Still learning how to write creatively | Comments and reblogs are very welcome | Welsh gal | 39 + 1 years young 😉 | Obsessed with Joel Miller, Din Djarin and Marcus Acacius| Love Slow burn, angst, enimies to lovers, friends to lovers, repressed feelings, protective men, happy endings.
Welcome to my Pedro Pascal masterlist. I'm still fairly new to fan fiction and have never attempted creative writing until 2023, so please go easy on me, people lol. I currently write for Din Djarin, Joel Miller, Marcus Acacius and Pedro Pascal himself. Comments and reblogs mean the world to me. It lets us know if we're doing a good job or not. I hope you all enjoy. I've also added a superman fic rec list...
💔= Angst 💘=Fluff 🔥=Smut 🗡= Violence
A03 Link Fic Recommendations Fic Recommendations no.2 Superman Fic Recomendations
Din Djarin Masterlist
Remember Cyar'ika Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡
You and Din hunt bounties together, but you get injured and have Amnesia. Will his love help you regain your memory?
Priceless Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡
You and Din miss Grogu terribly after he leaves with Luke Skywalker. After confessing your feelings to each other Din leaves to track down a quarry. While waiting for Din's return you are abducted by slavers. Din saves the day!
We don't talk anymore 💔 💘
You are afraid Din doesn't want you around anymore since Grogu has been returned to his people. After an argument yours and Dins' true feelings come out.
Warm or cold 💔 💘 🔥 🗡
You and Din track bounties together. During one hunt the quarry gets the upper hand and tries to kill you in order to escape. Din makes him pay. No one hurts his Cyare!
Catch Me If You Can 🔥 💘
You'd better run. The Mandalorian is hot on your heels....
That Time Again 💘
You've bled through but Din panics, thinking you're injured...
Broken Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡
Din is on the brink of death. The only way to save him is to remove his helmet. Surely he'll understand and forgive you... right?
A Beskar Dress for Dins Cyare 💘 🔥
Just a little scene I've conjured, inspired by a chainmail dress.
Falling Hard 💘
Sometimes, two idiots in love just need a push in the right direction...
Somewhere Only We Know 💔💘
It's the third anniversary of the "death" of your Mandalorian. Every year you come to a place that was special for the both of you to remember him...
Across an Ocean of Stars Masterlist 💘💔🔥🗡 (Ongoing)
Nothing much happens in your small town of Eureka Springs, Arkansas, USA. All of that changed one morning when strolling in the woods, you encounter a strange metallic man and his even stranger green child.
Din Djarin Head-canons
Din Djarin Imagine
Joel Miller Masterlist
Am I Too Late to Love You? Masterlist 💔 💘 🗡
Joel breaks you heart when you confess your love for him. You get into trouble whilst on patrol, causing Joel to accept his feelings and leave in a desperate search for you.
Reckless 💔 💘 🗡
You are a bit too headstrong and impulsive for Joel's liking. After purposely putting yourself in danger he let's you know just how much you mean to him.
When I wake up I've lost something A 💔 🗡
Joel is finally happy and in love but when he wakes up.....
The swimming lesson 🔥 💘
You are close friends with Joel and Ellie. You can't swim, so Ellie gets Joel to teach you at a secluded lake. All the sexual tension and pining for each other becomes too much....
Twelve days of Christmas 💔 💘
For twenty years Joel never had to think about Christmas. Painful memories of past Christmases with his daughter were easier to bury in the depths of his mind. But now Jackson's festivities are in full swing and an unexpected meeting might just give Joel a reason to embrace the holiday once again.
Every Last One of Them 💔 🗡
Abby is about to kill the man you love. You can't let that happen so you make the ultimate sacrifice....
I'll Come Back For You 💔
Letting go is hard to do for both of you. But as they say, if you love someone, you have to let them go.
Not My Man 💔💘
You are furious when you learn that Joel is suspected of hurting you.
Unexpected Masterlist 💘💔🗡
An unplanned pregnancy opens old wounds and new fears for Joel. Can your love survive this turn of events...?
Baby Love 💘
A little drabble about you and Joel settling in with a newborn...
Happy Grumpy Halloween 💘
You dress up as Joel for Halloween...
Friendly Confessions 💘
You sustain a minor injury and while high on painkillers you ask Tommy to bring you to Joel. Who knew that being this off your face would bring out the truth you've been keeping from your best friend...
Joel Miller head-cannons
Joel Miller Imagine
General Marcus Acacius Masterlist
The Lesser of Two Evils 💔💘🔥🗡
Series Masterlist
Rome is the enemy but so are the people you've spent your whole life with. When faced with a desperate choice of life or death which enemy should you choose?
Marcus Acacius headcanons
Marcus Acacius Imagine
Harry Castillo - coming soon
Maid for Him - coming soon
Pedro Pascal Masterlist
Oh Baby Masterlist 💔 💘
A baby is the last thing you and Pedro expected but life has a way of surprising you for the better...
Forever a Winner 💘
It's the night of the Golden Globes awards and you're there to support the love of your life, Pedro Pascal.
The Plus one 💔💘
You and Pedro have been in a relationship for a while but for some reason he'd stopped inviting you to social events. Has he grown tired of you...?
Miscellaneous Masterlist
Superman
It's In His Kiss 💘💔🗡
You and Clark have been in a relationship for the past several months but he's yet to reveal his secret to you. When you get caught up in a bank robbery and taken hostage, Superman comes to the rescue and seems just little to concerned with your well being...
Stay tuned for many more stories to come. I've made a physical note of every story I want to create and there are so many it's always so hard to chose the next one, especially when new ideas pop up all the time! 😆😜 I'm looking forward to one day having them all written and posted for my and your enjoyment 🤗😘
Summary: You and Din miss Grogu terribly after he leaves with Luke Skywalker. After confessing your feelings to each other Din leaves to track down a quarry. While waiting for Din's return you are abducted by slavers. Din saves the day!
Warnings: Smut, 18+ (Minors DNI!), soft but dominant Marcus, angst (you do care for him and want him, but you're oh so nervous), attentive Marcus (he wants to worship you), inexperienced reader, fluff, aftercare.
Word count: 1, 467
"So beautiful," Marcus coos, towering over you, his thumb tracing your plush bottom lip. "And all mine. The gods have smiled on me tonight." He can scarce believe the vision sitting at the foot of his bed, all sweet and doe eyed. There's a hint of uncertainty in your eyes as they search his; as if you're awaiting instruction. Your lip trembles and you fiddle with your hands in your lap. "My Lord-" "Marcus," he interrupts softly. "I'm your husband now and you will call me by my name." "M-Marcus..." you correct yourself, taking a deep breath. "I- I don't wish to disappoint you but..." You close your eyes and lower your head, your voice dropping to a timid whisper. "...I'm afraid." Your confession makes Marcus' chest constrict and his gaze softens, a sudden urge of protectiveness washing over him.
Placing his forefinger under your chin, he tilts your head up and when you open your eyes there's a glossy sheen to them. "My sweet wife, you need never fear me," he soothes. "It's not you I fear, Marcus... It's..." Your cheeks flush. "The act." A small smile tugs at Marcus' lips. He can't help but find your coyness endearing. He's had many an intimate encounter with women in the past but this is something else. His previous trysts had been nothing but a release for pent up tension, a way to scratch an itch, but with you... he doesn't want to simply know your body; he wants to know you. He wants to know the woman he married and he wants to worship every inch of you. "Did your mother tell you what to expect tonight?" Marcus asks, lowering his voice. You nod. "Yes... she said it'll hurt."
Marcus exhales through his nose, his lips pressing in a thin line. "Only a little at first but I promise you, you will enjoy it." He gently takes you by the shoulders and pulls you to your feet. He runs his hands up your bare arms, up to your hair and pulls away the ribbons woven throughout. Long locks cascade down your body and his eyes follow their path. His fingers skim along the shoulders of your wedding gown, slowly pushing the fabric past your shoulders until the garment falls at your feet and Marcus almost forgets how to breathe. In an instant his cock is throbbing hard under his tunic. Your cheeks blaze as your eyes stay locked on his chest. You can't move, can't breathe. Your whole body is on fire for this man but at the same time your nerves are getting the better of you. In a tender tone, Marcus says, "Look at me, my love." You obey and stare up into his eyes, your face betraying your anticipation.
Macrus smoothes his hands up your thighs, your skin prickling with goosebumps and you can't control the slight tremble coming from you. "I will never harm you," he promises, his eyes earnest but also firm. "You are my lady, and I'll treat you as such. Allow me to lead you tonight. Just relax and let me make you feel good." "Of course, Marcus," you reply, breathless. He slides his hands around your hips and down to your arse, cupping the globes, pressing your whole body against his. Your stomach swoops as his erection grinds against you and he claims your lips with his own, his tongue breaching your mouth. The little moan you release only seems to excite him further. He releases you, takes a step back and quickly pulls off his tunic, throwing it to the polished floor. Marcus can't suppress his smirk when your eyes widen at the sight of his hard member.
"Is my lady pleased?" he teases. Your gaze snaps to his and you stutter, "Y-yes... But... Will it...?" Marcus' smile widens. "I don't think it'll fit," you say apologetically. Marcus chuckles. "I will. I just have to prepare you to take me first." You bite your lower lip in response, your lust growing by the second. Marcus pulls you back against him, naked flesh on naked flesh and an instant throb pulses between you legs. He kisses you again, steering you backwards until your knees hit the mattress. You sink down onto the bed, Marcus' broad frame covering you. An arm, warm and thick wraps around you and you gasp when he moves you further up the bed, his knees spreading your legs. He settles his body between your legs, the tip of his head nudging your entrance.
His lips find you neck and he slowly drags them down to your chest, his tongue swirling around your puckered nipple, your back arching up to meet him. He can't stop the groan escaping him when his dick rubs along your folds, a pearl of precum hightening the sensation on his head. "You are Venus in the flesh," he breathes. "Oh, Marcus!" you whine, hands in his hair. "Shhh..." he smiles against your stomach as his kisses trail all the way down to your core. "I've got you." He licks a slow stroke along your pussy, smiling inwardly as you gasp, flinging your legs wider, your fingers punishing his hair and hips shuddering. He increases the pressure along your folds, then focuses his tongue on your clit, swirling, flicking, sucking. Your groans are heavenly! Bringing his hand between your legs his teases your hole with a finger before pushing inside, finding and stroking that soft spot that'll make you putty in his hands.
"Oh my g-" Marcus crashes his mouth to yours, swallowing your cries of pleasure as, moments later, your release soaks his hand. Fingers still pumping, he helps you ride the wave, only stopping when your body goes limp. You're in a daze; head spinning and chest heaving. The drag of your nipples along his chest is glorious, every nerve ending ten times as sensitive. "I think you're ready for me now, my love." Marcus grins down at you and all you can do is smile. He parts your lips with his cock head and slowly pushes inside. Your walls immediately clamp down around him, the burning stretch stealing your breath. Your fingers dig into his shoulders and he stills. "Relax," he murmurs, "Just let it happen." He pushes further in and a sudden sharp sensation has you whimpering. Marcus presses a kiss to your forehead. "It's okay. You're doing so well."
After a few seconds he begins to move, slowly dragging his thick shaft along your walls. You can feel every ridge, every vein as he plunges in and out of you. "Open your eyes," Marcus whispers. "I want to witness your pleasure." You do as you're told and when your eyes meet his, the tension in your body eases. He's looking at you like a man enraptured, like he can't believe this is real. You've never felt more treasured, more loved. Without warning, a warmth builds inside your core, a delicious tide of pleasure getting stronger and stronger. Marcus sees clearly the shift from pain to pleasure on your face and he picks up his pace, pulling his hips back further and pressing deeper and faster into you again and again and again. Your clamping walls and the sound of his name on your lips as you come tips him over the edge and he moans as he spills his hot seed into your womb.
Sweat clings to his curly hair as he kisses you deep and slow, your warm breathes mingling. "How are you feeling, wife?" he asks, holding your gaze. Your blissful smile tells him everything before you say it. "I feel incredible, husband. Did you enjoy it?" Marcus grins. "So much! I'll never be able to get enough of you." You pull his head down for another searing kiss. That was everything you could have wanted on your wedding night; tender, loving and passionate. The fear you'd felt is now a distant memory, replaced with the intimacy you'll always share with Marcus from now on. Marcus length softens inside you and you wince as he pulls out. He notices, a frown on his face. "Are you sore?" "A little," you relpy. "But it's okay. You were... you were amazing, Marcus." "As were you," Marcus declares, cupping your cheek.
Laying on his back, he takes you with him, holding you in his arms. You sigh, and press a kiss to his collar bone. Your body lays stretched over his and he can feel the beat of your heart in time with his own. In all his years he never imagined a connection like the one he feels with you. It's as if this was meant to be; ordained by the gods themselves, and he will give them praise every day for bringing you into his life.
This story has become my baby and a labour of love for me. It's my first ever multi chapter and OFC/reader story. I've spent so much time researching ancient Germany and ancient Rome so I can (hopefully) capture the essence of the ancient world and help you escape into it just for a little while. Marcus Acacius and Alia will forever hold a special place in my heart and I love how these two are slowly gravitating towards each other despite their reservations, but when all's said and done; true love conquers all! 💘
Summary: Rome is the enemy, but so are the people you've spent your whole life with. When faced with a desperate choice of life or death, which enemy should you choose?
Warnings: Swearing, fluff, smut (eventual), deep angst, threats of rape, sexual harassment, S A (not Marcus), violence, gore, detailed injuries, enemies(ish) to lovers, slow burn, protective Marcus Acacius, PTSD, age gap, OFC/reader. Each chapter will have it's own warnings.
Summary: A family emergency turns out to be Eloise with a plan, your hormones have officially entered their dramatic era, and Harry decides to do something dangerously romantic about it. Unfortunately, the past has plans too.
Warnings and WC: 19.8k (yes, I missed writing this much 😌) 18+ MDNI / mature themes, time-jump, fluff, kissing, emotional intimacy, secret beach wedding, surprise wedding, private vows, second wedding / remarriage, Harry becomes the most romantic man alive because his very pregnant fiancée cried over a movie, overly emotional pregnant reader, comedy, hormonal crying, pregnancy cravings, twins gender reveal, high-risk twin pregnancy, pregnant reader, body changes, protective daddy-to-be!Harry, overprotective husband energy, soft Harry hours, second chance romance, exes to lovers, established relationship, mention about orgasm, billionaire romance, rich people problems, elite Manhattan society, family therapy ambush, Eloise being Eloise, family dynamics, childhood wounds, emotional distress, hurt/comfort, pregnancy complications, early labor scare, domestic fluff, banter, humor, old money aesthetics, private love vs public image, 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: My loves, this chapter kept growing while I was writing it, and I can't believe it almost passed 20k. I almost split it into two parts… but changed my mind. It's officially the longest chapter I've ever written, and I hope you have as much fun reading it as I had writing it. Enjoy! ❤️
• The Songs: Stand By Me — Florence + The Machine
You are the Reason — Olivia Penalva
What Belongs to You Will Find Its Way Back
April 13th...
Rhinebeck, New York
Three black cars swept up the long drive to Rhinebeck as though bad news had learned to travel in formation.
From the back seat of the first, you watched the estate emerge through the trees—gray stone, climbing ivy, and tall windows catching the last pale light of the afternoon.
It had always looked peaceful from a distance.
Today, it looked like the kind of place where families gathered to hear something they would never forget.
Harry hadn't let go of your hand since Ron received the call. His fingers remained tightly threaded through yours, his thumb brushing slowly over your engagement ring and across your knuckles in a steady rhythm that was probably meant to calm you.
It wasn't working.
Not when his jaw had been locked for the past forty minutes.
Harry had walked out of a meeting without his coat, picked you up before you'd even had time to change, and ordered the driver toward Rhinebeck without waiting for another explanation.
Across from you, Ron sat unusually still, his phone dark in his hand. He'd already called the house twice.
Both times, Eloise's nurse had given him the same answer.
Mrs. Castillo had suffered a difficult morning. She wanted the family in Rhinebeck immediately.
Nothing more.
"Did she sound frightened?" you asked again.
Ron looked up. "The nurse?"
"Yes."
"She sounded controlled."
"That wasn't my question."
Ron hesitated a fraction too long. Harry's grip tightened around your hand. You turned toward him. "Maybe we should've gone straight to the hospital."
"If she needed a hospital, her nurse would've sent her to one," Harry said evenly. "She knows what she's doing." His voice was calm. Deliberately calm.
It might've convinced anyone else.
Not you.
Harry was terrified. He was simply doing everything he could to keep that fear from reaching you. "Eloise is probably fine," he continued, his thumb brushing over your hand again. "It could be exhaustion. A medication adjustment. Anything."
"You don't believe that."
His gaze met yours. "I believe worrying before we know anything won't help you or the babies."
"I'm all right." You leaned closer, covering his hand with yours. "Hey. She's the strongest woman I know. She's going to be okay."
Harry held your gaze for a long moment, as though he wanted to borrow your certainty but wasn't sure how. "She'd better be," he said quietly.
He lifted your hand to his lips, kissing your knuckles before lacing your fingers together once more.
Your free hand drifted instinctively to the gentle curve beneath your dress.
At five months, hiding the pregnancy was no longer possible—not with twins, and certainly not from a man who'd spent the past several weeks monitoring every meal, every yawn, and nearly every step you took.
Harry noticed immediately. "What is it?"
"Nothing."
"Was that a cramp?"
You smiled. "One of the babies."
"Which one?"
You waited until another tiny flutter danced beneath your palm. "The mischievous one."
Ron blinked. "You can already tell them apart?"
"Of course I can."
"They're identical twins."
"That doesn't mean they have identical personalities."
Another tiny kick answered for you.
You laughed softly. "This one waits until I'm trying to sleep. The other prefers interrupting my calls with Gerard."
Harry considered that. "The second one sounds strategic."
"Definitely a Castillo," Ron said with a smirk.
Harry slowly turned his head. Ron calmly redirected his attention to the window.
Before Harry could answer, the iron gates opened, and the car began its final climb toward the house.
A second car followed close behind.
Through the rear window, you caught a glimpse of your mother and Vivienne sitting side by side, both unnaturally rigid.
Lately, the two women had been spending an astonishing amount of time together.
Ever since you stopped speaking properly to Scarlet... and Harry had grown just as distant from Vivienne.
That, however, was another story.
Probably several.
A third black car turned through the gates.
You frowned. "That's Mikey's car."
Harry glanced over his shoulder.
