucking good,” he grinned.
You sat up and placed a hand at the base of his neck, pulling him to you roughly. You leaned up and gently nipped at his lower lip, feeling the head of his manhood brush against you.
“Gonna need you to be inside me now,” you mumbled.
Harry growled. “Gimme a sec,” he said. “Don’t move.” He leaned down and grabbed his wallet from his shorts, pulling the condom from it. He held up the packaging for you to see before tearing it open with his teeth and sliding the latex down his length.
He stepped forward between your legs again and ran the head of his manhood along your sex, growling at the feel of your warmth and wetness against him. He slipped the tip of him past your folds briefly but pulled out just as quickly, repeating the motion several more times.
“Stop teasing,” you said with a whimper.
Harry chuckled. “Just wanna open you up for me.”
“I can take it,” you replied. “You know I always can.”
“Yeah,” he said, sliding into you fully. “You always could.” Harry filled you to the hilt, groaning under his breath at your tightness surrounding him.
You gasped loudly at the feel of him. You never could quite get used to just how good he felt. He leaned over you, lips brushing over yours, as he began moving his hips
“Always so fucking wet for me, aren’t you?” He mumbled, hands resting on the counter as he thrusted into you repeatedly.
“Harry,” you whimpered, moving your arms around his shoulders as his body pressed firmly against your own.
“God, you drive me crazy,” he murmured, moving to rest his forehead against your shoulder. “Seeing you in that fucking bikini today and then that dress…” Harry growled, teeth grazing your skin roughly.
“Knew it,” you smiled, wrapping your legs around his waist as you felt him slide deeper inside of you.
“That your plan all along?” He asked, propping himself up just enough to look down at you as he delivered one hard thrust.
“It’s easy,” you grinned, lips parting as a loud moan escaped you. “It’s always easy with you, Harry.”
He clenched his jaw at that. Something in him snapped. He moved one hand to the side of your neck and the other on your hip, slamming himself into you repeatedly.
The sounds of your moans mixed in with the sounds of skin slapping against one another and it echoed throughout the villa.
There was something unsaid between the both of you. Something that started brewing the moment you both got to the Maldives, and maybe even something that had been lingering long before that too.
Because you were looking at each other like you both never had before.
“Fuck, baby,” Harry said, moving both hands to your hips now. He used it to brace himself, to keep a tight hold on you as he continued his hard and fast thrusts.
He’d usually be able to last longer, but Harry just felt something overcome him. Something he wasn’t willing to admit because after this week, you both would go back to just being friends who occasionally had sex with each other.
Nothing else.
Nothing more.
He felt you tighten around him first.
His thrusts picked up in speed.
And Harry only lasted another minute or two before he came. Hard. He filled you to the hilt and felt his body tremble as his own orgasm took over.
It wasn’t ever like this.
This intense.
Filled with so many things that neither of you cared to admit.
“Fuck,” he muttered, looking down at you with heavy breaths. Harry leaned down and pecked your lips before he slid out of you, pulling the condom from his length carefully and tying it at the ends before he tossed it into the trash.
“If I’m being honest,” you said breathlessly. “I didn’t think we’d hook up that fast.”
Harry chuckled. “No?”
“I thought maybe at least day three,” you smiled, sitting up from the counter. You pulled him to you and kissed his cheek lightly.
“Well, I thought that I did pretty good.”
“Oh yeah? How so?”
“Well, I wanted to fuck you the minute you came out this morning in that fucking bikini and skirt,” he smirked, pecking your lips once more.
“Wow,” you laughed quietly. “Practicing some restraint, I see.”
His eyes narrowed. “You complaining?”
“Kind of. I wouldn’t have minded you fucking me earlier,” you grinned.
Harry shook his head and bit back a smile, gently patting your thighs. “We should probably try and get some sleep. Tomorrow’s another day.”
You nodded and hopped off the counter, fingertips trailing along his chest and abdomen. “Day one done, right?”
summary: harry asks you a question that catches you by surprise.
pairing: harry castillo x fem!reader
content warning(s): MATURE CONTENT (18+ MDNI), friends with benefits, established situation-/friendship, fake relationship trope, slight age gap (not specified, but implied), both are bad at love/communication, mentions of lucy, minimal physical description, no use of y/n.
word count: 3.7k
a/n: here we go y'all!!! missed writing for my man, harry, and i'm so excited to explore a different side of him in this story. we're gonna go through a rollercoaster of emotions in this one, so buckle in and hope y'all enjoy <3
pt 2. || series masterlist. || read on AO3.
You had been hired by the Castillo family almost five years ago. As a commercial photographer, your goal was to help promote their business and brand. Your relationship with the family extended to them permanently hiring you for your services, which also meant you had to photograph corporate events.
You had gotten used to their extravagant parties and the family had always been so very nice to you.
But it was their oldest son that you had more of a personal relationship with. It started off as a one night stand, a drunken night where you both spent the entire night just pouring your hearts out to one another.
You wanted marriage.
So did he.
You felt like you couldn’t find the right guy.
He felt like no woman could meet his standards.
You wanted someone simple, someone that could challenge you but ground you at the same time.
He wanted a partner, someone equal to him.
And by the end of that night after realizing that you both would likely end up dying alone, you ended up sleeping with each other.
You both agreed it had been a mistake, that you both just had too much to drink and were just in your feelings.
But then, it occurred again later that month.
After a failed first date. You had stepped into his penthouse and just… used him, and he didn’t care either. You were helping him as much as he was helping you.
And so, your relationship with Harry shifted. He’d use you just as much as you used him, but never did it pass that threshold into something more.
Because he wasn’t what you wanted.
And you weren’t what he wanted either.
For now, both of you were just a warm body to each other.
Someone to pass the time with.
Someone to help him get his mind off a particularly rough date.
Or someone to help you move on when you’ve been broken up with.
That was just the type of relationship you had with Harry and you didn’t mind.
He didn’t either.
When he met Lucy, you knew to keep your distance. Just like he would when you were exclusively seeing someone too.
But it was different with her, you knew that already.
The last conversation you had with him was after Peter’s wedding. He told you all about Lucy, how interested he was in her, how such a good match she was. He wanted more with her right away and you knew better than to get involved in his personal relationships.
Because you knew that was just how Harry was. He had told you once before that love was always the most challenging thing in the world. It wasn’t his job, it wasn’t the endless meetings he had to attend, it was love.
He couldn’t understand how difficult that seemed to be—how someone like him couldn’t find anyone worth settling down with.
But Peter’s wedding had gotten him to start reflecting on the type of life he was living and the kind of life he wanted.
And he wanted someone to love, someone to come home to. He wanted what his parents had, what Peter was able to experience with Charlotte.