Ron followed his gaze. "Michael was called as well."
"Of course he was," Harry muttered.
Ron's expression hinted there was more to say. He wisely chose continued employment instead.
The first car rolled to a stop beneath the portico.
Harry was out before the driver had fully opened the door. He rounded the car and offered you his hand. As you stepped out, his other hand instinctively rose above your head, shielding you from the doorframe.
You smiled. "I'm not quite big enough to need help getting out of a car."
"You're carrying our babies." His voice softened. "The least I can do is take care of my queen."
You slipped your hand into his. "You're supervising every limb I own."
Once both your feet were on the gravel, he rested an arm around your waist instead of letting go. He leaned down, pressing a lingering kiss beneath your ear. "I'm very attached to them," he murmured.
You laughed. "All of them?"
"Every single one."
Behind you, Scarlet and Vivienne climbed out of the second car.
Scarlet looked as though she'd abandoned her reading glasses somewhere along the drive. Vivienne, meanwhile, had lost every trace of color.
Your mother's eyes found yours first. Hope flickered across her face, fragile enough to disappear almost immediately.
She took the smallest step forward. At the same moment, Vivienne looked toward Harry with nearly the same uncertainty.
You felt Harry's arm tighten around your waist. Your fingers quietly found his hand.
No words were exchanged. None were needed. Together, the two of you turned toward the house. Scarlet stopped. Vivienne did too. Ron watched the mothers...
...then their children.
He let out the quietest sigh.
The third car pulled beneath the portico. Sienna stepped out first. Mikey emerged from the opposite side. For one suspended moment...
Neither of them moved. Sienna's hair was slightly less polished than usual. Mikey's tie was missing. The top two buttons of his shirt hung open beneath his coat. He looked exactly like a man who hadn't expected to arrive at his grandmother's estate with Harry Castillo's younger sister.
Harry noticed. Slowly... His attention shifted from Sienna...
...to Mikey.
Mikey straightened immediately. Sienna lifted her chin. Even Scarlet and Vivienne forgot their panic long enough to look between them.
"We ran into each other," Mikey said.
"At lunch," Sienna added a little too quickly.
"She needed a ride."
Vivienne frowned. "Weren't you supposed to be at the gallery all afternoon?"
"I was."
"Then how exactly did you run into Michael at lunch?"
Sienna opened her mouth. Nothing came out.
Mikey rescued her. "Manhattan becomes a very small place when two people are hungry."
Scarlet's eyes drifted over his missing tie...
...his open collar...
...and finally the restaurant bag still hanging from his hand.
"Apparently."
Ron glanced toward the company sedan assigned exclusively to Mikey.
"A fortunate coincidence."
Harry remained silent. Which, somehow, was much worse. You felt the exact moment suspicion began arranging itself inside his head.
Questions were coming.
Before the first one could leave his mouth, you caught the front of his coat and gave it a gentle tug.
He looked down.
You held his eyes for a beat.
Not now.
His brows drew together. Somehow...He knew you knew something. He also knew this wasn't the place to ask.
You pulled your coat tighter. "Can we go inside? I'm freezing."
Mikey disappeared from Harry's mind instantly.
His arm settled around your shoulders. "Come on."
Together, you headed for the front entrance.
The interrogation disappeared.
For now.
The front doors were already open.
Two members of staff stood inside the foyer, their expressions solemn. The housekeeper held her hands clasped tightly at her waist, while a young footman stared fixedly at the marble floor.
Something about them felt wrong. Not grief.
Performance.
The realization flickered through you and vanished before you could fully grasp it. Perhaps they had simply been instructed not to say anything. Perhaps your fear was making everything seem strange.
“Where is she?” Harry asked.
“Upstairs, sir,” the housekeeper replied softly. “Her nurse is waiting.”
Scarlet moved first.
Her heels struck sharply against the marble as she crossed the foyer, Vivienne close beside her. Sienna and Mikey followed without looking at each other.
Harry kept one hand at your back as you climbed the stairs.
Too slowly for everyone else. Too quickly for him.
His arm tightened every time you reached another step.
“Harry, ” you warned beneath your breath.
“I’m not carrying you.”
“You were thinking about it.”
A reluctant smile touched his mouth.
You would have answered, but Eloise’s nurse appeared at the top of the staircase. Her face was composed. Almost suspiciously composed. “Thank you for coming so quickly.”
Harry stopped in front of her. “What happened?”
Vivienne stepped beside him. “I was gone for two days. She was perfectly well when I left.”
“She’s resting.”
“That isn’t an answer,” Harry said.
“She asked me not to discuss anything until everyone was present.”
Vivienne looked around sharply. “We are present.”
The nurse’s gaze passed over the group, pausing briefly on Mikey and Sienna before returning to Vivienne.
“Yes,” she said. “You certainly are.”
She turned and led all of you down the corridor. The house had gone unnaturally quiet. No distant clatter from the kitchen. No music from one of the sitting rooms.
Only footsteps and the steady ticking of the old clock near the staircase.
At Eloise’s bedroom door, the nurse paused. “Please try not to upset her.”
Vivienne pressed one hand to her chest. “Oh, God.”
The nurse opened the door. The curtains had been drawn halfway, leaving the room washed in muted silver light. Eloise lay beneath a pale cashmere blanket, her head resting against a mountain of pillows.
Her eyes were closed.
For the first time since the call, Harry released your hand.
He crossed the room in three strides. “Abuela?”
Eloise did not respond.
Vivienne hurried to the other side of the bed. “Mama?”
The rest of you gathered near the footboard. Scarlet reached blindly for your hand, and despite everything that had passed between you, you let her take it.
Sienna stood stiffly beside her. Mikey’s usual restless energy had disappeared completely. Eloise’s nurse closed the door behind all of you.
A long moment passed.
Then Eloise took a faint breath. “Is everyone here?”
Her voice was weak enough to make Harry bend closer. “Yes,” he said immediately. “We’re all here.”
“Scarlet?”
“I’m here,” Scarlet whispered.
“Vivienne?”
“Here, Mama.”
“Sienna?”
“Yes, Abuela.”
“Mikey?”
Mikey blinked. “Uh… yes, ma’am.”
Eloise’s eyes remained closed. “Mi reina?”
You stepped closer, Harry’s hand finding yours again. “I’m here.”
From somewhere near the door, Ron cleared his throat. “For the record, I’m here as well.”
Eloise remained motionless. “Ah, Ronald,” she breathed. “I remembered you.”
Ron gave a small nod.
Eloise released a long, tired sigh. Then her eyes opened.
Clear. Sharp. Entirely alert.
“Bueno,” she said.
Before anyone could react, she pushed herself upright against the pillows with surprising ease, pulled the cashmere blanket neatly over her lap, and held out one hand.
Her nurse placed her reading glasses into it.
Eloise slipped them on and looked around the room, visibly pleased by the collection of pale, frightened faces before her. She clapped her hands together once, bright and decisive. “Everyone is here. Perfect. Then we will not waste Dr. Adler’s time.”
Silence.
The door to the adjoining sitting room opened.
A woman in a navy suit stepped through, carrying a leather notebook and wearing the professionally neutral expression of someone who had already been warned about the family waiting for her.
“Good evening,” she said. “I’m Dr. Vanessa Adler.”
No one moved.
Harry stared at his grandmother. “Abuela.”
Eloise adjusted her glasses. “What?”
“Did you fake a medical emergency?”
Her mouth fell open in theatrical offense. “Fake? Ay, por favor (please). I did no such thing.”
“Your nurse said you’d had a difficult morning.”
“I did. My eggs were cold, the coffee was weak, and none of you have answered a direct question in nearly a month. It was a terrible morning.”
Scarlet made an outraged sound. “We thought you were dying!”
“You frightened all of us,” you added. “We came here expecting the worst.”
“I left an entire boardroom without saying a word,” Harry said.
Sienna folded her arms. “That was cruel, Abuela.”
Mikey whined. “I abandoned my dessert.” Everyone looked at him. “What?” he said. “Grief affects people differently.”
Eloise waved one dismissive hand at all of you.
“Dios mío, look at these faces. At my age, death is always somewhere nearby. I never said it had entered the house.”
Vivienne turned toward the nurse. “You allowed us to believe something had happened to her.”
“I said Mrs. Castillo wished to see the family urgently,” the nurse replied calmly. “That was accurate.”
“You trapped us,” Sienna said.
Eloise looked at her over the rim of her glasses. “Had I said, ‘Come to Rhinebeck, niños, there is a therapist waiting to discuss your feelings,’ would you have come?” Sienna opened her mouth. Nothing emerged. “Exactly,” Eloise said. “Do not argue when you know I am right. It gives me a headache.”
Mikey looked between Eloise and Dr. Adler. “You used mortality as a scheduling tool.”
“And you arrived on time for the first time since I met you.”
Mikey considered that. “That’s incredibly manipulative.” Then a slow, appreciative grin appeared on his face. “I like it.”
You stepped closer to the bed. “Eloise, I’m five months pregnant with twins. You cannot summon me by implying that you may be dying. There are currently three heartbeats inside this body, and you frightened all of them.”
Eloise reached for your hand. “Come here, mi reina.”
You gave her a suspicious look but allowed her to take it.
She squeezed your fingers between both of hers, her expression softening. “I am sorry I frightened you, mi amor.”
“You don’t look very sorry.”
“No, because I am not sorry that it worked.”
“Eloise.”
“Ay, let me finish.” She patted your hand. “I would not have done any of this if all of you had not become completely impossible.”
A chorus of protests began.
Eloise lifted one finger. “¡Basta! (enough!)” The room fell silent. “At our last family dinner, Scarlet and mi reina spoke exclusively through the salt and pepper.”
You glanced toward your mother. Scarlet looked away with great dignity.
“Harry and Vivienne exchanged six words all evening,” Eloise continued. “Four of them concerned the rain.”
Vivienne folded her arms. Harry said nothing, which did very little to help his case.
“And now Vivienne is spending every free hour with Scarlet. Just like schoolgirls. Their son and daughter are sulking in separate corners, so naturally the mothers have abandoned them to whisper together.”
Scarlet’s expression became carefully blank.
Vivienne lifted her chin. “We are allowed to enjoy one another’s company.”
“Sí, of course.” Eloise looked between them over the rim of her glasses. “And I am supposed to believe the two of you have no secrets while you disappear for lunches, lower your voices when I enter a room, and suddenly stop speaking whenever one of your children appears.”
Neither woman answered.
Eloise gave a satisfied nod.
“You may fool your children. You may fool one another. But you will not fool this old woman. Whatever you are hiding, whatever ridiculous problem has driven you into one another’s arms, you will solve it.”
Scarlet’s expression remained perfectly composed.
Which, in your experience, generally meant Eloise was right. Sienna lowered her head, hiding a smile. Then Eloise turned toward her.
“And you.”
Sienna blinked. “What about me?”
Eloise narrowed her eyes. “You have been happy.”
Sienna stared at her. “I’m sorry?”
“Too happy,” Eloise said. “Smiling at your telephone. Disappearing for lunch. Wearing perfume in the afternoon.”
“That doesn’t mean anything.”
“Sí, sí. And I am a foolish old woman who has never seen a girl hide a man.”
Mikey coughed. Eloise’s head turned toward him immediately.
“And there he is.”
Mikey straightened. “Why am I suddenly involved?”
Eloise looked from him to Sienna and back again.
“I may be eighty-six, cariño, but when it comes to romance, deception, and badly concealed attraction, my mind is still sharper than most of yours.”
Sienna abruptly found the carpet fascinating. Mikey looked toward the window. “Come on, Eloise,” he said with an unconvincing laugh. “This is becoming wildly speculative.”
“Mm-hm.”
Harry’s eyes narrowed. “What exactly does that mean?”
Eloise waved one hand dismissively. “Nothing you need to worry about yet.”
“Abuela.”
“Do not ‘Abuela’ me. If there is something to know, I will know it before you do.”
From near the door, Ron murmured, “At least we now know where the Castillos inherited their observational skills.”
Eloise released your hand and settled back against her pillows, looking around at the family with the weary affection of a woman who had raised too many stubborn people and somehow acquired several more.
“So I have decided that all of you need therapy.”
“We do not all need therapy,” Vivienne said.
“Some people need boundaries,” you murmured.
Scarlet looked at you. “Some people need to communicate instead of freezing out their mothers.”
“Some people need to stop investigating other people’s private lives,” Vivienne added.
Harry’s jaw tightened. “Some people need better judgment regarding men.”
“Ay, Dios mío.” Eloise struck the mattress lightly with her palm. “Listen to yourselves. You sound like children arguing over one toy.” No one answered. “As the eldest person in this family, I am asking for one afternoon without secrets, sulking, investigators, secret lunches, mysterious interviews, and whatever else you are all doing behind closed doors.”
She pointed toward Dr. Adler.
“You will speak to this nice woman. You will tell her the truth. Not the elegant version, not the corporate version, and not the version where you are all innocent little angels. You will solve your problems, or at the very least, you will learn to argue more quietly. I would like to enjoy the rest of my life.”
Dr. Adler cleared her throat and stepped forward.
“My plan is to begin with a few brief private conversations. Afterward, we’ll meet together to discuss the patterns affecting the family as a whole.” She glanced around at the collection of reluctant faces.
“Shall we begin?”
The private sitting room was smaller than Eloise's bedroom, warmer too, with tall windows overlooking the gardens and a low fire crackling beneath the marble mantel. A carafe of water sat on the table beside a box of tissues with the quiet menace of something fully expecting to be needed.
Dr. Adler was already seated in one of the armchairs, her notebook resting open across her lap. She gestured toward the sofa opposite. "Please. Make yourself comfortable."
You lowered yourself carefully onto the cushions, one hand supporting the underside of your stomach. "Comfortable stopped being an available position about three weeks ago."
A faint smile tugged at her lips. "Would another cushion help?"
"If you bring me another cushion, Harry will somehow sense it through the wall and order six more." That earned a soft laugh. You adjusted your skirt and glanced toward the closed door. "I still can't believe Eloise actually did that."
"I'm observing that her method was effective," Dr. Adler replied. "Everyone she asked to come arrived."
"Because we thought she was dying."
"Which says something rather lovely about how much she means to all of you."
You narrowed your eyes. "That sounds suspiciously like therapeutic manipulation."
"It sounds like an observation."
"You're going to fit into this family beautifully."
She smiled, letting the joke pass. Instead, her attention drifted briefly—not intrusively—to the curve of your stomach. "Before we discuss your family… how are you feeling? Is everything going well with the pregnancy?"
You rested your palm over the place where one of the babies had been moving throughout the drive. "I'm about as well as anyone five months pregnant with twins can be."
"Tired?"
"Constantly."
"Any pain today?"
"No. Just pressure, backache, occasional insomnia… and two tiny people with very strong opinions about where my internal organs should be."
She nodded. "And emotionally?"
You looked at her. "That feels like a much more expensive question."
"It usually is."
A comfortable silence settled between you.
Then she asked, "Where would you like to begin?"
You gave her a knowing look. "You already know where Eloise wants us to begin."
"She gave me a broad outline."
"And?"
"I'd rather hear your version."
You sighed. "Of course she did." Another quiet pause. "If we're actually doing this…" You drew a slow breath. "Everything started after I moved into Harry's house."
At the time, you had been barely three months pregnant. The babies were still easy enough to hide beneath tailored coats and structured dresses. The nausea wasn't. Neither was the exhaustion. But Queen Financial had only just begun recovering, and the last thing you wanted was for anyone walking into a boardroom to mistake pregnancy for weakness. For weeks, you carried ginger tea in coffee cups and smiled through mornings when simply remaining upright felt like an act of corporate defiance.
"And your mother knew?"
"Everything."
"Was she supportive?"
You let out a quiet, humorless laugh. "I thought she was."
When you told Scarlet, she'd cried. She'd held your face, kissed your forehead, and told you that after everything you'd survived, you deserved something beautiful. Then, less than twenty-four hours later…
…the conversation became strategy.
"Her first concern wasn't my health. It was the company."
Dr. Adler remained silent.
"Queen Financial was still fragile. Investors were watching everything I did. And she believed a public pregnancy would overshadow the recovery. She thought it would become the only thing people saw."
Scarlet's voice still echoed in your memory.
You cannot announce this yet, darling. Not until the company is stronger.
At first, you'd agreed. It seemed reasonable. Temporary. You'd wait until refinancing was complete. Then the board transition. Then quarterly earnings. There was always another milestone. Another reason to wait.
"How did that make you feel?"
You looked down at your hands. "Like I wasn't carrying two babies. Like I was carrying a liability."
Dr. Adler let the silence sit. "And the wedding?"
You leaned back carefully. "That was worse."
Scarlet had been thrilled when you and Harry found your way back to one another. She'd told you pride wasn't a substitute for love. That you'd regret letting fear choose your future. But once the ring was on your finger…
…and the pregnancy could no longer be hidden…
Everything came with conditions.
You cannot marry him while you're visibly pregnant.
"I honestly thought I'd misheard her."
"What was her reasoning?"
"That Manhattan would turn it into a circus."
Another memory surfaced.
They'll say Harry rescued you, rescued your company, got you pregnant, and rushed you down the aisle before anyone could ask questions.
"None of that was true."
"No," Dr. Adler said quietly. "It wasn't."
You gave a faint smile. "But she wasn't wrong about the headlines."
The smile faded. "She wanted us to wait until after the girls were born."
Twenty minutes later, Scarlet occupied the same sofa.
Her posture was immaculate, one elegant leg crossed over the other. Even now, she looked more like a woman preparing for a board meeting than a therapy session. Dr. Adler closed her notebook from the previous conversation and opened it to a fresh page.
"Tell me what changed from your perspective."
Scarlet folded her hands neatly in her lap. "She finally looked happy."
Dr. Adler waited.
"I had watched my daughter spend years carrying responsibilities that should never have belonged to her. Then she found her way back to Harry. She was expecting twins. She had a future." A faint smile touched Scarlet's lips. "I wanted to protect it."
"And what did protecting it look like to you?"
"Managing the circumstances around it."
"You mean the company."
"Among other things."
Scarlet glanced toward the window before continuing. "Queen Financial had only just survived the worst crisis in its history. Investors were watching everything. I believed one public pregnancy would eclipse everything she had accomplished."
"And the wedding?"
Scarlet didn't hesitate. "I wanted that to belong to them."
Dr. Adler tilted her head slightly. "Ms. Queen remembers it differently."
"I'm aware."
Scarlet let out a slow breath. "I told her she wasn't a spectacle. My concern wasn't the marriage. It was how the world would rewrite it. I wanted her achievements to remain her own."
Silence lingered for a moment. Then Dr. Adler asked quietly, "And what do you think Queen heard?"
Scarlet's brow furrowed.
"I…"
She stopped.
Dr. Adler didn't rescue her. Instead, she simply waited. Scarlet's shoulders lowered almost imperceptibly. "…That I cared more about appearances than about her."
Another pause. "Was she wrong?"
Scarlet didn't answer immediately. Finally… "No." She looked toward the floor. "Not entirely."
Dr. Adler turned back to you. “What happened after that conversation?”
"I stopped telling her things."
Scarlet's response came without hesitation.
"She punished me."
"I set a boundary."
"She excluded me from the pregnancy."
"She knew the babies were healthy."
"She wouldn't let me attend the next scan."
"She tried to relocate my obstetrician to Rhinebeck."
"I suggested an alternative arrangement."
"She had an examination room prepared in the house."
"It was discreet."
"It had a chandelier."
"The chandelier was already there."
Dr. Adler paused.
"And the flowers?"
Scarlet's eyes narrowed slightly. "Medical rooms are unnecessarily bleak."
Back in your session, you looked toward the ceiling. "Do you see what I'm dealing with?"
"I'm beginning to," Dr. Adler admitted.
"The second baby had already been identified as a girl," you continued. "The other refused to cooperate."
Despite yourself, a smile appeared.
"A few days ago… we finally found out."
Dr. Adler smiled back.
"And?"
"Another girl."
The words still warmed something inside you.
Two daughters.
Two tiny heartbeats.
Two entirely different futures already unfolding.
"And you haven't told your mother."
"No."
"Why?"
You looked down at your engagement ring before answering.
"Because I wanted one thing to belong to Harry and me before it became a theme, a luncheon, a guest list… and twelve thousand flowers."
That earned the smallest laugh.
Then Dr. Adler grew thoughtful.
"So withholding that information became a boundary."
"It did."
"And it remained one?"
"For a while."
"And after that?"
You hesitated.
"…Maybe it stopped being only a boundary."
"A little?"
You sighed.
"Moderately."
One corner of Dr. Adler's mouth lifted.
"Elegantly punitive."
Despite yourself…
You laughed.
"So Harry wasn't exaggerating."
"Oh?"
"He told me your sense of humor usually appears about twenty minutes after your honesty."
You smiled despite yourself.
"He's annoyingly perceptive."
"I've noticed."
Dr. Adler closed the notebook.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
Finally, she said,
"I'd like to ask you one last question."
You nodded.
"When Scarlet said she was protecting you…"
"…did any part of you believe her?"
Silence. A long one. Eventually…
"Yes."
"And yet?"
"I didn't need protecting."
"You needed trusting."
Your voice had become barely more than a whisper. "I needed her to trust that I could live my own life."
Dr. Adler nodded once. "I think that's a very important distinction."
She stood, gathering her notebook. "I won't ask you to forgive her today." You looked up. "I don't think either of you is ready for that. But I do think you're both grieving the same relationship."
You frowned. "The same relationship?"
"The one each of you thought you had. And that's usually where healing begins."
By the time Harry took your place on the sofa, Dr. Adler had already filled several pages. She turned to a fresh one and poised her pen above it. “Mr. Castillo. Tell me about your mother.”
Harry settled back, resting one ankle over his knee. “My mother is seeing a man.”
Twenty minutes later, Vivienne answered the same question with visible irritation. “I had dinner with a perfectly respectable gentleman.”
“Four dinners,” Harry said in his own session.
“Three dinners and one lunch.”
“Two lunches.”
Vivienne sighed and looked toward the ceiling. “My son apparently keeps a ledger.”
“There was also a weekend in Connecticut.”
“There were twelve bedrooms in that house,” Vivienne protested.
“That doesn’t make the weekend less concerning.”
“It makes it considerably less intimate.”
“He sent her roses.”
“He is French.”
Harry looked directly at Dr. Adler. “That is not a defense.”
Dr. Adler rested the tip of her pen against the page. “Mr. Castillo, your mother is an autonomous adult.”
“I’m aware.”
“You had the man investigated.”
“Autonomy does not eliminate due diligence.”
"And did your mother ask for your protection?"
"No."
"Then why did you decide she needed it? What are you afraid will happen?"
“He could take advantage of her.”
“Financially?”
“Financially, socially or emotionally. Those things often overlap.”
“And did your mother ask for your protection?”
“No.”
“Then why did you decide she needed it?”
Harry’s fingers moved once against the arm of the sofa. “People rarely ask before something goes wrong.”
“That sounds less like an answer about this man and more like an answer about someone else.”
His eyes lifted to hers. “My father left.”
The words were flat and controlled. Dr. Adler did not immediately begin writing again.
“Your parents divorced?”
“No.”
She paused. “Your mother is still legally married to him?”
“Yes.”
“And yet he has not been part of her life for years.”
“No.”
Harry looked toward the window. “My mother never received an ending. He simply left her with the consequences.”
“Not anymore. We don’t remind her. The last time her condition worsened, the doctors told us to avoid anything that could trigger another episode.”
Dr. Adler regarded him quietly. “So your father’s absence is something the entire family is required to live around, but never fully discuss.”
“That isn’t why we’re here.”
“Perhaps not. But it may explain why another man entering your mother’s life feels less simple to you than it does to her.”
When Dr. Adler later asked Vivienne about Harry’s behavior after Eduardo left, her irritation softened. “He became efficient.”
“That sounds like an unusual response to grief.”
“It was Harry’s response. He dealt with the lawyers, the accounts and every practical problem Eduardo left behind. Sienna was nineteen and furious. Harry called her constantly until she threatened to block him.”
“And you?”
“I was still married to a man who had chosen not to be my husband.”
Vivienne looked down at her hands.
“Harry decided that if Eduardo had abandoned his responsibilities, he would assume all of them.”
“Did you ask him to?”
“No. Harry has never waited to be asked.”
Back in his own session, Dr. Adler said, “Has this new man given you any reason to believe he intends to hurt her?”
“Not yet.”
“So you’re preparing for a betrayal that has not occurred.”
“I’m being cautious.”
Dr. Adler lowered her pen. “Your mother’s marriage never formally ended, your father’s absence cannot be openly discussed around your grandmother, and you have spent years managing the consequences. It makes sense that you want this new relationship verified before you allow yourself to trust it.”
“Allow myself?”
“Yes. Because this is not only about whether your mother trusts him.”
Harry said nothing.
“It’s also about whether you can tolerate her beginning a new life when the old one was never properly closed.”
In Vivienne’s session, Dr. Adler asked, “Does being legally married to Eduardo affect how you feel about seeing someone else?”
Vivienne was silent for a moment. “Sometimes.”
“Guilt?”
“Not toward Eduardo.” Her answer came sharply. “He surrendered any right to ask for loyalty when he left.”
“Then what?”
Vivienne exhaled. “The strangeness of it. Beginning something new when part of my life is still sitting unfinished in a locked room.”
“And Harry knows that.”
“Harry knows everything.” A faint smile touched her mouth. “That is both his best quality and his most exhausting one.”
Later, when Dr. Adler brought them into the room together, Harry sat at one end of the sofa and Vivienne chose the other.
“Harry,” Dr. Adler began, “your mother understands that your actions come from love.”
“And arrogance,” Vivienne added.
“And arrogance,” Dr. Adler allowed. “But she is not asking you to erase the risk. She is asking you to trust her to decide whether it is worth taking.”
Harry looked at his mother. “Does he know you’re still legally married?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know why?”
“Yes.”
“Does he know about Abuela?”
“Only what he needs to know.”
“Has he asked for money?”
“No.”
“Professional introductions?”
“No.”
“Access to the family?”
“No.”
“Has he—”
“Harry.”
He stopped.
Vivienne’s voice softened. “I’m not replacing your father. I’m trying to stop living as though the life he abandoned is the only one I’m allowed to have.”
That silenced him.
After a moment, Harry nodded once. “If something feels wrong, you’ll tell me.”
“Yes.”
“Immediately?”
“Within a reasonable period.”
“Define reasonable.”
Dr. Adler lifted one hand. “No negotiations.”
Harry looked dissatisfied but relented. “Fine.”
“And you will not investigate him further,” Vivienne said.
“I won’t authorize any new investigation.”
“That isn’t the same sentence.”
“It’s the sentence I’m offering.”
“Harry.”
He sighed. “I will not investigate him further.”
“Or ask Ron.”
His silence lasted half a second too long.
Dr. Adler looked at him. “Or Ron,” he added.
Vivienne’s shoulders eased. She reached over and touched his cheek. “My poor baby boy.”
Harry leaned away. “Mama.”
“You’ve always been so devoted to me.”
“I am forty-six years old.”
“And still my baby.” Vivienne smiled. “When you stop treating me like a helpless abandoned wife, I’ll stop treating you like a worried little boy.”
Harry looked toward Dr. Adler. “Is this therapeutically appropriate?”
She made one final note. “It appears to be working.”
Vivienne patted his cheek again. “My baby boy.”
Harry closed his eyes. “This was a mistake.”
Dr. Adler turned to a fresh page.
Across from her, Mikey settled into the armchair as though he had been waiting his entire life for an audience legally required to listen to him.
"Before we start," he said, leaning forward with a conspiratorial smile, "everything we say in here stays in here, right? I can tell you anything?"
"Within the boundaries I explained earlier, yes."
She regarded him over the top of her notebook.
"Although I was under the impression we would be discussing your problem."
"I don't have a problem."
"Are you certain? You and Miss Castillo appear to be concealing something from your families."
His smile faltered.
"Did Eloise tell you that?"
"She shared several suspicions."
"That woman missed her calling."
"What was her calling?"
"International espionage." He leaned back with a sigh. "Fine. It was a problem. Mostly."
Dr. Adler waited.
"I realized I liked Sienna." Another pause. "I then tried several strategies that failed spectacularly." She waited again. "And eventually everything worked because of my little sister."
That finally earned a smile. "You asked your sister for advice?"
"I did."
He leaned forward again, lowering his voice. "My little sister is the smartest woman I know. Smarter than my mother. If that sentence leaves this room, I'll deny it under oath."
The corner of Dr. Adler’s mouth curved. “And you asked your sister for advice about Sienna?”
“I did. She told me to stop trying so hard and just be myself.” He leaned back, satisfied. “She was right.”
Twenty minutes later, Sienna occupied the same chair. She looked considerably less pleased by Queen's advice. "I'd never thought of Mikey that way before," she admitted.
"He was funny. Different." A small smile appeared. "But whatever this is… it only started last week."
"What changed?"
"He came to an auction I'd curated." A pause. "Everything went downhill after that."
One Week Earlier
The Belcourt Auction House, Manhattan
The auction room was exactly what wealthy New Yorkers liked to imagine culture looked like—polished wood, quiet lighting, priceless objects behind glass, and enough restrained elegance to justify spending absurd amounts of money.
Mikey wandered through it wearing a burgundy velvet jacket, cropped black trousers, martini-print cashmere socks, tinted glasses, and the cream trilby Sienna would later describe as a personal attack against art.
A numbered paddle rested in one hand.
An open packet of gummy bears occupied the other.
He stopped in front of an abstract painting made up of three black lines.
A member of staff approached.
"A striking piece, isn't it, sir?"
Mikey tilted his head.
"Is it finished?"
"…Yes, sir."
"Good for him."
Then he saw Sienna.
She stood near the front beside the auctioneer, dressed in a sharply tailored dark suit that somehow made everyone around her look underprepared.
His grin appeared before he could stop it.
He had come for her. Entirely for her. Mostly for her. He lifted the paddle and waved. Sienna noticed immediately.
Her expression passed through surprise…
…disbelief…
…suspicion…
…and something softer that disappeared almost as quickly as it arrived.
She gave him the smallest wave in return. Unfortunately… So did the auctioneer.
Genevieve Crane smiled from behind the podium.
Mikey, meanwhile, looked at her with absolutely no recognition. An unfortunate situation… considering she remembered him perfectly.
"Two hundred and eighty thousand from bidder seventy-four."
Mikey blinked.
"What?"
The auctioneer rested one hand beside the gavel.
"Two hundred and ninety thousand on the telephone."
Mikey frowned.
"No, I was waving to—"
"Three hundred thousand from bidder seventy-four."
A ripple spread through the room.
Across the aisle, Sienna's eyes widened.
She shook her head frantically.
Mikey pointed at her.
"No. Her. I was waving at her."
"Three hundred and twenty thousand."
"What? No."
The auctioneer's smile never wavered.
"Three hundred and forty?"
Mikey threw both hands into the air.
"Stop looking at my hands!"
"Three hundred and forty thousand from bidder seventy-four."
Sienna mouthed,
Put. The paddle. Down. You idiot.
Mikey stared at the paddle as though it had betrayed him personally.
He shoved it inside his jacket.
The auctioneer waited.
The room fell silent.
"Three hundred and forty thousand, once."
Mikey cautiously raised one finger.
"Can I ask a question?"
"Three hundred and sixty thousand."
"Oh, come on."
"Three hundred and sixty thousand, once."
Sienna covered her face.
"Twice."
Mikey looked at her helplessly.
The gavel struck.
"Sold."
Polite applause echoed through the room.
Mikey remained frozen. "What did I buy?"
The gentleman beside him closed his catalogue. "A seventeenth-century Venetian cristallo marriage goblet."
Mikey stared at the stage.
"Singular?"
"Yes."
"For three hundred and sixty thousand dollars?"
"Plus buyer's premium."
He closed his eyes.
"…I don't know what that means."
The moment the auction ended, Mikey headed straight for the auctioneer.
"Excuse me."
She looked up pleasantly.
"Yes?"
"There has been a terrible misunderstanding."
"Has there?"
"I was waving."
"You raised your paddle."
"To say hello."
"Several times."
"Because you kept selling me things."
"I sold you one thing."
"For the price of an apartment."
She smiled.
"You should probably familiarize yourself with auction procedure, Mr. Queen."
A beat.
"Although I suppose rules have never been your strength."
Mikey frowned.
"…Do we know each other?"
Sienna stopped walking. The auctioneer laughed once. "Typical Mikey."
Recognition finally dawned. "…Genevieve?"
Her smile vanished. "Oh. So you do remember."
"Fuck."
"Perhaps the rules of an auction slipped your mind…
the same way the woman you left alone in a hotel suite apparently did."
Sienna quietly turned away and began speaking to another member of staff.
"Hey."
Mikey hurried after her.
"That was six years ago."
"I was a different person."
She didn't even look at him.
Behind them…
Genevieve smiled.
Mikey slowly turned back toward her. "You vindictive witch."
"You just ruined everything."
Two attendants approached carrying the goblet on a velvet tray.
It was breathtaking. Centuries old. Delicate. Beautiful.
Mikey looked at it with absolutely no emotional attachment.
"Congratulations, Mr. Queen."
"Shall we process the purchase through the Queen Foundation account?"
Mikey closed his eyes. "…Of course it's the foundation account."
He looked at the goblet. "…Well. I bought it. So it's mine."
He reached into his coat… removed the packet of gummy bears… and tipped them directly into the three-hundred-year-old Venetian goblet.
Silence. Genevieve stared. "That object has survived three centuries."
"And now it has purpose."
The administrator held the tablet toward Mikey again. As he prepared to sign, Genevieve leaned closer.
“Try not to forget this one by morning, Mr. Queen. It cost considerably more than the women you leave behind.”
Mikey’s hand stopped above the screen.
He looked at her for a moment, then lowered the stylus. “One second.”
He took out his phone and started a video call. "You asked for it."
The screen rang twice before you appeared. You were seated somewhere bright in a silk blouse, one hand resting beneath the pronounced curve of your stomach. Yuliana stood beside you with a tray of tea.
“Mikey.”
“Hey, baby sister. You look beautiful. Radiant. Glowing.”
“What did you do?”
“That’s hurtful. You don’t even know why I’m calling.”
“You only call me ‘baby sister’ when money, police, or bodily injury are involved.”
“Technically, none of those.”
Dr. Adler interrupted the story. “You called Ms. Queen—your sister?”
Mikey nodded. “She was the only person who could get me out of it.”
“And she did?”
A proud grin spread across his face. “Without even setting foot in the building.”
Mikey turned the phone toward Genevieve. "Someone would like a word."
Genevieve took one look at the screen. "…Queen." Her face fell. "Shit."
Mikey held the phone closer anyway.
The change in your face was almost imperceptible. Your posture remained relaxed and your voice gentle, but every trace of warmth disappeared.
“Genevieve, darling. Listen carefully, because I am five months pregnant with identical twins, I slept for approximately three hours, one of them has mistaken my ribs for a rehearsal studio, and the other appears to be conducting experiments on my bladder. What little patience I have left is reserved for members of my immediate family.”
Yuliana nodded solemnly behind the phone.
Genevieve raised her chin. “Your brother placed a valid bid. He should know the rules.”
“My brother should know many things—auction procedure, women’s names, and when to stop wearing that hat among them. His intellectual limitations are not the matter presently under review.”
Mikey looked offended.
You continued without acknowledging him. “The auction was recorded. Your staff saw him attempting to correct the bid. Half the room watched you accelerate the increments while addressing a registered bidder with whom you have an undisclosed personal history.”
Genevieve’s expression faltered. “That has nothing to do with—”
“It has everything to do with professional conduct. Do not mistake my brother’s stupidity for an opportunity.”
“Hey, sister-” Mikey protested.
You ignored him.
“Michael may be an idiot, but he is our idiot. You used a charity auction to settle a six-year-old grievance with a man who did not even remember you well enough to understand that he was being punished.”
Genevieve’s face flushed.
You studied her for another second. “Also, whatever you’ve been earning by selling antiques to harmless fools appears to have been reinvested in self-tanner. That was an unfortunate decision. The shade is less Saint-Tropez and more decorative terracotta.” Yuliana tilted her head, considered Genevieve on the screen, and nodded again. “And is that Valentino from four seasons ago?” you continued. “Genevieve, honestly. If you intend to humiliate my family in public, at least don’t do it dressed like an archived press sample.”
Sienna’s eyebrows rose.
Mikey beamed at the phone as though you had complimented him personally.
“That is insulting,” Genevieve said.
“No. It is embarrassing. There is a difference.”
Your hand moved over your stomach as one of the babies shifted. “Here is what happens next. You void the sale, apologize to Mr. Queen for the misunderstanding, and return the goblet to its case before he attempts to serve breakfast cereal in it.”