So, when he met Lucy, Harry thought he found the one. He knew that he could add value to her life, just how she could add value to his. Everything had been going smoothly too. He bought a ring, bought two plane tickets to Iceland, and was planning to propose to her just after a few months of seeing her.
But when she found out about his scars late one night, Harry knew something wasn’t right. His relationship with her didn’t feel right. He would be lying if he said he wasn’t hurt when she had broken up with him, but there was a bit of relief that he felt too.
When she left, he went to your apartment. Didn’t say anything when you opened the door, he knew you weren’t seeing anyone. And before you could even ask what he was doing there, he had just leaned in to kiss you.
It was urgent, messy, almost like he was trying to forget everything with Lucy.
Because the conversation she had with him in his kitchen did made him feel like a child.
Love is supposed to be easy. She said it so casually, so matter-of-factly too.
So, he went to someone familiar. Someone that knew all parts of him. Someone without any strings attached.
He went to you.
And he knew you wouldn’t argue, wouldn’t push him to ask him what was going on. That wasn’t the type of relationship you had with him anyway.
You welcomed him almost immediately and he spent the rest of that night fucking you into your mattress. It wasn’t a great relationship—you both knew that, but it worked for the two of you.
When you both finally had enough of each other that night, Harry was already pulling on his sweatpants while you laid there in bed, naked with a sheet covering you.
“I’m going to Iceland,” he blurted out. His tone was cold, hurt.
“Okay,” you said.
“Without Lucy,” he clarified.
“I figured.”
He sighed.
And for a moment, your eyes softened. “Do you want to talk about it?”
Harry’s jaw tightened. “She said love is supposed to be easy… what the fuck does that even mean?”
You sat up and reached for your shirt on the floor to cover at least your upper half. You knew Harry, knew the surgery he and his brother went through, knew how difficult it was for him to feel something that normally other people wouldn’t have trouble feeling.
“Sounds like she was in love with someone else,” you answered honestly.
Harry sighed. “I know.”
“And yet, you still wanted to marry her.”
He looked at you. “We could’ve been great together.”
“In what sense, Harry? Because if love is what you’re really looking for, you weren’t going to find it with her.”
“Oh, and you just know that, do you?”
You sighed. “Don’t get all snippy with me, okay? I’m just—I’m telling you what I saw.”
He sat down at the edge of your bed. His eyes softened too. You both knew how to regulate each other’s emotions in a way that no one else could.
“I’m sorry,” he mumbled.
“I know,” you said, reaching out to run a hand through his hair. “And you’re hurting, I get it, but she wasn’t for you… and I think you knew that too.”
“But we were compatible,” he reasoned.
“On paper, maybe,” you whispered.
“Exactly.”
“Harry,” you sighed. “Did you love her?”
He bit his lower lip and pulled away from you. “I don’t know.”
“If you can’t answer yes right away, then the answer is already a no.”
Harry looked at you and nodded once. You always had a soft spot for his deep brown eyes, but right now, he looked like a kicked puppy. So, you leaned in and gently pecked his lips.
“You’re not old,” you reassured him. “You’ll find the perfect woman.”
“I’m not getting any younger,” he said. “And maybe there just isn’t a perfect woman out there.”
“Of course there isn’t.”
His brows shot up slowly.
“You just need to find the perfect one for you,” you finished.
Harry looked into your eyes and moved a hand to your hip. The air felt charged now like something unspoken was now lingering in the air. You knew how to calm him down, how to get himself out of his head. He leaned in again.
“Will you wait for me?” He asked.
You let a small smile line your lips. “You know I won’t.”
Harry chuckled, pulling away from you as he stood from your bed. “That’s fair.”
“You wouldn’t wait for me,” you argued.
“I know,” he said quietly. “Will I see you when I get back?”
You nodded. “You know where I live and you know where I work, Harry.”
He nodded and bent down to kiss the crown of your head once more. “Thanks,” he whispered. “For tonight.”
“I know you’d do the same if I was in your position.”
“Yeah,” he said. “I would.”
You laid back in bed and turned on your side face him, arm tucking underneath your arm. “Have a fun trip to Iceland.”
Harry scoffed. “I’ll try.”
“Who knows? Maybe you’ll find someone while you’re there.”
“Doubt it.” He walked towards the door and turned back to look over you at his shoulder. “Good night.”
“Night, Harry,” you smiled. “Turn the light off on your way out.”
He chuckled to himself and nodded. He left your apartment that night feeling a bit more relieved, but the pain of rejection still lingered. Harry ended up boarding his plane that following morning, sending you a quick text that he was leaving.
He stared at his phone and couldn’t help the smile on his lips. It was a simple text, nothing that showed you were interested in something more, which was the kind of relationship you both already established.
You forgot to turn the light off, he read your message repeatedly before shutting his phone off.
Maybe leaving to Iceland would be for the best.
Harry had come back to Iceland two months ago. Nothing changed. He went back to work like he didn’t just get his heart broken and he still visited you almost every night to get his mind off of it.
You didn’t mind though. Sex with Harry had always been different than with other men. You weren’t sure if it was because he knew what you liked or if it was because he knew every spot on your body that would bring you closer to the edge, but it was easy with him.
He never stayed the night too.
That had been one of the rules you both established and even if there had been some nights where you had no choice but to stay, you always slept in different rooms.
Never together.
Because that meant also crossing a boundary that neither of you wanted to cross.
But tonight, Harry was nervous. He planned to show up at your apartment, just like he did last night, but for a different reason to see you.
All day, his parents had been hounding him about Lucy, about how he wasn’t getting any younger and that their hope to see him married likely wasn’t ever going to happen.
It started distracting him from his work too because they got in his head. Late to meetings all day, staring out the window of his office when he should be looking over reports.
His mother even came into his office and said she had some friends whose daughters could be good for him. He shook his head and just blurted it out. He didn’t mean to, truthfully, he didn’t, but he was tired. It was already bad enough that he had his own standards that having his parents go on about it just made it worse.
“I’m already seeing someone,” Harry told her. “And I’m bringing her to the Maldives.”
His mother’s eyes lit up. “What?”
“Yeah, I—I didn’t want to make a big deal about it.”
“You’re taking a woman to our family trip for an entire week to celebrate me and your dad’s anniversary?”
Harry nodded. “Yes.”
“Must be serious then,” she grinned. “It isn’t Lucy, is it?”
“No,” he sighed.
Then, Harry said your name.
“The photographer?”
“Yes,” he answered.
His mother’s grin grew. “Perfect.”
“Perfect?”
“I always knew there was something between the two of you,” she winked.
Harry cleared his throat. He wasn’t sure what she was referring to because even when you did come to work at certain events, you both tried to keep your distance. Sure, you’d have conversations with him, but never to the extent that anyone could see there was something more.
“Did you?”
She nodded. “I see the way you look at her sometimes. It lingers.”
His brow furrowed. Harry didn’t know what his mother was saying and it wasn’t something that he could tell you either. “Anyway, can we just stop with the trying to set me up and everything?”
“Well, if we’d have known that you were already with someone, we wouldn’t have hounded you all day,” she chuckled, leaning down to kiss the crown of his head. “We just want you happy, Harry.”
“I know, ma,” he mumbled. “And I am,” he lied.”
“Good. Your dad’s gonna be so excited to hear that you’re dating her.” She smiled, pulling away. “I’ll let you get back to work.”
When his mother left his office, Harry sighed and grabbed his phone. Sent you a quick text, asking to see you tonight, before he continued working. He thought by lying to his mother about his relationship status would help him focus, but instead it just distracted him even further.
Harry stepped into your apartment so casually once the door opened. He kicked off his shoes and shrugged off his blazer before moving to your living room to sit on your sofa. He moved around your place so effortlessly, like this had become his second home.
“Your text was… ominous,” you pointed out first, moving to sit next to him with your legs tucked underneath you and your body facing his.
“Don’t be mad,” he said.
“Uh oh,” you replied. “That usually means I’m going to get mad if you start with that.”
Harry sighed.
You noticed the tension in his shoulders, the concern and exhaustion written across his features. “What is it, Harry?”
“You’re coming with me to the Maldives,” he answered.
“Okay…” you said, brows furrowed in confusion. “For what?”
“For my parents’ 50th anniversary trip.”
“Oh, did they want me to work while I’m there?” You asked.
“No.”
“Right, so then…”
“You’re going to pretend to be my girlfriend,” he blurted out.
“What?”
“I panicked. I was just tired of hearing my parents go on and on about Lucy and how I should be like my brother, settling down already, and it just came out.”
“Harry—”
“I’ll pay you,” he interrupted.
“Well, that’s a fucking insult.”
He sighed. “I’m sorry. I don’t—” Harry shook his head and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees as he looked down at his feet.
“Listen, I know we don’t really talk much… I mean, we don’t do much talking when we’re together anyway, but,” you sighed. “I know you’d do this for me if I was in your position.”
He turned his head to look at you. Hope filled his dark brown eyes. You could see him relax now. “I would,” he whispered.
“How long’s the trip?”
“One week.”
You nodded, contemplating on what that trip would look like. One week with Harry and his family, pretending to be someone special to him. You knew there was a part of you that knew it’d be easy to slip into that role, but you kept thinking about how it’d change after that one week was over.
“Okay,” you nodded. “I’ll pretend to be your girlfriend. When do we leave?”
“This weekend.”
“I don’t know if I have any appropriate clothing for the Maldives.”
“I’ll give you my card.”
“Wow, already being the best boyfriend I’ve ever had,” you teased.
The corner of his lips lifted. He felt himself relax.
“Are you sure this is okay?” He asked.
You nodded and reached out to rest a hand over his. “It’s one week at the Maldives. I think it’s perfectly okay.”
“And being my girlfriend?”
“We’re already sleeping together, so it’s not like we have to tiptoe around that.”
He nodded.
“But we do need to establish some kind of rules and get our story straight too. They’ll probably ask us how we got together, what our favorite things are about each other… all of that couple stuff.”
“Right,” Harry said. “That makes sense.”
“And we also need to talk about what happens after.”
“After?”
“Yes,” you said. “After.”
“Okay,” he nodded.
“Let me get us some drinks. I don’t think this night is gonna end with you on top of me,” you teased, standing from the couch.
Harry looked up at you and grabbed your wrist, standing too, and gently tugging you to him. With his free hand, he reached up to cup your cheek as he leaned in to lightly peck your lips.
“Thank you for doing this,” he whispered.
“I’m getting a free trip and a new wardrobe,” you teased, smiling against his lips. “But anything for you, Harry.”
Then, you walked away to go into your kitchen. Harry watched you slowly and bit his lower lip. He did feel a bit more at ease, but now he couldn’t help but ponder on your words and the words his mother said too.
Anything for you, Harry.
I see the way you look at her sometimes. It lingers.
It was late and both of you already three drinks in by the time you both decided it was time to lay out the ground rules for the trip. You were laying on your side on the couch and Harry was seated on the floor, tie loosened around his neck and sleeves folded to his elbows.
“Sex,” you said first. “We can definitely have sex.”
Harry chuckled. “It’s always sex with you, isn’t it?”
“You’re good at it,” you winked. “Are you really going to say sex isn’t allowed for the entire week that we’re there? I’m guessing we’re also sharing a room?”
“Yeah,” he answered.
“Exactly.”
He smiled. “Well, sex was a given anyway.”
“Right, right,” you teased. “What’s the story for how we got together?”
Harry bit his lower lip. He looked over at you and let his eyes take in every inch of your frame before settling back onto your face. “Maybe we can go with it happened after one of your shoots for company. I was helping you clean up and it just… it happened.”
“Hmm,” you pondered. “Not good enough.”
“What?”
“It’s not good enough. You’ve never stayed back to help me before. I don’t think it’d seem realistic.”
“Fine,” he said. “What about…” Harry leaned over to get closer to you, one arm resting on the couch as he reached up to cup your cheek. “What about we bumped into each other on the way to pick up coffee? It was after Lucy and we just… started talking.”
“Ooh, I like that,” you smiled, leaning against his touch. “Then, I asked you out for dinner that same night.”
“You did?”
“Yes,” you answered. “Shows I like to take initiative. Besides, the men don’t always have to be the one to make the first move.”
He grinned. “Okay, that’s good. So, we bumped into each other getting coffee, started talking, and you asked me out.”
“Mhm, and then dinner was a disaster.”
“You’re making this more complicated than it needs to be,” he laughed.
“We can’t make it seem all perfect,” you reasoned.
“Sure, right,” he said, thumb brushing along your cheek. “Dinner was a disaster… we waited so long for our food, they gave us the wrong dishes—”
“And it started raining while we were waiting for the valet!” You chimed in.
Harry chuckled and dropped his hand. “You know, that actually sounds like something that would happen if we were to go out on an official date.”
You sighed dramatically. “Exactly.”
He sat up from the floor and moved to sit on the couch, placing your head on his lap. “So, how do we go from a disastrous first date to officially dating?”
“I kissed you,” you answered simply. “Because despite everything working against us, we still had fun.”
Harry smiled. “Romantic.”
You turned on your back and looked at him, feeling his hand move back down to your cheek again. “That’s something you don’t know about me,” you teased. “I’m a hopeless romantic.”
“Oh, I knew that about you,” he laughed. “But it’s cute. I like it.”
“Yeah, that’s because you’re a romantic too.”
“Good point.”
“Okay, we have that established. How about during the trip?”
“What about during the trip?” He asked.
“Are we affectionate?”