Mikey glanced at the gummy bears. “I wouldn’t use milk.” You gave him a look. He closed his mouth.
Genevieve folded her arms. “And if Belcourt refuses?”
Your smile appeared—small, beautiful, and lethal. “Then the Queen Foundation will dispute the transaction, suspend its annual patronage, and request a formal ethics review into why a senior auctioneer accepted repeated accidental gestures as bids from a former sexual partner without disclosing the conflict.” Genevieve’s lips parted.
“I am currently carrying the future beneficiaries of both the Queen and Castillo families and, regrettably, I am one of the most discussed women in Manhattan. If I say this was personal retaliation disguised as a charitable transaction, by breakfast every board member, donor, and consignor attached to Belcourt will know exactly which phrase to repeat.”
Silence fell around the podium.
Mikey slowly selected another gummy bear.
You tilted your head. “Have I explained the available options clearly?”
Genevieve swallowed. “Yes.”
“Yes, what?”
“Yes, Ms. Queen.”
“Wonderful. I knew we would understand one another.” Your smile vanished as smoothly as it had appeared. “Yuliana, end the call before she mistakes any more of my attention for social relevance.”
“I love you, baby sister,” Mikey called quickly. “Take care of my nieces.”
“Try taking care of your own reputation for the rest of the day.”
The screen went dark.
Genevieve turned toward the administrator. “Void lot forty-seven.”
The attendants took the goblet from Mikey. Before surrendering it, he scooped the gummy bears out with one hand and dropped them into his mouth.
From across the room, Sienna laughed.
She finished her conversation and walked toward him, glancing once at Genevieve and the retreating attendants. “Let me guess. Queen fixed it?”
“Yes.” Mikey removed his tinted glasses. “Sienna, I’m sorry. I’m an idiot.”
“For putting gummy bears in a three-hundred-year-old Venetian goblet?”
“No. Well, partially.” He glanced down at the paddle still protruding from his jacket. “I came to an auction you curated because I wanted to support you, and somehow I made the entire thing about me.”
“That does seem to happen around you.”
“I know.” His confidence disappeared for the first time that afternoon. “But I came because of you. I care about you. More than a little, actually. And when I’m around you, my hands apparently stop communicating with my brain, and then I forget what I meant to say, and—”
Sienna began to laugh again.
Mikey frowned. “This feels like a vulnerable moment.”
“You really are unlike anyone I’ve ever met, Mikey.” She shook her head. “I told you to put the paddle down, and instead you hid it inside your jacket and kept raising your fingers.”
“I panicked.”
“That was obvious.”
“Does the fact that you’re laughing mean you forgive me?”
“I don’t think so.”
“What if I buy you dinner?”
Sienna looked at him for a moment. “One dinner.”
By the time everyone returned to the sitting room, the April light beyond the tall windows had begun to fade, softening the edges of Rhinebeck into shades of blue and gold.
Without anyone consciously deciding it, everyone drifted back to the same places.
You settled beside Harry. His hand found yours immediately, his thumb brushing lightly across your knuckles. He didn't ask how your session had gone. Somehow, the gesture promised he would—later, when the answer belonged only to the two of you.
Across from you, Scarlet sat with the same composed posture she always carried into difficult conversations. This time, however, when your eyes met, neither of you looked away.
Beside her, Vivienne crossed one elegant leg over the other. She still looked faintly offended by several events of the afternoon, but no longer refused to acknowledge Harry's existence.
Harry gave her the smallest nod.
It wasn't quite an apology. It wasn't forgiveness. But it was a beginning.
Sienna chose the armchair nearest the fireplace.
Mikey sat on its broad arm without asking.
She looked up at him and, for the first time all day, didn't tell him to move.
Dr. Adler closed her notebook.
"I've heard four very different stories today," she began. "But they've all led me to the same conclusion."
The room grew quiet. "When this family is frightened, none of you asks for control." She looked around the room. "You simply take it." Harry lowered his eyes. Scarlet folded her hands. Vivienne's expression softened almost imperceptibly. Mikey suddenly found the pattern in the rug fascinating. "You investigate." She looked at Harry. "You plan." Scarlet. "You withhold." Your turn. "And sometimes…" her gaze shifted toward Mikey and Sienna, "…you attempt to solve problems before anyone has admitted they're problems."
Mikey slowly raised a finger.
"I feel mildly targeted."
"You should."
A ripple of laughter moved through the room. Even Harry smiled.
Dr. Adler waited until the laughter faded.
"Every one of you described those choices as protection."
She paused. "The person on the receiving end experienced them as control."
Silence settled once more. "I'd like each of you to try something different."
No one spoke. "The next time you're frightened for someone you love… ask them what they need before deciding for them."
Nobody argued.
For this family…
…that alone felt like remarkable progress.
The door opened.
Eloise stepped inside, carrying her cane less as a walking aid and more as a symbol of authority.
She surveyed the room carefully.
No one appeared to be crying.
No one appeared ready to disown anyone.
She gave a satisfied nod.
"Bueno." She tapped the floor once with her cane. "Enough emotional growth for one afternoon." A beat. "Dinner is ready."
"And if any of you start another family crisis before the soup…"
"…I'll schedule a second therapist."
Mikey stood immediately. "What kind of soup?"
"The kind you'll eat."
"That still doesn't narrow it down."
Sienna quietly caught the back of his jacket before he could continue and steered him toward the hallway.
Scarlet and Vivienne followed together, their conversation noticeably quieter than it had been only an hour earlier.
Harry rose beside you, offering his hand.
Once you were standing securely, his palm settled against the small of your back.
"Ready?"
You nodded. "Starving."
"Good."
"I intend to steal at least half your dessert."
"You always do."
"I know."
Together, you followed the others into the corridor. Within moments the sitting room fell silent. Almost.
Dr. Adler slipped her notebook into her leather bag and reached for her coat. A discreet knock interrupted her. The door opened just enough for Ron to step inside before quietly closing it again.
He remained standing. "May I ask you something?"
Dr. Adler smiled faintly. "Is this about the family?"
"No."
"Good."
She gestured toward the empty sofa. "Then it's probably about you."
"I'd prefer not to turn this into a session. If a man has never had a serious relationship but his current girlfriend wishes to get married and he doesn't believe he's ready…" He adjusted his cuff. "…there also happens to be a childhood friend."
Dr. Adler considered him for a moment. "Does your girlfriend know you're emotionally preoccupied with someone else?"
"No."
"Then you shouldn't agree to marry her."
"And the childhood friend?"
"Do you want a future with her or is she simply a safe possibility that allows you to postpone making a difficult decision?"
Ron frowned. "How does one determine that?"
"By telling both women the truth."
He looked genuinely disappointed. "That sounds unnecessarily human."
From somewhere down the corridor came Eloise's unmistakable voice.
"¡Ronald! Harry is already answering emails at the dinner table!"
Ron reached for the doorknob. "This conversation never happened." "¡Ronald!"
"I'm coming, Mrs. Castillo."
The door closed behind him.
April 23rd
A week after Rhinebeck, Queen Financial had settled into a rhythm that was not quite normal, but no longer felt like an emergency.
Gerard called every morning with whatever developments he believed required your attention. Dana sent carefully filtered briefings twice a day, having apparently decided anything capable of raising your blood pressure required written authorization before reaching you.
Emily and Chloe phoned almost daily, supposedly to discuss work and inevitably ending with questions about the twins, your appetite, and whether Harry had yet attempted to place you under medically supervised house arrest.
He hadn't. Technically.
By Friday evening, your final call with Gerard had lasted twelve minutes longer than promised.
“The revised projections are in your inbox,” he said through the speaker. “You don’t need to look at them tonight.”
“You sent them to me tonight.”
“I sent them so you would know they exist.”
“And now that I know they exist, you expect me not to open them?”
“Yes.”
“That’s an unreasonable understanding of my personality.”
From the other end of the sofa, Harry calmly reached over and removed the phone from your hand. “We’re done,” he said.
Gerard did not hesitate. “Thank you, Harry.”
“You’re both becoming intolerable,” you informed them.
“Monday morning,” Gerard replied. “Good night, Ms. Queen.”
The call ended before you could object. Harry placed your phone facedown on the coffee table, well beyond your immediate reach. You looked at him. He looked back. “That was hostile.”
“That was twelve minutes past your own deadline.”
“I was receiving information about my company.”
“You were reorganizing the executive committee from the sofa.”
“They needed reorganizing.”
“They’ll still need it on Monday.” You narrowed your eyes. Harry had already picked up the television remote. “No more work tonight.”
“What are we doing instead?”
“Watching a movie.” He moved closer and began scrolling. “No.”
You glanced at the screen. “What’s wrong with that one?”
“Home invasion.”
“It’s listed as a romantic comedy.”
“I checked the parents’ guide.”
“You checked the parents’ guide?”
“I’m being thorough.”
You laughed. “Harry.”
He ignored you and continued scrolling.
Finally he stopped. “This one.”
You looked at him suspiciously.
“Have you already researched it?”
“IMDb. Two reviews. Parents’ guide.”
“…Of course you did.”
The poster showed two people standing beneath strings of lights beside the sea. “A woman returns to the coastal town where she grew up,” Harry read. “She meets a man renovating an old hotel.” You considered it. Harry nodded once. “No violence. No blood. No psychological torment.”
“Finally.”
He pressed play. As the opening credits rolled, he stood.
“Where are you going?”
“Popcorn.”
“With actual salt?”
He gave you a look. “I’ll be right back.”
You settled deeper into the cushions he had arranged behind your back. A minute later Harry returned carrying a large bowl of popcorn. He sat beside you, glanced at the curve of your stomach, and carefully balanced the bowl on top of it.
You looked down.
Then slowly back at him.
“I’m carrying your children.”
“I’m appreciating the engineering.”
“You’re using me as furniture.”
“You’re beautiful in every form, baby.”
Before you could answer, he leaned over and kissed you, slow and gentle. You reached for the popcorn.
Your face fell almost immediately. “There’s a rumor of salt.”
“We’re watching your sodium.”
You sighed dramatically. “This family has become a dictatorship.”
The film began exactly as promised. It was gentle, romantic, and occasionally funny without trying too hard. The heroine inherited a weathered seaside hotel.
The hero knew how to repair everything except his own emotionally guarded heart. Harry disliked him immediately. “He should tell her why he left.”
“It’s been twenty minutes.”
“He has already created unnecessary confusion.”
You smiled. “That’s how films work.”
By the middle of the film, your head had settled against Harry’s shoulder while his fingers moved absentmindedly along your arm.
Beneath the blanket, your stomach gave a sudden, unmistakable ripple.
Harry looked down immediately.
Another tiny movement answered beneath the fabric.
He smiled, leaned over, kissed your stomach, and rested his palm gently over it.
“Easy, girls,” he murmured. “We’re trying to watch a movie with your mother.”
Another kick answered beneath his hand.
You considered it seriously.
“I think they want pistachios.”
“Five minutes ago they wanted popcorn.”
“They changed their minds.”
“They’re growing.”
“…Fair enough.”
He started to stand.
You caught his hand. “The roasted ones.”
“The roasted ones.”
“And bring the whole bag.”
Harry bent to kiss your forehead. “One full bag of roasted pistachios coming right up.”
As he disappeared toward the kitchen, you settled deeper into the cushions, both hands curving around your stomach as though congratulating the girls on another successful negotiation.
On the screen, the film drifted quietly toward its conclusion.
The hotel had been restored.
Something tightened painfully behind your ribs. Before you understood why, your vision blurred. One tear escaped. Then another. Within seconds they were falling too quickly to hide.
Harry turned immediately. “Hey.”
You wiped beneath your eyes, only making the tears worse.
“Hey, hey…” He set the popcorn aside at once, his hand instinctively finding your stomach. “What happened? Are you hurting?”
You shook your head.
“The babies?”
“No.”
“Then why are you crying, baby?”
You pointed helplessly toward the television. “The movie.”
Harry looked at the screen, then back at you. “The movie?”
“They're just…” Your voice cracked. “They're just getting married.” He stayed quiet. “They're just doing it.” Another tear slipped free. “There isn't a wedding planner shouting into a headset. No ballroom booked two years in advance. No security outside checking guest lists.”
You swallowed hard.
“No board wondering whether the timing is strategically responsible. No journalists deciding what the wedding means for my company. No headlines about my dress, my body, or whether marrying you affects the markets on Monday.”
Harry didn't interrupt.
On the screen, the couple exchanged vows while the ocean rolled gently behind them.
“They're just getting married,” you whispered again.
“They get to live it before the rest of the world starts talking about it.”
Harry reached up and gently brushed another tear from your cheek. “Oh, baby.”
A shaky laugh escaped you.
“I know. I'm crying over a fictional beach wedding.”
“I don't think that's why you're crying.”
You looked back at the television. The bride had slipped off her shoes. Her guests were laughing. The waves reached the edge of the aisle.
“I don't think I want all of it anymore.”
“All of what?”
“The spectacle.”
The word hung quietly between you.
“For years I thought that if I ever got married again, it had to be… perfect.”
You gave a tiny, humorless smile. “Perfect enough to justify everything that came before it.” Harry remained silent, listening. “But watching this…” Your eyes drifted back to the screen. “It just looks… peaceful.”
You leaned against him a little more. “I don't want our wedding to become public property before we've even lived it.”
His hand tightened gently around yours. “I don't want to spend the day wondering which photograph they'll print first… or what the markets will do on Monday.”
“You won't.”
“We can't control that.”
“No,” Harry said softly.
“But we can control what we choose to give them.”
You lifted your head to look at him. “I want one thing that's ours first.” A pause. “Before anyone turns it into a headline.”
Harry studied you for several quiet seconds. “Do you want a beach?”
Despite the tears, you smiled. “Maybe.”
“Barefoot?”
You looked back at the television. “Let's not become primitive.”
A laugh escaped him. “Fair.”
The newlyweds ran laughing toward the water while their friends chased after them.
You watched them for another moment before speaking again. “Besides… Scarlet and Vivienne already decided we should wait until after the girls are born.”
Harry listened. “That's still months away.”
You looked down at your stomach. “And by then everyone will spend the entire wedding talking about the babies instead of us.”
He brushed a loose strand of hair behind your ear. “You're the one who said you didn't want to be a bride with an enormous stomach.”
“I know.”
Your voice softened. “But if it were something like this…” You glanced back toward the beach on the screen. “Small. Quiet. Just family.” A tiny smile appeared. “I don't think I'd care.” You looked at him again. “Everything in my life has to happen in front of an audience simply because I'm a Queen.”
Your hand drifted toward the small bowl on the coffee table.
It was empty.
You stared into it for a long second.
“The pistachios are gone.”
Your face crumpled all over again.
Harry looked from the empty bowl to you just as another sob escaped.
“Oh, no.” He cupped your cheek immediately. “Shh, baby. Don't cry.”
“I wanted more.”
“I'll order more.”
“Two bags.”
“Two bags.”
“And the lemon sorbet.”
He had already unlocked his phone.
“And those thin crackers Dana brought last week.”
His thumb moved across the screen.
“Added.”
“And strawberries.”
He glanced up. “You said pistachios.”
“The situation has developed.”
A smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Clearly.”
“And chocolate-covered pretzels.”
“Anything else?”
You frowned thoughtfully, genuinely considering the question. “…The little tangerines.”
Harry added them without another word before setting the phone aside. “Everything's coming. ” He drew you gently back against his chest. “Now breathe for me.”
You nodded, still sniffling as you wiped beneath your eyes.
“I’m fine.” A pause. “It’s just the hormones.”
His lips brushed the top of your head. “Our wedding will be beautiful, baby.” You curled closer against him. “However we do it.”
“Okay,” you whispered.
The movie continued quietly in the background, but neither of you was really watching anymore.
Harry's fingers moved slowly through your hair until your breathing gradually steadied.
Only then did his eyes drift back toward the television.
The bride and groom were laughing barefoot beneath the driftwood arch. No ballroom. No photographers. No headlines. Just the people they loved. Harry watched in silence. His gaze lingered on the weathered wooden arch… the shoreline… the small gathering of family and friends. Then something almost imperceptible softened in his expression. A thought. Nothing more.
He said nothing.
He simply looked back down at you, asleep against his shoulder, one hand resting protectively over the gentle curve of your stomach.
A faint smile appeared.
The Following Morning
Chez Akiko
The restaurant had not yet opened for lunch, but the table nearest the kitchen was already occupied by six people who had been summoned with varying degrees of urgency and almost no useful explanation.
Emily sat at the head of the table with coffee in front of her. Chloe had arrived carrying two garment bags and the conviction that every crisis could be improved with appropriate tailoring. Dana was answering emails beneath the table, while Ron had placed a leather folder beside his plate and appeared to be the only person who had anticipated an agenda.
Mikey was eating something the kitchen had not officially served him.
Harry remained standing.
“We need to plan a wedding.”
Everyone stopped.
Mikey lowered the croissant in his hand. “Whose?”
Harry looked at him.
Mikey considered the question. “Right. Context clues.”
Emily leaned back in her chair. “You and Queen are already getting married. After the babies are born.”
“Scarlet and Vivienne have interviewed three event planners,” Chloe added. “One of them presented a forty-page proposal for the flowers alone.”
Dana finally looked up from her phone. “The preliminary date is being held for late summer.”
“And an entire team of professionals is supposed to organize it,” Emily said. “So why are we here?”
Harry placed both hands against the back of the empty chair in front of him.
“I’m not talking about that wedding.”
The table went quiet again.
Mikey slowly set down his croissant. “There are two weddings now?”
“Technically, yes,” Harry said.
Chloe narrowed her eyes. “What exactly are you planning?”
“Something private. This weekend.”
Six faces turned toward him.
Even Ron blinked.
Emily slowly placed her coffee on the table. “Harry, it’s Thursday.”
“I’m aware.”
“You want us to arrange a wedding in two days?”
“A small one.”
“Rich people always say that,” Emily said, “before describing a small country.”
“No ballroom, no hotel, no press. No guest list beyond the people in this room and immediate family.”
Emily studied him. “What changed?”
Harry looked down at the table. “We watched a movie last night. There was a wedding on a beach.” He paused, remembering the way your voice had broken when you said the couple had simply been allowed to marry. “She said she didn’t want ours to become public property before we’d had the chance to live it.”
The room grew quieter.
“No reporters,” he continued. “No analysts deciding what our marriage means for the companies. No photographs released before she chooses them.
She wants something that belongs to us.”
“A private beach wedding,” Emily said softly.
“Yes.”
“Just friends and family.”
“Yes.”
“And Queen doesn’t know.”
“No.”
Mikey raised one finger. “Are you sure we’re talking about my sister? She used to plan her wedding while she was still in elementary school.”
“I can confirm that,” Chloe said. “There were sketches.”
“Sounds like her,” Emily agreed.
Ron glanced down at his folder. “Ms. Queen being the only person unaware of her own wedding presents a significant degree of risk.”
“Her hormones have made her more emotional lately,” Harry said. “She cried last night because the pistachios ran out.”
Emily sighed. "Aw."
“Oh, poor thing,” Chloe murmured.
“My sister cried during a comedy when she was pregnant with my niece,” Dana added. “No one in the movie was even sad.”
“Fine. Whatever she wants, we give her,” Emily said.
Harry’s expression remained serious. “That doesn’t mean we decide for her. I’m not bringing her to a wedding and expecting her to perform because everyone is waiting. I’ll show her what I arranged and ask whether she wants to marry me that day. If she says no, the officiant leaves, we have dinner on the beach, and no one makes her feel guilty.”
Emily nodded once.
“If she says yes,” Harry continued, “everything needs to be ready.”
Mikey looked at Harry. “Where exactly is this happening? And how are you telling our mothers? Because mine is not going to celebrate being excluded from wedding planning.”
“Scarlet and my mother will be told last.”
Ron opened the leather folder. “A sound security decision.”
The planning moved quickly after that. Ron would secure a private beach, confidentiality agreements, transport and discreet security. Dana would clear your calendar without making the absence too obvious. Emily took charge of dinner, cake and a small reception, while Chloe handled the flowers and overall design.
Then Chloe tapped her pen against the table. “We still have one significant problem.”
Everyone looked at her.
“The dress.”
Harry’s attention sharpened. “What about it?”
“She’s carrying twins. Her old measurements are useless, and her body is changing every week. I can’t fit a gown correctly by guessing.”
Mikey added. “The dress is important, man. Those hormones can turn into rage when she looks at the photographs ten years from now. I’m warning you in advance.”
Chloe pointed her pen at him. “For once, he’s right. We have very little time to make something beautiful and unforgettable.”
“How quickly can you do it?” Emily asked.
“I can alter an existing gown if I have accurate measurements tonight. Soft structure, an empire waist, room around her stomach—nothing restrictive.” Chloe turned to Harry. “I need her shoulders, shoulder to floor, bust, underbust and the fullest point around her stomach.”
Mikey sat back, delighted. “You’re going to measure a sleeping pregnant woman without telling her why. That may be the most dangerous plan I’ve heard today.”
Harry stared at Chloe. “There’s no other way?”
“You could tell her.”
“No.”
“Yuliana could possibly do it,” Ron suggested.
Harry shook his head immediately. “No. I’ll do it.”
Chloe tore a page from her notebook and slid it across the table. “These measurements. In inches. Don’t pull the tape tight.”
Harry studied the instructions as though they described an unfamiliar explosive device. “I’ll handle it.”
Ron closed his folder. “I recommend waiting until she’s asleep.”
“Thank you, Ron."
That evening, Yuliana met Harry outside his study and lowered her voice as though reporting a delicate security matter.
“She fell asleep upstairs.”
“In bed?”
“She said she was only going to rest for ten minutes.” A small smile touched Yuliana’s mouth. “She was listening to classical music.”
Harry glanced toward the staircase, then at the flexible measuring tape concealed in his hand.
Perfect.
Or as close to perfect as this plan was likely to become.
He opened the bedroom door carefully and stepped inside. The curtains had been drawn against the evening light, leaving the room dim and quiet except for the faint piano music escaping from one of the wireless earbuds in your ears.
You were asleep on your side, one hand tucked beneath your cheek and the other curved protectively over your stomach. The second earbud had fallen onto the pillow beside you.
Your phone rested on the nightstand, still playing the same gentle piece on repeat.
Harry stood beside the bed for several seconds, simply looking at you.
Then he unfolded the list Chloe had sent him.
This should have been easy.
Harry had negotiated acquisitions involving several governments. He had once completed a merger while both legal teams threatened to walk away. He regularly managed people who considered compromise a moral failing.
He could measure his sleeping fiancée.
Carefully, he sat on the edge of the mattress and removed the remaining earbud from your ear. You made a quiet sound and shifted deeper into the pillow.
Harry froze.
Your breathing remained even.
The first measurement was uncomplicated. He placed one end of the tape near your shoulder and extended it gently across your back, recording the number in his phone.
Shoulder to floor required an approximation from the side of the bed. Chloe had specifically written that an imperfect number was preferable to waking you, although Harry suspected she had not fully considered what would happen if you woke and found him standing over you with tailoring equipment.
The underbust measurement was next. Harry stared at the instruction. Then at you. Then back at the instruction. The circumference of your stomach seemed safer.
Harry lifted the edge of the blanket and passed the tape carefully around the fullest curve, reaching beneath your side to bring the ends together.
Your eyes opened.
Harry stopped breathing.
You blinked down at the measuring tape wrapped around your stomach, then slowly raised your gaze to him. “Harry.” Your voice was rough with sleep. “What—what are you doing?”
“Nothing.”
You stared at him.
He was sitting beside you with a measuring tape in both hands.
“Nothing?”
“I can explain.”
“Are you measuring my waist?”
Your voice rose sharply as you pushed yourself upright, shock and hurt chasing the last traces of sleep from your face.
“No—no, baby. Not like that.”
You pulled the tape from his hands and looped it loosely around the back of his neck before he could react.
“Harry Castillo, I will strangle you with this.”
“Baby, wait.”
“You measured me while I was asleep?”
“It isn’t what you think.”
“What do I think?”
“That I was—”
“Checking how much weight I’ve gained?”
Harry’s expression changed immediately. “No. Absolutely not.”
“How many inches was it?” Your eyes began to shine. “I’ve gotten huge, haven’t I?”
“No.”
“You hesitated.”
“I didn’t hesitate.”
“You looked terrified.”
“Because you threatened to kill me.”
“With a fabric tape. You would’ve survived.”
The first tear slipped down your cheek. Another followed before you could wipe it away.
“I knew I’d gained too much weight.” Your voice broke. “I look awful, don’t I? I’ve become enormous and ugly.”
Harry gently removed the tape from around his neck and dropped it onto the carpet.
“That is complete nonsense.” He moved closer and cupped your face between his hands. “You are the most beautiful woman in the world.”
More tears spilled down your cheeks.
Harry wiped them away with his thumbs, his voice softening further. “You’re carrying our daughters. Your body is changing because it’s making room for two people. There is nothing ugly about you. Not one thing.”
You sniffed and looked down at your stomach. “My face is puffy.”
“You’re beautiful.”
“My ankles are swollen.”
“Still beautiful.”
“None of my clothes fit.”
“I’ll buy you new ones.”
“That isn’t the point.” You opened your mouth to continue, but a sudden yawn interrupted you. Your shoulders sagged as quickly as your anger had risen. “I’m so tired.” The abrupt change left Harry staring at you. “I just want to sleep.”
His expression softened with relief and guilt in equal measure. “Okay, baby. Sleep.”
You lay down again, then caught his wrist before he could move away. “Stay.”
“I’m here.”
You pulled his arm against your chest and settled around it, resting your cheek near his shoulder. So many emotions had passed through you in the space of a few minutes—anger, humiliation, tears and exhaustion—that Harry could not stop himself from feeling responsible for every one of them.
“Will you stroke my hair?” you asked sleepily.
“Of course.”
His fingers moved gently through your hair, smoothing it away from your face. Every few moments, he bent and pressed a quiet kiss to your temple.
Your breathing gradually slowed. “Harry?”
“I’m here, baby.”
“Don’t measure me again.”
“I won’t.”
Harry looked down at you suspiciously, but a faint sleepy smile touched your mouth before disappearing.
Within moments, your breathing deepened.
Harry continued stroking your hair long after you had fallen asleep. At first, he intended to remain for only a minute.
Then five.
Your fingers stayed curled firmly around his wrist, and every attempt to move made you shift closer. Eventually, Harry lay down beside you fully dressed, one arm trapped beneath your head and the other resting over your stomach.
One of the babies moved beneath his palm.
A quiet smile crossed his face.
“Easy,” he whispered. “Your mother has already threatened me once tonight.”
Twenty minutes later, his trapped arm had gone completely numb.
He endured another ten.
Then a faint snore escaped you.
Harry looked down.
Your lips had parted slightly, your head angled back against his arm. The snoring had appeared with the pregnancy and grew louder whenever you were exhausted—something you denied with absolute conviction every morning.
Another soft snore followed. Harry smiled. “You’d call me a liar if I told you.”
He gently touched beneath your chin and turned your head slightly toward the pillow, just as he had on countless nights before. The sound stopped almost immediately.
You murmured something indistinct. Harry froze. “Harry…”
He bent and kissed your hair. “I’m right here.”
Your fingers loosened around his wrist, and your breathing settled again.
Moving slowly, Harry reached down for the tape. He passed it around your stomach once more, careful not to pull it tight. When the ends met, he secured the exact point beneath one finger and eased the tape away without losing the measurement.
This time, you did not wake.
Harry carefully freed his arm, replacing it with the pillow before sitting up. He opened his phone, added the final number to his notes, and sent the measurements to Chloe.
Harry: This is everything I could get.
Her reply arrived almost immediately.
Chloe: Did she wake up?
Harry: Briefly.
Chloe: Are you alive?
His gaze returned to you. You were sleeping peacefully again, one hand spread across your stomach, your mouth beginning to fall open.
Harry: Barely.
He set the phone on the nightstand and watched you for another moment, smiling despite himself.
Saturday Morning
When you opened your eyes, Harry’s side of the bed was empty.
The sheets still held the faint warmth of him, but the room had gone quiet in the particular way it did only when he had been awake for some time. The curtains were partially open, allowing the soft April sunlight to spill across the carpet.
You reached blindly toward his pillow. Nothing.
“Harry?”
No answer came from the bathroom.
You pushed yourself higher against the pillows, one hand automatically settling over the curve of your stomach. “Harry?”
Still nothing.
That was when you noticed the folded card resting against the lamp on his nightstand, placed beside the snow globe.
You reached for it.
Good morning, baby.
I have something planned for you. Trust me for a few hours and let Yuliana help you.
I’ll see you soon.
I love you.
H.
You read it twice, then narrowed your eyes at the empty room.
“Trust you with what?”
A soft knock sounded against the bedroom door. Before you could answer, Yuliana stepped inside carrying a tray of tea. Her usually restrained expression had been replaced by a smile she was making very little effort to hide.
You held up the card. “What is happening?”
“I was instructed not to say, Ms. Queen.”
You accepted the tea and took a cautious sip while studying her over the rim of the cup. “You understand that smiling like that only makes you look more suspicious.”
Yuliana glanced at her watch.
“You’re timing me?”
“Perhaps.”
She waited patiently until you finished, then placed the cup aside and offered her hands.
“We should get you up now, Ms. Queen.”
“Why?”
“Several people are waiting for you.”
The way she said it made you immediately suspicious. “Which people?”
Yuliana continued holding out her hands.
“You’re enjoying this.”
“Very much.”
With a sigh, you let her help you sit up. One of the babies shifted as you moved, a slow rolling sensation beneath your ribs. You pressed your palm against it. “At least one person in this room should tell me what’s happening.”
“Trokhy terpinnya, Ms. Queen,” Yuliana said gently. “Just a little patience.”
She helped you into your robe, tied it securely around you, then waited while you slipped your feet into your house shoes.
The moment you stepped into the corridor, you heard several voices coming from the dressing room.
You stopped.
Emily appeared first. “Look who’s finally awake.”
“Our Queen has arrived,” Chloe added from behind her.
Emily came directly toward you, placing one hand gently against your stomach. “How are you feeling? And how are these two?”
“We’re confused,” you said. “What are all of you doing in my house?”
“First, breakfast,” Emily said. “There’s a full table waiting.”
“No. First, someone tells me what is happening.”
Chloe exchanged a glance with Emily. “Perhaps it would be easier to show you.”
She opened the dressing-room door.
The room had been transformed.
A small hair and makeup team stood near the windows beside neatly arranged cases and brushes. Fresh white flowers had been placed on the vanity, restrained enough not to resemble one of Scarlet’s productions. Dana stood near the wardrobe holding two phones—yours and her own—while appearing entirely untroubled by the fact that she had confiscated your professional life.
“Good morning, Ms. Queen,” the team greeted.
Your gaze moved from Emily to Dana, then Chloe.
Finally, it settled on the garment bag. “What is that?”
Dana’s smile became dangerously emotional. “Morning, Ms. Queen.”
“What is in the bag?”
The room fell silent.
Emily quietly moved a plate of toast closer to the nearest chair. Dana looked down at the phones.
Chloe reached for the zipper. “Why don’t you take a look?”
She opened the bag.
Soft ivory fabric appeared first, followed by delicate folds of silk, a gracefully structured bodice and a skirt designed to fall around the curve of your stomach without constricting it. There was no excessive beading, cathedral train or rigid corsetry. The fabric caught the morning light with a quiet sheen, elegant without demanding attention.
It looked effortless.
Which meant an extraordinary amount of work had gone into it.
Your breath caught. “Oh, my God. That... looks like—”
A wedding dress.
Not something inspired by one. A real wedding dress. Pinned carefully to the front was another folded card. Chloe removed it and held it toward you. Your fingers trembled slightly as you opened it.
Baby,
Chloe and her mother made this for you. I hope it’s close to what you wanted.
There’s a car waiting downstairs. At the end of the drive, you’ll find a beach, the people closest to us, and me.
I made today possible. Whether we marry here or wait for the wedding they’ve been planning is your decision.
I’ll be waiting.
H.
You stared at the page until the words began to blur. Then your gaze dropped to the dress again, and understanding arrived all at once.
“Oh, my God, Harry.”
A tear struck the card.
You looked toward Chloe. “That’s why he was measuring me.”
Chloe pressed her lips together, already close to tears herself.
You laughed, covering your mouth as more tears followed. “Oh, that man.”
Emily stood immediately. “Hey.”
“I cannot believe him.”
She placed both hands gently on your arms. “Is that a good cannot believe him?”
You looked down at the note. “He listened to me.”
The words emerged so softly that everyone in the room went still.
Emily’s expression changed. “Yes. He did.”
“And then he made it happen in two days,” Chloe added quietly.
You touched the skirt with your fingertips.
It was beautiful, but not because it was expensive or perfectly made. It was beautiful because nothing about it felt designed for other people to admire.
Harry had remembered the beach, the quiet, the absence of reporters and boards and questions. The moment in the movie when you had cried because two people had been allowed to simply marry each other.
Your face crumpled again.
Chloe hurried toward you. “Oh. I think the crying spell has arrived.”
You nodded, tears already falling.
Emily handed you a tissue. “Get it all out before they start your makeup. This entire team is here to prepare you for today.”
“Then I should wash my face.”
“Yeah.” Emily slipped an arm gently around your waist. “Then you’re eating breakfast, and after that, we’ll get you ready.”
Chloe hesitated. “You do want this, don’t you? Because after five years apart and two babies on the way, I think you two have waited long enough.”
You looked at Chloe, then Dana, Yuliana, and the waiting hair and makeup team.
For one unsteady moment, the reality of it settled over you: a beach, no cameras, no audience, vows spoken before the rest of the world could claim them. Was this really what you wanted?
Then you pictured Harry waiting for you, and the question became almost embarrassingly simple.
Finally, your gaze returned to the dress.
“Yes,” you said. “I want this.”
Bridgehampton
The limousine turned through the gates of the Bridgehampton estate just after four.
Beyond the windows, pale dunes gave way to flashes of blue water beneath the soft April sky. The ocean wind moved through the beach grass, bending it toward the private stretch of sand Harry had somehow secured in less than forty-eight hours.
Chloe looked mournfully at the view. “The fact that I can’t put any of this on my story is cruel.”
“Post one frame and every paparazzi in New York will be outside the gates before we reach the sand,” Emily warned, holding up the one phone Dana had authorized for photographs.
“No one posts anything,” you added. “Turn off your location services too.”
“They’re already off,” Dana assured you.
“Good. Now move closer,” Emily said.
Despite her warning, she was already recording, the phone safely on airplane mode. You, Chloe and Dana leaned together while she turned the camera toward you. Yuliana sat opposite, watching with quiet amusement.
“Smile,” Emily instructed.
“I am smiling,” you said with a laugh as another small movement rolled beneath your hand. “They’re the ones refusing to hold still for the picture.”
You glanced at your reflection in the darkened window. “Do I look as nervous as I feel?”
“No,” Emily said immediately. “You look radiant.”
“Annoyingly beautiful,” Chloe added.
Dana nodded. “Exactly as you should.”
“Beautiful is insufficient,” Yuliana corrected, studying you with open admiration. “Vy prekrasna (you’re beautiful) Ms. Queen. Prosto neymovirna. (Simply incredible.)”
And, inconveniently, they were right.
The ivory silk dress fell cleanly from beneath your bust, following the curve of your stomach without trying to conceal it.
Its deep V neckline was softened by delicate embroidery that gathered just above the swell of your belly, while the long skirt moved fluidly around your legs. There was no veil, no heavy train and nothing that required you to become someone else to wear it.
You smoothed both hands over your stomach. One of the girls moved beneath your palm. “Apparently they’re as excited as I am.”
“They’re half Queen and half Castillo,” Dana said. “Of course they assume the entire event is being held in their honor.”
The limousine slowed. Your heartbeat immediately quickened. Emily lowered the phone. “We’re here.”
Down on the beach, Harry checked his watch for what Ron estimated was the ninth time.
“She crossed the gate three minutes ago,” Ron said.
“She’s here,” Harry replied, and the words came out softer than he intended.
He stood near the small flowered arch in a black tuxedo, his attention fixed on the wooden walkway leading down from the house. Mikey waited beside Ron, while Captain Mateo Alvarez—Richard’s oldest friend and, thanks to Ron’s exhaustive planning, a legally registered officiant—stood nearby with the ceremony papers secured inside his jacket.
Sienna adjusted one of the white flowers in her hands. “The florist reinforced the arch. It won’t collapse unless the wind develops personal hostility toward us.”
Harry barely heard her.
Vivienne approached and straightened his boutonniere, her expression warm with emotion. “Breathe, sweetheart.”