“Naturally, yes.”
“Okay, fine with me.”
“And after?” You asked.
“Nothing should change,” he answered. “We make it through the week and then we come back and just… slip back into our normal routine.”
You nodded. “Okay, good.”
His eyes narrowed as he watched you move to sit up and face him. “What?”
“Nothing.”
“It’s not nothing. I know that look on your face. What is it?”
You sighed. “What happens if one of us… develops something for the other person?”
Harry cleared his throat. “I don’t think that’s going to happen.”
“Me too, but we need to have some kind of plan in case it does.”
“Fine,” he said. “If that happens, we talk to each other about it.”
“And you’ll listen?”
“Me?” He scoffed.
“Fine, okay. We’ll both listen.”
Harry nodded and then gently pulled you onto his lap, watching you place both legs at either side of him as he sat firmly on you. He moved his hands to your hips as he looked up at you, tilting his head.
“One week,” he said quietly.
“One week of pretending,” you nodded.
“And if at anytime you feel uncomfortable, you tell me, okay?” Harry said, reaching up to cup your cheek.
“You know I will.” You replied, leaning down as your hands ran through his dark curls.
“Thank you,” he whispered. “Again.”
You nodded and leaned in to brush your lips with his. “Guess you’ll just have to owe me.”
He chuckled and gripped your hips before moving to lay you on your back on the couch, settling himself between your legs. “I can think of a few things to start with.”
You squeaked out in surprise when his fingers moved along your sides, digging into them teasingly as you erupted in a fit of laughter. You tried to squirm away from him, but he was stronger than you.
“Harry!”
He laughed to himself and grabbed your hands, pinning them above your head as he stared down at you. “You tired?”
You shook your head. Both your gazes darkened. “You know I’m not.”
“Good,” he grinned, leaning down and pressing his lips firmly against your own.
Set in a brothel in the late 1800's in a desolate desert town, you've only been working there for a month when Din Djarin shows up. A bounty hunter who makes his stops into town between jobs, he's known at the inn for his generous appetite and demanding preferences. Asking for you to be made available to him every time he's in town, neither one of you is ready for where this requests leads.
Rating: Explicit af - it's a brothel, friends 🥰
A/N: This is a complete revision of the previous story I posted in 2020. The original story was the very first thing I ever wrote, and this revision is truly the labor of love it deserves. Nothing is going to be removed from the original story -- this is an expansion and improvement on the original, hopefully for the better. To everyone who has been here since the first chapter all the way to the new readers -- I hope you enjoy! ❤️
--
The first time you see him in the brothel, you call dibs.
With your eyes fixed on the way his throat moves when he swallows his drink, the madam laughs.
“You’re too sweet for that one. He needs more experienced girls.”
From across the room, the two of you size him up together – your face curious, hers more knowing.
“He’s more generous than you’ll ever meet when it comes to money,” she confides, leaning in close. “But his appetite and size are also generous.” A lewd smirk graces her lips. “I’m not sure you’re ready.”
Giving her a skeptical glance, your eyes go back to the man. He pushes back from the worn bar top, tipping his head in a silent thanks to the bartender. Broad shoulders tightly encased in a worn but clean jacket, holsters slung low on his hips, trail dusted boots. Following his loose, confident gait up the stairs, you take in the way he moves with surety up the staircase, disappearing into a room.
“Wait. What do you mean, “his appetite”?” you question, turning back to the madam, but she’s already gone, cooing over someone else playing cards nearby.
Giving one last glance at the door of the room he went into, you plaster on a smile and make your way towards the crowded tables.
--
The next time he comes into town, the madam tells him you’ve been asking about him.
The settling of quarries, the payment of services, the collection of flyers among other useful pieces of information – he’s fresh from the sheriff’s office, his sparse patience running even thinner. His replies have become near one word responses while he drops a few coins towards the barkeep, in payment for a hot plate of whatever is available.
“Is that so,” he asks, tipping his hat in thanks when the plate is set in front of him. A glass of whiskey is poured next, followed by a tin cup of water.
“Well,” she asks, leaning on his shoulder. “What do you think of her?”
Spearing a bite of food, he chews while his dark eyes study you from across the bar. Chatting with another girl, your face breaks into a smile at something she says.
The madam’s head tilted in appraisal, her tone is thick with the sweetness of someone trying to sell their wares. “All the men love how sweet she is.”
“Sweet?” he questions, skeptical. Swallowing his whiskey in one go, he sets his glass down on the bar, giving her a side-long look. “I don’t think sweet –”
“Oh, hush,” the madam replies, swatting his shoulder with a fan. “Besides, the girls you had last time moved on. It’s been a while since you’ve been around.” She nods in your direction. “Give her a try. I think you might like her.”
–
He has a routine, the madam tells you.
“Always two girls, always a bath first.” Opening the door to your room, she strides in, gesturing to a table in the corner.
A girl of twelve scurries behind her, a maid. Placing clean towels down and laying a fresh bar of soap on top, she gets to work on filling the copper tub. The madam straightens the blanket on your bed, and you inwardly laugh. Like that thing stays straight.
“Always the whole night, and the next day,” she continues.
“The next day?” Gracie asks, her brows raised. “He keeps going?”
You laugh at the impressed look on Gracie’s face, and she gives you a wink.
“Most men only get an hour,” she muses. “He must be really generous if he gets the whole night.”
“The next day isn’t for him,” the madam replies. “It’s for you, so you can rest.”
Scooting the girl out of the room with an affectionate swat on her behind, your face sobers, and it’s Gracie’s turn to laugh.
“Oh, please,” she rolls her eyes. “They’d all like to think themselves so good.”
The madam gives her a knowing look. “You’ll see.” She starts towards the door, then turns around. “He’s one of our best customers. Make sure you give him what he wants.” With those final words, she shuts the door behind her.
You immediately turn to Gracie.
“Think we bit off more than we can chew?” you tease, trying to hide the sudden nerves in your stomach.
She waves your worries away. “We would have heard about him sooner if he was a rough one.”
That’s true. There are rough ones, and they are well known among the girls.
One of the most popular girls since her start at the brothel, Gracie has been by your side since you started. Up for anything, she wasn’t fool enough to think she had actual agency in this world, but the little she did have, she used to the full extent. She knew she could reduce these men to nothing with the roll of her hips on theirs, with the whisper of her sweet words – and so she did. She didn’t take anything too seriously, and you loved her for it, especially in contrast to your natural inward nature.
“I’ve only ever seen him that one other time,” you reply, testing the water with your hand. “Have you seen him before?”
“No. I would have remembered one like that. He is a handsome thing,” she replies, fixing her hair in the mirror. “He’s got tall, dark and mysterious written all over him. A bit dirty,” she shrugs, “but do at least he’s asking for a bath. More than most before they crawl into bed.”
Scrunching your nose, you agree.
“I’m going to get ready,” she says. “Get him in the tub, and I’ll be back. Try not to have all the fun without me.”
Blowing you a kiss, she slips out of the room.
Without the distraction of others, you fuss with the tub until it’s filled with hot water, steam curling above the surface. Shampoo, pitcher, basin. Towel draped to the side, and a sack for him to put his clothes in. The inn ran a laundry service that overnight visitors took advantage of, and you weren’t sure if he was the type to trust others with the clothes off his back, but you prepared for it just in case.
Everything ready, you slip into a silk shift that skims your curves, and try to recall the anticipation and bravery you felt when you called dibs. The warning the madam gave has rattled you, and you wish Gracie were here to help distract. She’d help you shake the nerves free, crack jokes to help clear the tension from the room.
Finding yourself fiddling with the edge of the blanket, you huff a laugh at yourself before a sharp knock has you straightening.
He enters, and your greeting is automatic.
“Hey there,” you smile with practiced sweetness. “Come on in.”
He tips his head in acknowledgment, and all bravado you had when you called dibs disappears, slowly replaced with hesitation.
He’s so much bigger in your small room than he seemed downstairs in the main room, especially with the door closed. So much more intimating, his silence making it even more so. The amount of weapons on him doesn’t help. Hip holsters with two pistols, ammo slung low across his hips and attached to one of his boots.
He looks dangerous – until he lifts his hat from his head, uncovering rumpled, dark brown curls. Dirty from weeks in the saddle, the sight of them is surprisingly vulnerable and helps take the edge off his appearance. He looks softer with them, even while working his holster open next, placing the heavy weight of his guns over the back of your chair.
His silence is unusual. Most men are vocal, demanding, crass. They come in and take what they want, knowing full well they only have an hour to get it – though most of them only need about ten minutes. They are full of boasting pride, of rushed lust, or in the worst instances, poorly disguised condescension. They paid for the hour, which means they paid for you. It comes with a natural assumption that your body is theirs to do as they please, and it often brings loud-mouthed attitudes with it.
Piquing your interest, the man in front of you says nothing, continuing to get undressed.
Maybe he wants seduction. Come on, you scold yourself. Give him what he paid for.
You stand, the thin strap of your shift slipping down off your shoulder. “Want some help?”
Stepping closer, you tilt your chin up to meet his gaze.
It’s unforgiving, but not unkind. Bold, unashamed, assessing. His eyes are a deep brown, almost black in the dim, romantic light of your room. Fringed with thick lashes, creased at the edges from the sun, showing evidence of living life in the saddle. A strong nose, a pouty mouth, a dark mustache with scruff that covers his cheeks.
Handsome. Definitely handsome.
He continues to look, curious, with a slight lift of his chin like he’s testing you. A natural arrogance, you assume, from having to navigate the rough world outside. There is a thrum of tension between your bodies, one you don’t usually feel with customers. Unsure if it’s his quiet confidence, or just his handsomeness you’re drawn to, you use it to bolster your own forwardness.
Standing on your toes and bracing yourself on his chest, you lean in, whispering just under his ear. “I heard you like to get clean…so you can get me all dirty.”
Pulling back with a mischievous twinkle in your eye, you let your touch slip down the front of his shirt. “That true?”
He waits a beat before answering, his darkening eyes rovering over your face as his expression relaxes slightly, the corner of his mouth lifting. Like you’ve passed his own silent test.
“It is,” he answers, in a rough baritone.
“Well then,” you reply. “Let’s get these clothes off.”
Keeping your eyes on his, you start with his vest, working the buttons free one at a time.
–
He waits in the bath, watching as you undress. His arms stretch wide along the edge of the tub, his broad chest and shoulders taking up space. Admiring the quiet strength held in the way he holds himself, you smile at the naked hunger clear on his face as you climb into the tub, lowering yourself onto his lap.
“So,” you make conversation, “What do you do?”
“I’m a bounty hunter.”
Your eyebrows raise. “Sounds dangerous.”
“For some.” The reply reeks of confidence, of the implication that he isn’t one of the people he’s referring to. Relaxing, he sinks lower into the tub, closing his eyes.
“How long has it been since you’ve had a bath?”
A low sigh of relief slips out of him, his voice low. “Too long.”
Lathering the soap, you start with his hand, slipping your fingers between his. You work each finger, comparing the size of your reach against his. His palms are rough and calloused, worn from handling rope. Massaging as you go, you work your way up – over his thick forearms, up along the muscles in his arms. Your fingers dig into the firm rounds of his shoulders, and he lets out a grunt of appreciation.
Sneaking a peek at his face, you’re startled to find him openly looking back at you. His dark eyes rake over your face and shoulders, dipping low and sweeping back up. His expressions – lust, blended with curiosity – aren't guarded at all, like he’s not used to hiding them, and you suppose his job has made him this way. The sensation is unfamiliar, and unmooring. Most don’t care enough to look as much as he has. None have ever studied you the way he has, that’s certain.
You swallow, reaching for the soap again.
“I’m not going to hurt you.”
The bar in your hands, his blunt words make you look up, meeting his eyes. He is earnest, sincere. His statements have been blunt and to the point since he’s walked into the room, with right now being no exception. And somehow, that lets you know he’s telling the truth.
Your own practiced expression slips before you can catch it, open vulnerability displayed on your face before you quickly reel it back in.
“I know,” you reply, though you don’t – and he knows it.
His head tilts to the side, waiting. Patient, letting you come to your own decision. After a beat, you dip your chin in acknowledgement.
Confirmation at your reassurance, he closes his eyes and leans back, letting you continue.
The tension broken, you resume. The quiet makes the situation seem so much more intimate than usual; the trickling of water, the soft sweep of your touch over his skin. Your thumbs work the base of his throat, your palms sliding over his firm chest. The sparse collection of hair along his sternum catches suds, and you soap under his arms, and along his ribs; his body releasing tension with every smooth glide of your hands.
You can feel him harden underneath you, but he does absolutely nothing about it…and for some reason, that makes you relax around him even more. You can feel the evidence of how much he wants it, have heard from the madam how demanding he can be…but yet he waits, savoring this part. You suppose weeks without a bath will do that to a person, and you’re determined to reward him for the wait.
Pouring shampoo into your palm, you lean forward to start on his hair. Pressing your bare front against his own, the sensation gives you your first real reaction since he’s entered the room – a low hum of appreciation, deep from within his chest. Lifting the corner of your mouth with a smile, you become bolder, and let yourself slide down, dragging the pressed weight of your slick breasts over his skin.