“I am breathing.”
“You’re waiting aggressively.” Her hand lingered briefly against his lapel. “You get to marry her again. Try to enjoy this part too.”
A small smile finally broke through his nerves.
Before he could answer, the limousine appeared beyond the dunes.
Every conversation stopped.
Scarlet immediately moved toward the end of the walkway with Richard beside her. He relied on his cane for balance, his steps slower than they once had been. Scarlet slipped her arm through his without drawing attention to the support she provided.
The car came to a stop.
Harry went completely still, though from where he stood, the vehicle concealed most of the drive.
“They’re here,” Sienna said, already moving. “I’ll go make sure she has everything.”
A member of the staff opened the door. Emily stepped out first, followed by Chloe and Dana. Then the attendant offered you his hand.
You took it.
Emily immediately gathered the skirt so it would not catch beneath your shoes as you carefully stepped onto the stone drive. The ocean breeze caught the silk, pressing it briefly against the curve of your stomach before letting it fall into its clean, graceful lines again.
For one suspended moment, no one spoke.
Scarlet’s eyes filled before you had taken three steps. “Oh, my baby,” she whispered. “You are so beautiful.”
You approached her, and she caught both of your hands. “You too,” you said, looking over her pale blue silk dress, structured hat and entirely unnecessary pearl gloves. “Though you appear to have dressed for a royal garden party.”
Scarlet lifted her chin. “I was given forty-eight hours and absolutely no authority. I had to express myself somehow.”
Richard sighed beside her. “They’re doing this the way they want, Scarlet.”
“I know,” she replied, never taking her eyes from you. “I’m adjusting with remarkable dignity.”
You turned toward Richard. “Dad.”
His face softened completely.
“My beautiful girl.” His gaze dropped affectionately to your stomach. “How are all three of you?”
“Nervous, happy and extremely pregnant.”
“That sounds about right.”
You hugged him carefully, feeling one of his hands settle against your back.
When you pulled away, your gaze dropped briefly to his cane before returning to his face. “You look very handsome.”
“I had an important place to be.”
Your throat tightened.
Before the tears could begin, Mikey appeared and opened his arms. “Baby sister.”
He attempted to hug you, only to discover that your stomach reached him first. He looked down between you.
“I think your stomach arrived before the rest of you.”
“Careful,” you warned. “You’re insulting three Queen women at once.”
“I would never.” He bent and spoke toward your stomach. “Your mother has always been this threatening.”
You pushed lightly at his shoulder. “Move.”
Laughing, Mikey kissed your cheek and stepped aside.
Sienna approached carrying a bouquet of white ranunculus, sweet peas and small ivory roses. She placed it gently in your hands before glancing toward the beach.
Harry was visible at the other end of the walkway.
He had not moved.
Even from a distance, you could see the way he was looking at you—as though the rest of the beach had disappeared the moment you stepped from the car.
Sienna smiled softly. “Whenever you’re ready.”
You took a deep breath, then another, waving your hands to calm your emotions. “Oh, no.”
Emily was instantly beside you. “What?”
“The crying spell.”
She opened her bag and produced a tissue with the speed of a trained emergency responder.
Chloe pointed at you. “Do not rub your eyes. We used waterproof makeup, but I refuse to test its limits before the ceremony begins.”
“I’m trying not to cry.”
“You’re failing beautifully,” Dana said.
A laugh escaped through your tears.
Emily carefully dabbed beneath one eye. “There. Crisis contained.”
Richard moved beside you and offered his arm.
You looked at the wooden path stretching across the dunes, then toward Harry waiting at its end.
“Are you sure?” you asked softly.
Richard straightened, tightening his hand around the top of his cane. “I didn’t spend two months learning to walk across rooms again just to sit down for this part.”
Your eyes filled all over again. “Chloe,” you warned.
“Ugh, honey breathe,” Chloe said firmly. “We have reached the maximum permitted tears.”
Richard smiled and held out his arm once more. “Ready?”
You slipped your hand through it, supporting him as subtly as he supported you.
Your gaze returned to Harry. This time, there was no hesitation.
“Yes,” you said. “I’m ready."
The first notes of the music drifted across the dunes as you and Richard stepped onto the wooden walkway.
Everyone rose.
Warm applause followed, unrestrained and familiar. Mikey brought two fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly before stepping directly into the aisle with his phone raised.
“Mikey,” Sienna hissed, catching the back of his jacket and pulling him out of the way.
“I’m documenting history.”
“You’re blocking history.”
Laughter moved through the small gathering as he allowed himself to be dragged back beside her, though he continued filming over her shoulder.
There were no camera flashes, no reporters calling your name, no phones raised for an audience waiting somewhere beyond the beach. Emily and Chloe recorded from their places, but only so you and Harry could keep the moment. Near the second row, a single videographer followed your progress through a discreet lens, having been warned by Ron so thoroughly that he looked prepared to surrender the camera, memory card and all personal identification at the slightest provocation.
Nothing was being broadcast.
Nothing had to become public before it belonged to you.
The aisle was not lined with investors, board members or distant relatives invited out of obligation. There were only two short rows of chairs, and every person standing beside them was someone whose face you knew well enough to read without effort.
Scarlet was already crying behind the sunglasses she had apparently worn to prevent exactly that. Vivienne held one hand over her heart, her expression radiant. Ron remained beside Dana, who was wiping beneath one eye while pretending to inspect Emily’s recording. Lara stood near Scarlet, openly crying without attempting to disguise it, while Yuliana watched you with quiet pride.
They were all family.
Some had witnessed the first marriage and the way it had broken. Some had arrived later, carrying you through the strange, tender work of finding your way back to one another. But every person standing there had seen enough to understand what this moment meant. They had seen the love, the damage, the silence, the repair—and they had stayed.
The realization settled warmly beneath your ribs.
Your free hand moved instinctively over your stomach. One of the girls shifted beneath your palm, followed by the faintest answering movement from her sister.
You smiled down at them.
Richard glanced toward you. “All right?”
“More than all right.”
The boards of the narrow aisle beneath your low ivory heels were dusted with sand carried over them by the wind.
Beyond the gathering, the Atlantic stretched endlessly blue beneath the afternoon sky, its waves folding softly against the shore and filling the spaces between the music.
Then you looked ahead.
Harry stood on a low wooden platform beneath the simple arch of white flowers.
For one dangerous second, you nearly missed a step.
He wore a perfectly cut black tuxedo, the ocean breeze moving lightly through his hair. A white ranunculus and a small sprig of olive rested against his lapel, chosen to match your bouquet without surrounding you with the heavily scented flowers that always made your eyes water.
But it was his expression that caught you.
The tension he had carried while waiting disappeared the moment he saw you. His entire face softened into a wide, unguarded smile reserved only for you.
Richard tightened his hold on your arm before your heel could slip from the edge of the board.
“Careful, darling.”
Your eyes locked with Harry’s.
Neither of you looked away.
Five years apart seemed to compress themselves into those final steps—every wrong decision, every unfinished conversation and every night you had convinced yourself that losing him had been necessary.
But the last six months had changed you both. There were no secrets left between you now, no assumptions allowed to grow in silence. You were not walking toward the marriage you had once lost. You were walking toward something you had rebuilt together, deliberately and without anyone else deciding what it should become.
In a few moments, you would be husband and wife again.
This time, you both understood exactly what choosing one another meant.
By the time you reached him, your eyes were wet again.
Richard stopped before the platform. Harry stepped down immediately, offering one hand to you before turning toward him.
For a moment, neither man spoke.
Richard placed your hand into Harry’s.
“I gave her hand to you once before,” he said, his voice low with emotion. “But she was never mine to give away. She is my girl because she chose to let me love her like a father.”
Your throat tightened.
Richard looked from you to Harry. “So this time, I’m not giving her away. I’m asking you to stand beside her properly. Hold on to her. Listen to her. And when life gets loud, don’t let silence do the damage again.”
Harry closed his fingers carefully around yours. “I won’t.”
Richard studied him for another moment, then nodded. “Good.”
You leaned forward and kissed Richard’s cheek. “Thank you, Dad.”
His eyes shone as he stepped away.
“Go on, sweetheart,” he said softly. “Go marry the man who finally learned how lucky he is.”
Harry helped you onto the platform, one hand steady at your waist until you were safely beside him. Captain Mateo waited a few feet away, but Harry appeared temporarily unaware that anyone else existed.
His gaze moved slowly over the dress, your hair and the curve of your stomach.
“I knew the dress would be beautiful,” he said softly. “I wasn’t prepared for you in it.”
The words nearly started the tears again.
You looked over his tuxedo with exaggerated consideration. “You look very handsome yourself, Mr. Castillo.”
His smile deepened. “More handsome than the first time?”
“You’ve aged.”
One eyebrow lifted.
“Like an obscenely expensive wine,” you added.
Harry’s gaze softened. “Then I must be keeping suitable company.”
One of his hands settled gently over your stomach. A visible ripple moved beneath the ivory silk almost immediately.
Harry glanced down, smiling. “They look as excited as we are.”
“No. They heard their father arranged an excellent wedding cake.”
A quiet laugh escaped him.
His thumb moved lightly over the embroidered fabric before you looked around at the flowers, the two rows of chairs and the long table waiting farther up the shore.
“Harry,” you whispered. “What did you do?”
For the first time that afternoon, uncertainty flickered across his face. “Too much?”
“No.” You tightened your fingers around his. “It’s more beautiful than anything I imagined.”
His expression softened.
“Thank you,” you said. “For listening. For all of it.”
Harry lifted your hand and pressed his lips to your knuckles. “I wish I had done more sooner.”
“We had a great deal to survive first.”
“We did.”
His eyes remained on yours. “Then we shouldn’t give away any more time.”
Captain Alvarez cleared his throat with deliberate patience.
“I have married people on boats before,” he said, glancing toward the wooden platform that extended just over the water. “This is apparently the compromise Ron could manage in three days.”
Soft laughter moved through the gathering.
Ron adjusted his cuff. “A legally valid compromise.”
“The best kind,” Captain Alvarez said, smiling before he turned back to you and Harry. “We are gathered here with the people who know and love Harry and Queen best—not to begin their story, because that began many years ago, but to witness the choice they are making today.”
The ocean moved quietly behind him.
“This ceremony is small by design. There are no strangers here, no audience beyond those invited and no expectation except honesty. Before we continue, I need to ask one simple question. ”
His gaze moved first to Harry, then to you.
“Have you both come here freely, intending to marry one another today?”
Harry answered without hesitation. “Yes.”
You looked at the man who had arranged an entire wedding only to ensure you could still refuse it.
“Yes,” you said. “I have.”
Captain Alvarez nodded. “Then you may speak the promises you’ve prepared.”
Harry’s eyebrows lifted slightly.
You stared at him. “You prepared something?”
“Not a speech.” His fingers tightened around yours. “I don’t need one to tell you the truth.”
The last trace of humor faded from his expression as he looked directly into your eyes.
“The first time you chose me, I woke up the next morning and watched you sleep because I still couldn’t believe you were my wife.”
His throat moved.
“Then I lost you. And for five years, I learned exactly how much of my life had been built around loving you.”
Your eyes filled. “Harry, don’t make me cry.”
His thumb brushed beneath one of your eyes.
“Then you came back,” he said quietly. “And I felt like a prayer I had no right to make had been answered.”
A quiet laugh escaped you through the tears.
“You gave me a second life with you. You gave me our daughters." He paused, as though even he could not quite believe it. “I promise you this: you will never have to guess where I stand again. No silence, no pride, no misunderstanding will ever come before the truth.”
His voice lowered.
“I will choose you in every version of our life. I love you more than I did the first time. And I will spend the rest of my life being grateful that you chose me twice.”
For several seconds, you could only look at him.
Around you, no one seemed to breathe properly. Scarlet pressed a tissue beneath her sunglasses. Vivienne’s mouth trembled. Dana looked down quickly, and even Ron appeared suspiciously interested in the horizon.
“I loved you when I left,” you said finally, your voice unsteady. “That was the cruelest part. I loved you through every year I pretended I had moved on, and I love you now without fear, without secrets and without one foot near the door.”
Harry’s eyes shone.
“I choose you, Harry Castillo. I always have. And I always will.” You squeezed his hands. “This time, I intend to stay.”
Neither of you moved.
The silence stretched until Mikey called from behind you, “You can keep staring after you’re legally married.”
Laughter broke through the emotion.
Captain Alvarez gave him a patient look.
“It appears we have people here even more impatient than the bride and groom.” His eyes narrowed faintly with affection. “Mikey, you were always like this.”
Mikey grinned. “Thanks, Captain.”
Then he leaned toward Sienna and whispered, “He loves me.”
Sienna covered her mouth to hide her laugh.
Captain Alvarez turned back to Harry. “Harry Castillo, do you take this woman to be your wife—to love her, honour her and continue choosing her for the rest of your life?”
Harry did not take his eyes from you. “I do.”
“And Ms. Queen, do you take this man to be your husband—to love him, honour him and continue choosing him for the rest of your life?”
“I do.”
Ron stepped forward with the rings. Harry slid yours carefully onto your finger, his hand trembling just enough for you to notice. You placed his ring beside the one he had once worn before,
sealing a promise renewed rather than replaced.
Captain Alvarez smiled. “By the authority vested in me, I now pronounce you husband and wife.”
Mikey was already on his feet. “Kiss her!”
Others joined him, laughing and applauding.
“Kiss!”
“Kiss!”
“Kiss!”
Harry’s arm curved carefully around your waist. He drew you as close as your stomach allowed, his other hand rising to cradle your face.
Then he kissed you.
Slowly at first, as though the two of you were alone. Then more deeply as the applause rose around you and the ocean wind carried Mikey’s triumphant whistle across the beach.
When Harry finally pulled away, his forehead rested against yours.
“Mrs. Castillo,” he whispered.
You smiled through your tears. “You always did like calling me that.”
His thumb brushed your cheek. “I missed it.”
Later, after champagne had been poured and the official photographs had been taken, Chloe insisted that the bouquet had one final responsibility.
You turned your back to the small group gathered behind you and tossed it over your shoulder.
The wind caught the flowers, shifted their course and dropped them directly into Vivienne’s arms.
She stared down at the bouquet.
Then she looked toward Marc, standing several feet away.
Marc smiled.
Vivienne’s cheeks turned pink as everyone began laughing and applauding.
Beside you, Harry’s expression changed slowly.
You looked up at him. “Don’t even start.”
“I’m not saying anything.”
“Your face is saying plenty.”
He gave a small shrug. “I’m only wondering whether we can return the bouquet and try again.”
You hit his shoulder lightly. “Shut up and dance with me.”
The first notes of the music began.
Harry turned toward you and placed both hands at your waist. You slipped your arms around his neck, though the curve of your stomach prevented you from moving as close as either of you wanted.
Harry glanced down at the space between you. “I had imagined holding my wife a little closer.”
“Your daughters have other plans.”
“They’ve been interfering all day.”
“They’re making sure you behave.”
Harry looked offended. “With my own wife?”
“Especially with your own wife.”
Harry laughed and lowered his forehead to yours, swaying with you as the music carried across the beach.
A few feet away, Scarlet and Vivienne watched with matching tears in their eyes.
“They deserved this happiness, didn’t they?” Vivienne whispered.
Scarlet nodded. “More than anyone.”
Vivienne dabbed at her cheek. “My eyes are leaking.”
“So are mine.”
Mikey appeared behind them.
“Should I call 911, or is this a shared maternal event?”
Both women turned toward him.
Sienna burst out laughing, and even Richard failed to hide his smile.
You extended one hand toward the others. “Come on. Join us.”
Scarlet joined Richard first, moving carefully around his cane. Ron drew Dana into his arms, while Sienna allowed Mikey to spin her with considerably more enthusiasm than skill. Vivienne hesitated only briefly before accepting Marc’s hand.
Harry watched them, a trace of old protectiveness tightening his expression.
You touched his cheek. “She looks happy.”
His gaze returned to you. After a moment, he nodded and relaxed beneath your hand.
“She does.”
Near the edge of the dance floor, Emily, Chloe and Yuliana formed a loose circle, laughing as they danced together.
Lara clapped in time from her chair until Captain Alvarez offered his hand and persuaded her to join him for several careful steps.
There was no ballroom, no orchestra and no audience waiting to judge what the day meant.
Only the ocean, the music and every person you had chosen as family.
Harry watched them for a moment—the people dancing barefoot or carefully around canes and hems, the laughter carried by the wind, the small, impossible life you had built out of everything that had nearly ended.
Then his gaze returned to you.
His arms tightened around your waist, and he rested his forehead against yours.
“A little late,” he murmured, “but I think we made it.”
You cupped his face in both hands. “We did. And we made it beautifully.” Your lips trembled. “Oh, no. I think it’s coming back.”
Harry’s eyes softened with immediate alarm and amusement. “No. No crying, we just survived the ceremony. You can give the makeup ten more minutes.”
You laughed, blinking quickly. “Okay. I’m not crying.”
“Good.”
“I’m almost not crying.”
“That’s progress.”
The wave passed slowly. You breathed in, steadied yourself, and looked up at him again.
Harry’s smile faded into something quieter, deeper. “I love you so much,” he said.
Your hands rested against his jaw as the music continued around you. “I love you too, Harry.”
And while everyone you loved danced around you beneath the open sky, you let the moment stay exactly what it was.
Yours.
Days turned into weeks.
For a while, you and Harry stayed married only in the places that mattered. At home, in the quiet, his ring never left his finger. But every morning before a public meeting, a board dinner or anything involving cameras, he removed it with an apology he never seemed to grow tired of giving. “I hate it. I want everyone to know you’re my wife.”
And every morning, you gave him the same answer. “They will. Wait until our girls are born.”
The world still believed the real wedding was coming later—the grand one Scarlet and Vivienne were already designing with terrifying enthusiasm. When reporters asked how the preparations were going, you smiled, touched your stomach and said something harmless about family, timing and taking things slowly.
Somehow, the rumors still began.
Did Harry Castillo and Ms. Queen Marry in Secret?
Private Beach Ceremony Reportedly Held in Bridgehampton.
No Guests, No Press, No Confirmation: Inside Manhattan’s Most Talked-About Non-Wedding.
Some said Bridgehampton. Some said it had only been an engagement celebration. Some insisted there had been a wedding, but no one could produce a single photograph.
You and Harry answered none of it.
There were more important things to survive.