He lets out a shaky breath, and dropping his hands from the edges of the tub, they find the meat of your hips under the water with a squeeze. Lifting onto your knees, you lean your weight into him again, lining your front with his. Breast to chest, stomach to stomach, hip to hip – the sensation of his firm, warm, wet skin pressed against your own has you distracted for a moment before you slide your fingers up through the curls at his nape, working the shampoo into his hair. Your nails drag across his scalp, your fingers twist in his curls, and he simultaneously melts underneath your touch while tightly bundled tension rises between you.
“Feel good?”
“Yes.” His answer is immediate, low with desire. His hands squeeze your hips, hard, and he kneads your skin under the surface, his touch becoming bolder. Stretching his arms to reach your ass, he grabs greedy palmfuls, tugging you against his lap.
The warm weight of desire fills the cradle of your hips, and reaching for a jug to rinse the shampoo from his hair, you yelp when he surprises you by gripping your waist to hold you in place and sliding down to submerge himself underwater. Suds float to the surface as he quickly scrubs the soap from his hair, and when he sits back up, you’re laughing – a sound that brings the first smile you’ve seen on his face. It’s quick, yet no less devastating, with two deep dimples in his cheeks that make you want to press your thumbs into the divots.
A smile that makes you want to kiss him.
Wiping the water from his face with a broad sweep of his palm, he slicks his dark strands off his face and the effect is startling. Still handsome – so handsome – but the vulnerability of the rumpled curls is gone, replaced with dominance. The hunger in his hooded eyes darkens, and feeding off the tension gathering between your bodies and greedy for another groan or smile, you grab the soap.
Arching your back, you put on a show as you reach behind and slide your soapy touch up the length of his legs. Over his shins, behind his knees, up the top of his thighs. Stopping short right before his groin, you straighten again and reach the soap, but he plucks it from your hands.
“Hey!” you protest, biting a grin.
Keeping his eyes on your face, you watch as he slowly lathers it between his large hands and lets it drop into the water before splaying his hand across your sternum. Whether it’s the hold itself or the way he’s looking at you, you sense the shift of power in the small space as it transfers to him. Sliding his hand to the side with an appreciative hum, he palms your breasts, covering them with soap. He cups the weight of them, smearing his thumbs over your nipples with a slippery glide until they pucker under the suds, teasing them with exploring, needy touches that have you arching your back, leaning into his touch.
Desire trickles down from the tight peaks along your spine, settling between your hips. Slick and warm, you begin a slow roll over his lap and dip your hand beneath the water in search of his cock. When you find it with a firm grip, he sucks in a sharp breath.
“You ready to get out yet?” you breathe, your hand stroking him root to tip. He’s thick, a heft to his cock that is more than most and your cunt clenches with anticipation. The space between you is filled with steam, with the slick warmth of the water, with the weighty charge of electricity. He swallows hard, the bob of his tanned throat calling for your lips and leaning forward, you press your mouth to his skin. Warm and wet and fragrant under the press of your mouth, you open up wider, your tongue slipping out for a taste.
The sound he lets out is delicious.
A rough scrape of need, a low growl as his touch grows needier, his hands scooping up your breasts with a squeeze. The soap aids in a slide of his touch down to your hip, his other hand curling around the nape of your neck as he guides you back, and your neglected chest heaves; your hand still working under the water.
You want him. A rare feeling with clients, always fleeting on the rare occasion it happens, you can taste the edge of your arousal, the spark of it burning bright. He’s handsome, but there is also something about his patience and his attentiveness that has you feeling more comfortable than you have in ages. Usually, at this point, you’d be faking your interest just to get the hour over with. Right now, you’re surprised by how much you want it.
“You just gonna stare at my mouth, or —“ Your words cut off with a gasp when he drags his thumb over your bottom lip, your question finishing in a whisper. “Or are you gonna kiss me?”
Pulling you in, he does. Fuck, he does.
The first press of your mouths together is sure and firm, his need leading your mouth. He tastes you like he’s been dying for it, like you’re an oasis in the middle of the desert. Fitting your mouth against his, he devours the whimper that you let out, drinking it down. His hands splay in their hold around your waist, sliding up over the smooth skin of your back and abandoning his cock to scoot closer, you wind your arms around his neck, deepening the kiss.
Grinding down against his lap, the steamed air above the bath fills with the sound of ragged breath, of low groans, of the gentle lap of water as your mouths taste and part, only to seal again. He meets your need with his own – savoring, full sweeps of his tongue over yours, kisses that are lazy until they’re not. Breaking the kiss to taste your neck, his teeth scrape over the delicate skin before he sucks, groaning against your throat. His tongue smears over your skin, and you reach for the soap, wrapping your arms around him to wash his back.
“Stop, he groans, his lips brushing against your skin, and you pause.
“You don’t want me to wash you?”
He growls low in his throat, cupping your jaw with his hand. He slides his thumb over your lips again, pushing against their plush softness and when you suck on the pad, his eyes fixate on the sight. He shakes his head slowly, his tongue sliding over his bottom lip.
“I want you to get on that bed, girl.”
Girl.
The word should be demeaning, but it’s not. It slips through your torso, shivers along your spine, the weight of it curling low between your hips. The word is like the man – forcing you to yield. He’s been lying in wait this whole time, letting you believe you have the advantage until you get comfortable, letting you come to him…just like you assume he does with his quarries. You fell for the trap, and you don’t even care.
Scrambling out of the tub, he follows you — and that’s when Gracie walks in.
“Oh,” she breathes, openly appreciating the size and breadth of his nude body. Her eyes drag down and back up again, a pleased smile playing at the edge of her lips. “Aren’t you a sight.”
He jerks his head towards the bed. “Get in here.”
“Whose in charge here, mister?” she teases, and he replies without hesitation.
“I am.”
“Yes, sir,” she coos with a little shimmy, shutting the door behind her.
–
That night, you learned who he was.
Not only his name – Din Djarin – which was exchanged in the middle of the night, with your body draped over his, but who he was, as a man. Blunt, straight forward, used to being in charge. Your bodies sore, spent and sated – he had spent hours putting you through your paces, and your eyelids were as heavy as your limbs as you relaxed into the warmth his bare skin radiated.
Gracie curled into his other side, the reasoning behind two women became evident after that first night: he was touch-starved, with the desire to be immersed in skin to skin, buried underneath someone or within them. Two women at once allowed him this luxury, while also providing him ample resources to expend his excess...energy.
You also learned that he seemed to care about your pleasure. Needed it, in fact. Demanded it from you, pulled it from your body even when you thought you couldn’t give him any more. He pushed and pushed and pushed you, and that night, you understood the madam's earlier comments.
He didn’t seem satisfied until you were just as wrung out as he was, and afterwards, he left you sated and sore, thoroughly used – and thoroughly asleep.
He had spoken to the madam before he left the next morning.
“I always want that one. Make sure of it.”
–
Since that first night, he’s shown up a few times.
Always weeks apart: saddle weary and dusty, worn around the edges and ready for a softness that only you could provide.
Tonight, when he gets to your room, you’re already in the bath with Gracie perched on the side, soap and rag in hand. You take turns with him: you, washing his body from your seat on his lap, Gracie leaning over to offer her mouth. His kisses are demanding and deep, his hands reaching to hold her in place while his mouth tastes everything she gifts him. When you interrupt to wash his hair, he shifts to you, cupping your breasts to latch that same hungry mouth onto the peaks. The swirl of his skillful tongue is distracting, decadent, and a hum pours from your throat when his nose brushes along the length of your neck, his mouth sampling the hollow under your ear. His hand travels down your back and over your hip, his thick fingers pressing between your legs.
“I’ve been dreaming of that cunt of yours,” he confesses, his voice like gravel. You can feel how hard he is beneath you, his middle fingers parting you under the water, sliding through the slick wetness he’s pulled from you already. “Let me taste it.”
It doesn’t take long until he stands, pulling you from the water and guiding you backwards onto your bed with a push.
“You’re going to get my bed all wet – oh my god,” you moan, arching into the wet heat of his mouth. From the bath to his knees, he’s found his way between your thighs with a rough jerk of your body to the edge of the mattress. His shoulders spread you wide, his mouth devouring your cunt in a wet, decadent kiss. Gripping behind your knee, he shoves it up to open you up wider, and his tongue smears and licks across your spread center as he groans, savoring the taste.
Kneeling on the floor next to him, Gracie wraps her hand around his thick cock with a stroke, an action that has him pressing his face closer. He’s messy, open mouthed and hungry, like he’s starved for it and you roll your hips against his greedy mouth, losing yourself in the sensation.
She strokes him harder, faster and breaking his kiss to your cunt, he circles the nape of her neck, tugging her in for a kiss. You watch, his glistening mouth meeting hers, his other hand still splayed with a grip on the inside of your thigh to hold you in place. Slipping your fingers down across your soft belly, you find your clit and swirl a practiced circle over it – until his hand swats yours away.
“It’s mine,” he orders. “That cunt belongs to me.”
“Then take care of it like it’s yours,” you challenge. Your tone is sweet and soft, but the lift of your chin tells him it’s an order.
He likes the way you push against him, you’ve come to find out. His need to make you submit is only satisfying if you push back, if you play at fighting against it. It needs to feel hard won for him, but not in a way most men like to win. Not with harsh, demeaning words and cruel orders. No – he needs to overpower with pleasure, needs to make you succumb because you can’t fight it anymore. Begging, pulling against restraints, pushing against the weight of his body as he forces you to take it – those are the ways he likes it.
Giving you a look that pins you in place, he spreads you wide as his hands grip and pinch. He bends, his mouth sucking and biting at the soft skin of your thighs, soothing it with wide sweeps of his tongue. Your head tips back, a moan pouring out of your throat towards the ceiling and you feel the bed dip beside you as Gracie crawls onto it. Reaching over to you, she tips your chin towards her and pulls you in for a kiss.
She’s so much softer than the man at your feet: her lips lush and pliant, her breath sweet. Her hand cups your breast with a gentle squeeze, toying with the peak while taut pleasure fills the cradle of your hips. His eyes on your face, you can feel his possessiveness in the way his mouth devours, and the combination of her sweetness mixed with his intensity pushes you closer and closer to the edge. The attention is all consuming, your thighs trembling with the release he’s building deep inside you. Breaking away from Gracie, you beg him for relief.
“Fuck – Din,” you moan, threading your fingers through his dark curls with a tug. Letting yourself drop back into the plush mattress, you reach for Gracie as he moans into your spread cunt, and she holds your hand while your back arches, your heels digging into the firm muscles of his back. “I’m – you’re going to make me cum.”
Your voice breaks when you do, a bright wave of taut warmth spreading from your core outwards. He licks you through it, sliding his tongue through the gush of wetness, focusing his efforts on your swollen clit. Your hips jerk and you whimper, a sound Gracie hushes with another kiss.
Focused on her and still floating, you don’t notice he’s stood up until you feel his sure hold slide up over the top of your shins, guiding your knees back against your chest. He steps forward, and you can feel the thickness of his cock pressing against the slick dip of your entrance.
“You ready, girl?” he asks, grinding his hips into you. His breathing is ragged, pent up, his chin glistening and wet.
You can feel how soaked you are, his movement smearing your wetness into the curls at his base, over his thick shaft. He positions the weighty, blunt tip of his cock in place, groaning when he feels you clench against it. When he breaks you open, your lips catch against Gracie’s, your hot whine fanning over her mouth.
He’s so much – so filling, so thick, the slide inside so satisfying it makes you want to cry. He reaches further than most, pushing forward with a grind and though Gracie has your mouth, he leans to focus your attention on him. Pulling out and sliding back in with a firm roll of his hips, he breaks your kiss with a grip of your chin, forcing you to look at him.
“Look at me,” he commands, another slide out, another grind in. Another, another. Trying to match your rhythm with his, you can’t move your hips with how he has them pinned in place, forcing you to take it.
“So –,” he hisses, pulling out to slide back in, “So fucking wet. So tight,” he groans, picking up pace. You bounce lightly with the motion; the muscles along his ribs rippling with the action. “Gracie, look at her gorgeous tits. They look neglected to me.”
The smile she gives him is affectionate and sweet, though the situation is anything but. Crawling to you, she bends and licks a wide stripe up the soft underside of your breast, before giving it a lingering kiss.
“Din –,” you beg, arching into her wet mouth. He’s already building something low in your tummy, ratcheting it higher with every thrust of his hips, even higher with the unrelenting grip he’s using to pin you in place.
Gracie switches breasts with a wet path from one to the other, nibbling at the stiff peak of your nipple. The two of them work in tandem: her sweet mouth with his unrelenting pace, her softness paired with his strength.
She pulls back and Din bends forward just enough to give you a rough, hungry kiss, one that has your knees pressing into your chest and then he’s fucking down into you, his hips pounding into your ass, your mouths hovering over each others as you drink down his panting, ragged breaths –
“Gracie,” he tells her, a soft grunt between each word, “Show me your fingers. That’s right,” he praises her, as she dips them inside herself with a sigh. “Get yourself nice and wet for me – you’re next.”
Out of the corner of your eye, you can see Gracie rolling her hips against her hand, her soft thighs spread wide, the silk nighty she’s wearing twisted around her torso while her eyes glaze over watching him fuck you.
You whine underneath him, earning yourself a quick, breathless kiss. “You can take it, girl. I know you can.” He gives a couple of particularly rough thrusts, groaning over your higher moan. “Go ahead, girl. Tell her how good it feels. Tell her –”
Before he can get the words out, you pull his head down to seal his mouth with yours, breaking again underneath him with a hoarse moan. Stronger and more intense than the last one, your cunt squeezes him so hard you feel him stutter a grunt against your mouth, trapped in place. Everything is so wet: your sore cunt, his lap, the sweat that clings to his lower back and along your hairline, the kiss you share with him, as you come down from your peak.