Your stomach grew heavier by the week, until getting out of bed without assistance became less an act of independence and more an unnecessarily ambitious athletic event. Doctor’s appointments became nearly the only reason you left the house. Everyone else came to you.
Emily arrived one afternoon claiming she had only stopped by to bring soup, then sat at the edge of your bed and confessed that she had started seeing the man her mother had hired as a waiter at the restaurant. He was Asian, apparently devastatingly handsome according to Emily’s increasingly unprofessional description, and “too polite in a way that felt dangerous.”
Chloe gave her ex another chance and pretended she was being cautious about it, despite the fact that she blushed every time his name appeared on her phone. Scarlet and Richard came regularly under the excuse of checking on you, though Richard spent most of each visit asking the girls whether they intended to let their mother sleep. Lara moved in without ceremony, joining Yuliana in the practical, unspoken agreement that until the babies arrived, you were not to be left unattended for any length of time.
Mikey and Sienna came sometimes together, sometimes separately, each visit explained with suspiciously unnecessary detail. Mikey brought stories from the office,most of them delivered with the confidence of a man who had survived another day in corporate warfare and deserved applause for it.
Gerard still called when necessary, but even he had begun to respect the boundaries Dana enforced with frightening precision. For the last three weeks, he no longer patched you into meetings unless there was no alternative. Dana kept such careful notes that reading her briefings almost felt like being in the room.
Almost.
Queen Financial was not healed, not yet.
But it was rising.
The panic had passed. The structure was holding. The people who had expected you to disappear quietly were beginning to understand that you had only stepped back long enough to breathe.
Harry had done the same in his own way. He met with Ron over laptop screens more often than in boardrooms now, choosing home whenever he could. Some afternoons, you would wake from a nap to find him at the foot of the bed, muted on a call, one hand resting absently over your ankle while he listened to Ron speak.
By the time you entered your thirtieth week, your doctor stopped sounding politely cautious and began sounding direct.
“You cannot be alone at home now,” she said. “Not for long periods. Not with this level of risk.”
Harry’s hand tightened around yours. She reviewed the warning signs, the possibility of early labor, the need to avoid stress, overexertion and anything that might trigger contractions.
“I’m also recommending pelvic rest from this point forward.”
You glanced at Harry.
He looked straight ahead.
The doctor continued, perfectly professional. “That means no intercourse, no penetration, and no sexual activity that results in orgasm. Uterine contractions after orgasm are usually harmless in low-risk pregnancies, but in your case, with twins and your current risk factors, we are not encouraging anything that could increase uterine activity.”
Harry’s expression did not change, but his hand became very still around yours.
You bit the inside of your cheek.
He looked like a man receiving a sentence from a judge and refusing to appeal in public.
In the car afterward, Harry remained silent for almost three minutes.
“You’re being very mature,” you said.
“I’m being tested.”
You laughed and leaned your head against his shoulder. “It’s only temporary.”
“I understand that.”
“You look as if someone cancelled Christmas.”
“I said I understand it. I didn’t say I enjoyed it.”
But he was careful. More careful than you were, sometimes. When you curled into him at night, he kissed your forehead, your hair, your shoulder, then gently put space where space needed to be.
Sleeping became more difficult. Turning from one side to the other required planning, patience and, on particularly humiliating nights, Harry’s assistance. He surrounded you with pillows until the bed looked less like a bed and more like a medical nest designed by a luxury hotel.
Still, the girls pressed against your ribs, your bladder, your lungs and every other part of you they apparently considered negotiable.
Harry spoke to them every night. “Be kind to your mother,” he whispered, one hand spread over your stomach. “You’ll meet us soon enough.”
A small kick answered him. “Not that soon,” he added sternly.
You smiled into the pillow.
Eight weeks, the doctor had said.
Only eight weeks until you would meet your daughters.
Dinner was over when the call came.
You were lowering yourself carefully onto the sofa, one hand braced against the armrest and the other resting over your stomach, when your phone began to ring on the coffee table.
Unknown number.
You frowned, reaching for it. “Who calls after dinner anymore?”
Harry glanced up from where he was folding the throw blanket at the other end of the room.
You answered before he could say anything.
“Hello?”
A woman’s voice spoke on the other end. Careful. Professional.
“Ms. Queen? My name is Claire Walsh. I’m calling from a long-term care facility—”
“A care facility?” you repeated, confused.
Harry was beside you before the woman finished her next sentence. He took the phone gently but firmly from your hand.
You stared at him. “Harry?”
He ended the call.
For a moment, neither of you spoke.
“What was that?”
“Nothing important.”
Your eyes narrowed. “You just took my phone from my hand. And hung up on a woman from a care facility.”
“She shouldn’t have called you directly.”
The sentence landed strangely. You pushed yourself higher against the cushions, studying him more closely. His face had gone pale, the controlled lines of it too still to be casual. “Harry,” you said slowly. “What is going on?”
He looked away.
That was enough.
You knew every version of his silence. The business silence. The angry silence. The silence he used when he was trying to keep a room from collapsing around someone he loved. This was the last one. “How long have you been hiding calls from me?”
His jaw tightened.
Your breath caught. “That’s what this is, isn’t it? The last few days—your phone, Ron calling you outside the room, that woman—”
“Baby.”
“No.” Your voice sharpened. “Tell me. Please. What is going on?"
Harry stayed standing for another second. Then he exhaled, sat beside you and took both of your hands in his.
“Last Friday, a woman came to the building,” he said carefully. “Security didn’t let her up. She said she needed to speak to you.”
“About what?”
“At first, I didn’t know.”
Your fingers tightened around his. “And then?”
“I saw her again the next day. Outside. I asked what she wanted.”
Harry’s thumb moved slowly over your knuckles, as though he was trying to keep you anchored before he had even said the words.
“She works at a long-term care facility,” he said. “Your biological father is there.”
You swallowed. The room seemed to drop out from beneath you. For a second, you only stared at him. “My… what?”
Harry’s face softened with worry. He reached up and brushed his fingers along your cheek. “Breathe for me."
You drew in a thin breath. One of the girls shifted beneath your ribs, and your hand moved instinctively to your stomach. “Continue,” you whispered.
Harry nodded once. “She tried Scarlet first because he had been saying her name for weeks. Scarlet refused to speak to her. She tried to reach Mikey and couldn’t. Then she saw your name attached to mine in enough society articles to find the building.”
Your mouth parted, but no sound came out. “Why is he there?” you asked finally. “Why is some woman calling me? Why now, after all these years?”
Harry looked down at your joined hands.
“The woman he left your mother for is gone. She took what remained of his money and disappeared when his illness became inconvenient.” His voice stayed low, measured. “He has Alzheimer’s. Advanced enough that some days he doesn’t know where he is. Some days he asks for Scarlet.
Some days he asks about the little boy.”
“Mikey,” you breathed.
Harry nodded. “And lately,” he said, softer now, “she said he keeps asking whether the baby was born.”
The words moved through you like something cold.
The baby.
Harry did not answer immediately. Your eyes lifted to his. “Me?”
His expression broke just enough to hurt. A tear slipped down your cheek.
The daughter he had never met. The child he had left behind before she had even taken her first breath.
Harry wiped the tear away with his thumb. “Baby, talk to me.”
You stared past him, but all you could see was a man you had never known asking about a baby who had already grown up, married, divorced, survived him, and was now carrying two daughters of her own.
“I need to see him.”
Harry’s brow drew together, that familiar deep crease forming between his eyes as his whole face tightened in immediate refusal. “No.”
“Harry—”
“No. Absolutely not.”
“You don’t get to decide that.”
“If we are talking about your health and our daughters’ safety, then I do get a say.”
“A say, yes. Not the decision.”
“You’re thirty weeks pregnant with twins. The doctor said no stress.”
“I know what the doctor said.”
“Then you know this is exactly the kind of thing she meant.”
You pulled your hands back, not harshly, but enough to make him feel the distance.
“I have to see him.”
“You don’t owe him that.”
“I know.”
“He left you before you were born. He doesn’t deserve the chance to hurt you now.”
“I know.”
“Then why?”
You pressed one hand to your stomach and swallowed hard.
“Because if something happens and he dies, I will never know what was real.” Your voice broke. “I spent my whole life imagining him. When I was seven, I asked my mother about him, and after that I made up versions of him in my head. Younger. Better. Sorry.” You shook your head. “I don’t know if I want to see him. But I need to.”
Harry looked at you for a long moment, the fight in his expression slowly giving way to something heavier. You reached for his hand again. “I don’t owe him anything,” you whispered. “But I think I owe something to the seven-year-old version of me who thought he might still come back if she was worth coming back to.”
That did it.
Harry’s face changed completely. The anger left him first, then the argument. What remained was something softer, almost wounded.
“Oh, baby,” he murmured.
He reached for you at once, his hand sliding gently over your hair as he drew you closer.
His eyes had gone bright, though he tried to blink it away before you could see. “She was always worth coming back to,” he said quietly. “He was the one who didn’t deserve to find his way back.”
Your breath broke against his chest.
Harry closed his eyes briefly and let out a slow breath. When he opened them again, his fear was still there. So was the decision.
“We go together,” he said.
The facility smelled like lemon cleaner, old carpet and something medicinal underneath.
You hated that your first thought was how small everything seemed. The woman from the phone met you near the entrance and spoke softly to Harry while you stood with both hands curved over your stomach. He kept one hand at your lower back the entire time, steady and warm through the thin fabric of your dress.
When they brought you to the room, you stopped at the threshold.
The man sitting by the window was not the man you had imagined at seven.
He was not the famous director whose face you had cut from old entertainment magazines and hidden in the back of your drawer. Not the man smiling beside actresses at premieres, not the man whose interviews you had read in secret, searching for some trace of yourself in the shape of his mouth or the way his eyes held the camera.
That man had belonged to glossy paper and childhood invention.
This one was thinner than memory had any right to make him. Older than he should have been. His hair had gone almost completely white, his shoulders folded inward beneath a cardigan that looked too large for him. His hands rested in his lap, restless over the blanket.
For a moment, you could not breathe.
Harry leaned closer. “We can leave.”
You shook your head.
The man turned at the sound. His eyes moved over Harry first, then found you.
He stared.
Your body went cold.
“Scarlet?” he whispered.
Harry’s hand tightened at your back.
You tried to speak, but nothing came.
The man’s gaze drifted lower, to your stomach. Something in his face changed. Confusion. Wonder.
A grief too late to be useful.
“The baby,” he said.
Your breath caught.
He looked up at you again, eyes wet and empty of recognition.
“Our girl?”
The room tilted.
“No,” you whispered.
But he did not understand. Or perhaps some ruined part of him did, because his mouth trembled as he reached toward you with a hand that shook.
Harry stepped between you at once.
The movement broke something in you. You took a step back before you could stop yourself, one hand rising to your mouth as you looked at the helpless, fragile old man in front of you.
He did not look like the man who had destroyed your mother.
He did not look like the man who had left behind a pregnant wife and a one-year-old son.
He looked small.
Lost.
Almost pitiful.
And somehow, that hurt worse.
For years, you had imagined anger would be enough to hold you upright if this moment ever came. You had imagined questions.
Accusations. The clean satisfaction of finally saying what a child could not.
But there was no one here to answer you.
Only an old man who looked at you and saw your mother.
Only a mind trapped in the year he had left.
Only the baby he had never stayed to meet, standing in front of him with two babies of her own.
You turned away because you could not look at him anymore.
Behind you, he murmured something soft and broken.
“Scarlet… don’t go.”
Your eyes closed.
Harry understood before you spoke.
“That’s enough,” he said gently.
The woman from the facility said something behind you, but you did not hear it. Harry guided you into the corridor, one arm firm around your waist.
You made it three steps before the sob broke loose.
Harry pulled you into him.
“I thought he would be different,” you choked out. “I know that’s stupid. I know he was never good.
But when I was little, I imagined this so many times.”
“I know.”
“He was supposed to be healthy. Arrogant. Shameless.” Your voice broke harder. “He was supposed to be the man who betrayed my mother and left two children behind. I was supposed to be able to hate him. To ask him why. To make him look at me.”
Harry held you tighter.
“But he can’t even do that,” you sobbed. “He can’t answer me. He can’t apologize. He can’t even know me.”
“Breathe, baby,” Harry murmured. “Please. For me.”
“He was supposed to see me.” Your fingers twisted in his jacket. “He doesn’t even know me, Harry.”
“I know.” His voice was rough now. “I’m sorry.”
You clutched at him, crying too hard to stand without him.
“I’m right here,” he said, his hand moving slowly over your back. “You’re not that baby anymore. You hear me? You’re here. You have me. You have Richard—the father who stayed. You have our girls. He doesn’t get to take that from you.”
You tried to nod.
Harry’s hand moved to your stomach. “Think of them. Just breathe. In and out.”
It took several minutes before you could move again.
The woman from the facility followed you into the corridor, holding a worn black notebook against her chest.
“I’m sorry,” she said carefully. “There is one more thing.”
Harry’s arm tightened around your waist. “Not now.”
But your gaze had already dropped to the notebook. “What is that?”
The woman hesitated. “They found it among his things when he was moved here. He kept it for years.” Her eyes softened with something like pity. “He knew about you, Ms. Queen. About both of you. It’s only in the last year that the illness began taking names from him.”
The words landed too slowly.
He knew.
You should have said no.
Instead, you reached for it.
The cover was cracked at the corners, the pages swollen from age. When you opened it, the first thing you saw was Mikey’s face, cut from a society magazine years ago and pasted crookedly onto yellowing paper.
MICHAEL QUEEN CAUSES SCENE AT CHARITY AUCTION
A laughless breath caught in your throat.
Mikey looked younger in the photograph, grinning at someone outside the frame as if he had absolutely no intention of learning from the incident.
The next page was Scarlet.
SCARLET QUEEN TO STAR OPPOSITE ROBERT DE NIRO
She was impossibly young, impossibly beautiful, her smile bright enough to belong to a woman who had not yet learned how much grief could cost.
Then another.
QUEEN AND CASTILLO FAMILIES UNITE IN HIGH-SOCIETY WEDDING
Your first wedding.
Your face beside Harry’s, both of you caught on the church steps, younger and shining with a kind of happiness you had not known enough to protect.
Your fingers trembled as you turned the page.
MS. QUEEN RETURNS TO NEW YORK
A photograph from one of your first major public appearances after joining Queen Financial.
Then another.
QUEEN FINANCIAL’S HEIRESS STEPS INTO POWER
And another.
MS. QUEEN SHINES AT ANNUAL GALA
Page after page.
Your face, collected in silence.
Not loved properly. Not claimed. Not protected.
Just watched from a distance.
Harry looked over your shoulder and went very still.
Between the clippings, there were folded letters in shaky handwriting.
Scarlet, forgive me.
Scarlet, I made a mistake.
Scarlet, tell me about my kids.
The words blurred.
A sound left you before you could stop it.
“He…” you whispered. “All those years…”
Harry turned toward you at once. “Baby—”
“He knew.”
Your hand moved to your stomach.
For one second, everything inside you went too quiet.
Then a hard tightening pulled low across your abdomen.
You gasped.
Harry’s face changed instantly. “Baby?”
Another wave came before you could answer. Not sharp enough to name, but deep and wrong enough to steal your breath.
The notebook slipped from your fingers and hit the floor.
“H-Harry.”
He caught you before your knees gave way.
“No, no, no.” His voice dropped into panic before he forced it steady. “Baby, look at me.”
Your fingers clutched at his jacket.
“The babies—”
Harry lifted you into his arms before you could finish.
“I’ve got you.” His voice was calm in the way it became only when he was terrified. “Open the doors,” he called down the corridor. “Now.”
The woman from the facility moved quickly, shouting for help as Harry carried you toward the exit.
“Look at me,” he said, holding you carefully against his chest. “Breathe for me.”
Then he felt it.
The warmth soaking through the fabric beneath his arm.
For half a second, his mind went brutally blank.
Then everything the doctor had said came back at once: thirty weeks, twins, stress, warning signs, early labor, rupture, pressure, do not wait.
His hold tightened.
“No,” he whispered, almost to himself. “Not yet.”
Another pressure rolled through you, harder this time.
A broken cry slipped from your mouth.
“Harry.” Your voice cracked with fear. “It’s too early. It’s too early. I can’t—They can’t come now.”
“Yes, you can.” He pressed his mouth briefly to your hair as he moved faster, his heart beating violently against you. “Listen to me. You can. I’m taking you to the hospital. You and the girls are going to be okay.”
“I’m scared.”
“I know.” His voice roughened.
“I know, baby. I’ve got you.”
The driver was already out of the car when Harry reached the entrance.
“Mr. Castillo?”
“Call the doctor,” Harry ordered as the doors opened ahead of him. “Now.”
The driver grabbed his phone with shaking hands.
Harry lowered you into the back seat, one arm still braced behind you, the other pressed protectively over your stomach.
Another wave hit.
You clutched his shirt, tears breaking free.
“Harry…”
He looked down at your face, all the color gone from his own.
“Stay with me,” he said, his voice low and urgent. “Please. Stay with me."
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[SUMMARY: You struggle with Joel being so distant and break up with him, he does everything he can to get you back.]
Angst
Joel had always been difficult to reach, he wasn’t cruel to you, never mistreated you..but he was always distant. Sometimes it felt like standing outside a house with all the lights on and knowing someone was inside, but every door remained locked. You tried to be understanding to it, his ways, his habits, but sometimes it became harder than others to just let things be.
He’d brush his fingers against yours while walking through town. He’d quietly hand you the better portion of food without saying a word, he’d stand between you and danger before you even noticed it existed. Joel showed he cared in his own ways, you always noticed this. The problem was that caring was where he stopped, communication was always limited. The closer you got, the further he seemed to be. When he didn’t look fine, he’d insist he was, that was when he’d shut down the most.
Every time you needed reassurance, he’d look at you like you were asking him to translate a language he’d never learned. Yet, you kept trying, kept yourself hopeful that eventually something would change. You knew what he’d gone through and that was only because Tommy told you.
“Joel, talk to me.”
“Nothin’ to talk about.”
“Yes there is..”
“No.”
It happened so often it became routine. You reaching and reaching, him withdrawing. He disappeared further and before you knew it, months turned into years of the same cycle. You somehow convinced yourself to accept the scraps, a hand on your lower back, a kiss before he left.
The occasional “You alright?” muttered while cleaning a rifle. But the words you desperately needed never came.
No “I need you” or “I love you.”
Not even “I’m scared you’ll leave.”