Pausing to let you catch your breath, he’s tender with his touches, brushing your sweaty hair back from your face. “You did so good for me girl. So good,” he murmurs between kisses. Giving a final caress to your cheek, he gently eases himself out of you. “You stay there and rest – it’s Gracie's turn.”
So tender and soothing with you, his rigid cock betrays his yet unsatisfied need as he shifts his focus to her. She looks delighted at the sight – a desperate Din, his muscles rigid with tension, his stomach taut with effort. Limp and pliant, you lay still while he gently eases your thighs open with a sweep of his hands to look at your cunt. His expression clearly torn between tasting the sticky, slick mess you’ve made for him and leaving you be, he wets his bottom lip, before sliding two fingers through the mess, feeding it to Gracie.
Radiating dominance and tightly wound need, he watches as she sucks on his fingers like it’s nourishment, scrambling up on her knees to pull him towards her. He jerks the neckline of her nighty down, palming her bare breasts with a squeeze and her hand reaches for his cock, eager for him to fill her. Pushing her backwards, the bed bounces with the weight of their bodies falling together and bracing himself on his forearm, he reaches down to slide into her in one, brutal stroke. One hand fisting into the bedding over her head and the other roughly massaging her breast, the flesh of it spills out between his fingers as he pounds into her, needing to be rough.
It’s a lot, even for her — but you can tell she loves it. Worked up and waiting for her turn, her fingers dig into his ass, pulling him into her as her hips grind against his. Reaching for her wrist and pinning it into the mattress above her head, he presses his weight into the hold while his hips shove into hers, over and over.
Everything about the way he fucks is so filthy and base. Almost feral, frantic with need. He demands so much from both of you, but also of himself. Edging himself until he’s exhausted. Seeing just how long he can go and how many times he can make you come before he allows himself the same pleasure.
“What do you think, girl?,” he asks, looking over at you. “Can she take it?”
Gracie moans loudly at a particularly rough thrust and he turns back to her, clamping his hand tight over her mouth while continuing to push her further. Her dazed eyes widen above his broad hand before rolling back, her brow bunching when they slide shut.
Pressing a kiss over the top of his hand where her lips would be, he shushes her. “Shhh. It’s okay, filthy girl. I thought –” he groans, “ – I thought about making a mess of your pretty little cunt, but I – fuck – I think I want it in your mouth instead.”
At this, Gracie comes – her legs squeezing tight around his waist, her whines still muffled by his palm as her body arches underneath him. Digging her fingers into his bicep, he holds himself still as she sobs underneath him, trembling with her release.
At the edge himself, he pulls out of her and quickly climbs up over her body, he pinching her cheeks together until her mouth opens up. Fisting his cock with an audible stroke, he rests the tip between her lips and cums, hard.
There is so much of it. Coating her lips and tongue, his release pours into her mouth, dripping down her chin. She sits up, eager for more, swallowing him deeper and he hisses, his hips jerking forward to chase the wet heat. She looks up at him with a warmth of adoration, eager for praise, as his hands cradle her jaw while his hips roll lazily against her mouth. Staying there until he’s too sensitive, he slips out and slumps forward, catching himself on the bedframe.
“Fuck me,” he pants, the tension in his muscles slowly ebbing away. Sluggish, he moves like he’s drugged and the two of you shift on the bed to make room for him. Him in the middle, he gathers you into his arms, while reaching back to ensure Gracie is tucked tight behind him.
The first time he held you in his arms, you fell asleep immediately, exhausted from all he demanded from you. He slept like the dead as well, finally being able to let his guard down. Tonight, you resist the urge to close your eyes, savoring the warm weight of his arm curled around your waist, and the firm, solid tuck of his body behind yours. Delicately tracing his knuckles, you think about how no other man has ever held you like this. So used to them taking what they want and then leaving, you know you shouldn't get too attached or read too much into it…but it’s nice, the weight and comfort of his warmth.
In the small hours of the morning, you wake to the sensation of his nose gliding up the nape of your neck, his lips peppering kisses along the top of your spine. The room is dark, before dawn, and rolling over to face him, you see Gracie curled up behind him, dead to the world.
He’s achingly soft with his handling of you: sweeps of his palms over your soft skin, kisses that have you aching for more. It’s hard to see him in the darkness of the room, but that only makes every sensation more heightened. You focus on other senses: his low, rumbling hums, the heat of his skin, the taste of his mouth. His hand teases down the slope of your body, finding a home between your legs. Cupping your cunt, he preps you to take him again.
Swirls over your clit, fingers slipping inside to draw out slick wetness. Bringing the digits to his mouth, he coats them thoroughly with his saliva before bringing them back down to your cunt, easing them into you.
Half awake, everything feels like a dream, saturated with sensation. The weight of his body on yours, the filling push of him inside. His warm breath ghosting over your skin, the press of his mouth along your jaw.
“You’re such a good girl,” he murmurs, his forehead sliding against the soft skin on your shoulder, inhaling the scent of your skin. “You always take me so well. You make me feel so good.”
Your fingers thread through his curls, guiding his mouth to yours for a kiss. Deep, just like his achingly slow thrusts inside of you. Deep, like the aching feeling in your chest at his tenderness.
Swallowing your moans, he breaks the seal of your mouths just long enough to make whispered promises in the dark: that he’s going to come back in a month, that some day he’s going to settle down in this town. That someday, he’s going to build a house and take you home with him, just to keep you all to himself.
At the last promise, you let out a quiet laugh, tipping your head back into the pillow as he runs the bridge of his nose against your throat, nuzzling the soft skin.
“They all say that,” you tease.
You feel him smile. “Yeah, you’re right.”
Knowing that he’s going to have to leave soon, you shift your focus on giving him everything he asks for – your legs hitching high on his hips, your thighs squeezing him tight as he rocks into you, deeper, harder. With every grinding slide, he makes you repeat his words back to him, each statement sounding needier than the last:
No one fucks me like you do.
I can’t think about anything else when you’re deep inside me.
I’m your girl. Only your girl.
When you both come, he rests his head on your chest for a while, listening to the rapid thrumming of your heart as you stroke his soft hair away from his temple. The sun begins its ascent outside, the room slowly becoming hazy with dawn.
With one last kiss for you, and a kiss placed on Gracie’s temple, he pulls himself from the bed.
You watch as he searches for his clothes, his belt, his boots.
Your eyes sliding shut, you listen to him slip from the room, shutting the door with a soft click as you roll over into Gracie’s warm heat and go back to sleep.
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