You started telling yourself you didn’t need those things although your heart yearned for it. You convinced yourself that maybe this was simply who Joel was. Maybe loving him meant accepting less.
Until one night you simply couldn’t take it any longer..
You had a terrible day..enough small things piling together until your chest felt too heavy. You found Joel on the porch looking out into the sunset.
“Can I sit with you?” He nodded.
You sat beside him as he remained silent. The silence felt like forever until eventually you whispered-
“I don’t think you know me.”
Joel frowned.
“What?”
“I don’t think you want to.”
His jaw tightened.
“Here we go.” The words hit harder than if he’d yelled.
Here we go.
Like your pain was an inconvenience, as if your heart was a chore. You stared at him lost in thought.
“I’ve spent years trying to let you in.”
“You know me.” He uttered low.
“No.”
Your voice cracked.
“I know what you let me know.”
Joel looked away immediately and that told you everything.
You laughed softly..the kind of laugh that comes right before crying.
“I don’t know what scares you more, Joel. Losing me or needing me.” His face tense, he wouldn’t dare look at you.
“You done?” You froze then slowly nodded.
“Mhm.”
That was the first time you stopped trying..Joel didn’t notice. Not at first.
Avoidant people rarely notice when someone starts pulling away because they’re used to the distance themselves. You stopped asking questions, stopped seeking comfort. You even stopped waiting up for him.
Joel just thought things had finally settled down.No more difficult conversations or emotional confrontations. For a while he actually felt relieved.
Then he noticed you didn’t smile at him anymore.Not a real smile at least..the one that used to light up your entire face. A few weeks later he realized you hadn’t touched him first in over a month.
A month after that he woke up and discovered he couldn’t remember the last time you’d said “I love you.”Something cold settled in his chest, fear..
He ignored it.
Until the night he came home and found a packed bag sitting beside the door.
Joel stared at it, then at you.
“What is that?”
You folded a shirt, not answering him.
His pulse began accelerating.
“What is that?” Finally you looked up and the exhaustion in your eyes nearly stopped his heart.
“I’m leaving.” Joel’s heart sunk.
“What?” He walked towards you.
“I’m leaving, Joel.”
“No.” He responded instantly like a reflex.
“I can’t do this anymore.” Exhaustion in your voice.
“The hell are you talkin’ about? You been fine” he took a step closer, confused, defensive.
You smiled sadly.
“I’ve been fine becuase I haven’t been talking to you. That’s what you consider fine?” You shook your head as if that was all the confirmation you needed.
The realization hit him all at once, you weren’t fine. You had just given up..
“So that’s it huh?” He spoke louder, you could hear the anger in his voice. He was pissed but not at you, at himself.
Every conversation he’d dismissed, every time he’d watched you cry and convinced himself giving you space was enough. Every damn excuse he made.
You wouldn’t respond, swallowing your tears as he watched you, shoulders tense.
“And where the hell you gonna go at this time?”
“Maria said I could stay with her until they find somewhere else for me-“
“My brother?” He cut you off defensively, still you wouldn’t look at him.
“Tommy knew about this?”
“Joel, I just told her about an hour ago.” You spoke softly as you zipped up the bag. A wave of emotions coming over him, anger turned into guilt. Guilt that he had pushed you away…that he made you feel unloved. It couldn’t have been farther from the truth.
You turned placing your bag over your shoulder and that’s when it set in over him…panic. Joel’s expression changed.
“Wait a minute, baby-“ he rushed towards you, his hand brushing over your waist.
“Let’s talk about this, you don’t need to go.” A knot in your throat forming, a look of desperation in his eyes you hadn’t ever seen.
“It’s too late to talk-“
“You don’t mean that, come on, put your bag down. Well- we’ll fix this, whatever you need me to do” He took your hand in his as you slowly shook your head.
“I can’t-“
“The hell do you want me to do dammit?!” He suddenly yelled, anger taking over him, his tone harsher than he meant it to be. Never had he spoken like this to you before.
“The hell you want me to say huh?! What is it?! What do you need from me?!”
“I needed you!” You finally yelled back with tears. You pulled your hand away, Joel stood in shock. Just like that he watched you walk out of his life without turning back..
His chest felt tight, he stumbled slowly towards the wall and placed his back against it. He knew this feeling all too well. The walls feeling like they were caving in, he loosened a button at the top of his shirt as he closed his eyes and tried to control his breathing. His fear becoming a reality.
~~
The first week after you left was the quietest Joel had ever known..your absence followed him everywhere. He hated it. The worst part was at night, he’d reach for you half asleep only to feel the cold sheets beside him.
I needed you.
Joel could hear your voice over and over again saying this, the pain in your voice haunted him.
He sat on his porch long after sunset, staring at the house a few doors down where Tommy and Maria had taken you in. He could see the light from the kitchen window. He could imagine you inside, laughing, safe..without him.
The thought made his chest ache, he looked away trying to shake the image out of his head.
~~
The next morning, Tommy found Joel repairing a fence that didn’t need repairing.
“You fixed that last week.”
Joel hammered another nail.
“It’s loose.”
“It ain’t loose.”
Joel eyes narrowed on him, Tommy sighed.
“Still thinkin’ about her?”
Joel stopped moving.
As if there had been a moment when he wasn’t. He stared silently at the screw.
“I screwed up.”
Tommy nodded.
“Yeah.”
“I didn’t mean to, Tommy. I swear I didn’t” he looked up at his brother who gave him a silent nod.
“She..she ok?”
“She’s not talkin’ much but she’s fine” Tommy responded, Joel looked down pressing his lips together.
“Come on, let’s have a drink, you look like you need one.” He proceeded to turn towards his door.
“I can’t-“
“And why not?”
“She’s-she’s in there ain’t she?”
“She went to check on the horses with Maria, they won’t be back for a bit. Besides I’ll be damned if I can’t have a drink with my own brother in my house” Tommy chuckled as he led the way in.
As soon as Joel walked in he could see your shoes by the door, your favorite indoor slip ons he had found for you brand new a while back. He kept his head down following his brother to the kitchen, hadn’t even noticed his brother was talking till he slammed a cup on the counter before him.
“You there, Joel?” He quickly looked up.
“Huh, yeah. I’m ready”
Tommy laughed as he grabbed the bottle and poured them both a drink. He could see how hurt his brother was, how distracted he was.
“Shit, brother if you can’t let me in, at least let her in. You got yourself a good woman. Not much that would put up with your shit” he smiled before taking a sip. He tried to break a smile out of his brother but it was harder than he thought.
Then they both heard the door open.
Both men turned toward the door to see you and Maria walking in, a smile on your face as you spoke about how being around the horses felt relaxing. How you enjoyed taking care of them. So lost in the conversation you hadn’t noticed Tommy was sitting at the table with someone else across from him, until you looked up. You stopped right in your tracks, your smile instantly disappearing. Joel stood up awkwardly clearing his throat, he knew he wasn’t wanted there. The last thing he wanted to do was make you uncomfortable. He could see Maria giving Tommy a look, a hand on her hip piercing him with her eyes.
“Hey-“ Maria’s eyes softened as she turned to you.
“Let me show you what I was working on earlier” she took your hand and pulled you up the stairs. Joel’s eyes didn’t move from where you had stood, the hurt of the realization that you didn’t even want to look at him. He threw his head back chugging back the last of the alcohol in his cup and slammed the glass down. Without saying a word he walked out.
~~
Maria could see how distracted you were, seeing Joel completely threw you off.
“Sorry about that, I’ll have a talk with Tommy. He should’ve known-“
“No, it’s fine. They’re brothers Maria…don’t say anything. I’m not mad I’m just…I wasn’t expecting to see him.” You stared off into space thinking about how tired he looked. Maybe he was having trouble sleeping again.
Maybe he wasn’t eating right again.
You shook off those thoughts the best you could and sighed.
~~
Joel didn’t step near Tommy’s house for a couple weeks, giving you space but still he could see you from afar when you’d step out.
A few days later Joel showed up at Tommy’s house carrying a basket.
Maria opened the door then blinked with slight confusion.
“Is that bread?”
Joel awkwardly held it up.
You’d once mentioned loving fresh bread. So Joel had spent three miserable hours trying to learn. The loaf looked lopsided, burned on one side.
Maria stared, then couldn’t help but laugh.
Joel looked offended.
“It ain’t funny.”
“It absolutely is.”
She laughed harder.
Joel shoved the basket toward her.
“Just give it to her.”
Maria folded her arms.
“No.”
Joel frowned.
“What do you mean no?”
“You can’t buy your way out of this.”
“It ain’t buying.”
“It kind of is.”
Joel sighed heavily.
“Maria, please. I’m tryin’”
Maria sighed, she knew Joel long enough to see when he had regret. To see when something was hurting him to his core.
Maria continued. “Joel…she spent months feeling lonely while standing right next to you.”
Joel looked down, he knew she was right.
“Didn’t mean to…to push her away. Didn’t mean to hurt her” the more he thought about the pain he caused, the angrier he became with himself.
“Give her time.”
“How much time?”His voice came out rough as he looked up.
“As much as she needs.”
Joel hated that answer but he nodded anyway.
~~
He tried. God, he tried. For almost three weeks he didn’t knock on your door. Didn’t force conversations, instead he began to quietly change his habits.
The way you always wished he would..
He started showing up to community dinners.
Actually talking to people. He helped Eugene’s widow repair her roof, fixed playground equipment for the children. He thought of you as he did everything. He thought about how he shut everyone out..including you.
Especially you.
~~
One afternoon you were helping Maria hang laundry when Ellie appeared.
“You should go talk to him.”
You rolled your eyes.
“Not you too.”
Ellie shrugged. “I’m serious.”
“I’m not ready.”
“Okay.” You paused, that was suspiciously easy.
“Okay?”
Ellie nodded.
“Yeah.”
Then she smirked.
“But you should know he’s becoming annoying.”
You sighed.
“What?”
“Guy’s like a sad country song.”
You laughed despite yourself. Ellie pointed toward Joel’s house. “He stares at your window.”
“Oh my God.”
“Not in a creepy way.”
“That doesn’t help.”
Ellie snorted.
“He’s pathetic.”
Your smile faded slightly. Because a small part of you wondered if Joel really was hurting as much as everyone claimed.
~~
It had been a month.
A month since you told Joel you couldn’t keep loving someone who acted like he could take you or leave you. A month since you packed a small bag and moved into Tommy and Maria’s spare room. A month without feeling the warmth of his body beside yours in bed.
You’d cried enough that you simply felt numb.
The front door opened, Tommy stepped inside first as you chopped up potatoes on the counter.
“Need a hand with the rest?” he called over his shoulder.
A familiar voice answered.
“Already got it.”
Your knife stopped against the potato.
Joel. Your stomach turned…but not exactly in a dreadful way.
He walked in carrying two heavy sacks of flour over one shoulder and a crate of canned goods in his arms. His sleeves were rolled to his forearms, a light sheen of sweat on his skin. He set everything down without a word, nodding politely to Maria.
“Found coffee beans too,” he said.
Maria smiled knowingly. “You’re a lifesaver.”
Joel shrugged.
“Figured I’d save Tommy another trip.”
Tommy snorted.
“You hate making trips into town.”
Joel scratched the back of his neck.
“Guess I don’t mind so much lately.”
You knew exactly who that comment was for.
You refused to look up.
~~
For the next hour he stayed busy. He helped out Tommy with a few things that needed fixing around the house. Eventually it was just you and Joel, you on one side of the room cutting vegetables and him on the other, fixing God knows what.
He never once asked for attention, he never looked to see if you were watching. Which somehow made it worse.
Because you were…every single second.
So much so as you began to chop up some carrots you weren’t paying attention and your hand slipped. You gasped loudly as the sharpness of the knife came into contact with your skin. Joel instantly looked up to see you quickly looking for a rag to cover the wound. Without thinking he put down what he was working on and rushed towards you. He had already seen the blood dripping down your finger so he knew it must’ve been deep.
“You alright?” Without hesitation he grabbed your hands but you held the rag still against it as he attempted to pull your hands apart.
“No it’s bleeding-don’t-“
“Let me take a look” his eyes met yours and you suddenly didn’t know how to speak. You watched as he gently removed the rag, his brows furrowed noticing the deep cut. In that moment you wished Tommy and Maria would appear from wherever the hell they were.
“It’s fine, Joel”
“It ain’t fine, you got yourself pretty good. Sit down-“
“Joel-“
“Damn it baby, just sit down” your heart jumped. He caught himself as he called you baby but he didn’t take it back.
After grabbing what he could find around the house he pushed everything on the table aside and placed a bottle of whiskey down with a first aid kit. Instead of sitting across from you at the table, he pulled a chair up beside you and turned your chair to face him, pulling it toward him.
“Could’ve just told me to turn” you rolled your eyes.
“Figure I’d move quicker.” He responded as you looked over at the bottle of liquor.
“Not the whiskey” you sighed.
“Yes the whiskey.” He responded without looking at you.
An entire month since the two of you had spoken more than a passing hello. A month since everything fell apart. Yet somehow you still found yourself sitting in the chair beside him without another word.
He unscrewed the bottle as you swallowed anxiously.
“This’ll sting.”
“I remember.”
His eyes looked up to yours.
“So do I.”
He tipped your hand over the table, his fingers warm around your wrist.
“Ready?” You nodded and he poured.
The whiskey hit the cut like fire.
“Shit-“ You jerked forward with a sharp gasp, eyes squeezing shut.
Without thinkinf you grabbed onto something, or rather..someone.
Your free hand had wrapped tightly around Joel’s. Your fingers dug into his calloused skin hard enough that your knuckles turned white.
He didn’t flinch or let go, instead he leaned in closer and softly blew across the cut.
The cool air eased the burning just enough that you slowly opened your eyes.
Joel was still there. Close enough that you could see every little line around his eyes, every fleck of gray in his beard. His knees against yours, you didn’t want to pull away.
His thumb absentmindedly rubbed small circles against the side of your wrist while he continued inspecting the cut.
“Little deeper than I thought.” He spoke low.
“But you’ll keep the hand.” A tiny laugh escaped you. It surprised both of you, he couldn’t help but smirk.
“There she is.” Then there was silence, your smile faded.
Joel finally looked down, then over and landed his eyes on your intertwined hands. Only then did you realize you were still holding his.
Your fingers hadn’t loosened once.
“Oh…”
You started to pull away. Joel’s hand instinctively tightened just enough to stop you.
You didn’t move.
His eyes lifted back to yours.
“You okay?”
There was so much hidden inside those two words. Not just about a stupid cut but about everything that’s happened.
You simply nodded.
“…Yeah.”
He studied you for another second like he wanted to ask a hundred more questions. Instead, he let out a deep breath.
“Alright.”
He didn’t want to pull away but he did so slowly to finish cleaning up your cut. Very carefully, he cleaned the last of the blood away. His fingers were gentle as he spread antibiotic ointment over the cut.
“You’ll wanna keep this dry today.” You nodded again.
He wrapped the gauze around your palm before securing it with tape.
“There.” He turned your hand over once to check his work.
“Should heal fine.”
You looked down at the neat bandage.
“..Thank you.”
Joel’s eyes lingered on your face.
“You don’t gotta thank me.”
“I know.” For a moment neither of you moved.
Then the back door opened.
“There you two are-“
Tommy stopped mid sentence.
Maria looked between the two of you sitting close together. Joel immediately leaned back, still holding your hand.
You quickly pulled your hand into your lap and looked away.
Maria frowned.
“What the hell happened?”
You stood a little too fast, nearly knocking the chair over.
“I-“
You held up your bandaged hand.
“I cut myself chopping carrots.”
Tommy’s eyes widened.
“Bad?”
“No.” You forced a small smile.
“I’m fine.”
Maria looked at Joel, then back at you.
Joel had already capped the whiskey bottle and closed the first aid kit, expression carefully unreadable.
“It’ll be alright,” he said simply.
“Really…im fine.”
“I think I’m just gonna…go lie down for a bit.”
Without waiting for anyone to answer, you slipped past Maria and Tommy, keeping your head down as you hurried toward the guest room. The bedroom door clicked shut behind you. Only then did you lean back against it, closing your eyes. Your hand still tingled beneath the bandage.
But what lingered far more vividly was the memory of Joel’s rough hand in yours…
And how, for just a few quiet moments, neither of you had wanted to let go.
You overheard Maria telling Joel to stay for dinner, a part of you not sure how to feel about it.
You didn’t hear Joel say much, his mind still lost in the moment of being so damn close to you.
Well feeling so close, yet so far.
~~
Everyone settled around the table. Ellie was away helping Dina with patrol schedules keeping herself busy. Conversation flowed around you. Tommy talked about a broken fence, Maria laughed about someone’s escaped chickens.
Joel mostly listened. Once in a while he’d look your way, not enough to make it obvious but still enough that you caught him every time.
~~
Halfway through dinner your fork slipped from your hand, clattering onto the floor.
Before you could bend, Joel was already kneeling.He picked it up then reached for another clean fork from the drawer.
“There.”
His voice was quiet, your fingers brushed when you took it. Neither of you pulled away immediately.
“Thanks.”
He nodded once.
“You’re welcome.”
Later that evening Tommy disappeared outside with Maria to check on the horses.
Leaving the two of you alone on the porch.
Neither of them was subtle.You sat on the swing, staring out toward the fading sunset.
Joel leaned against the porch railing, hands shoved into his pockets.
“Your hand ok?” He asked as if it hadn’t just happened a couple hours ago. He knew you were fine, but the silence killed him.
“Mhm, it’s fine,” you spoke softly as you looked down at your hand not noticing the way he looked over his shoulder back to you.
“I ain’t here to make things hard.”
“I know.”
“I told myself I’d leave you alone.”
“So why are you here?” You looked up at him. A slight smirk appeared on his lips.
“I lasted twenty eight days.”
“You counted?”
“Every one.” He looked down at the porch boards.
“I kept thinkin’ you’d be happier.”
“Well, I wasn’t.”
“I wasn’t either.” He spoke gently, he rubbed the back of his neck.
“I spent a lotta years thinkin’ if I kept people far enough away…couldn’t lose ’em.”
You stayed quiet.
“I realized all that did was make me lose ’em anyway.” You watched him carefully.
A month ago he would’ve shut down, changed the subject, hell not even have begun this conversation.
Now he stood there, uncomfortable as hell, saying the things he’d spent years refusing to admit.
His eyes finally met yours.
“Baby, I miss you. Every. Damn. Day.” His voice cracked.
“I’d wake up thinkin’ I’d hear you movin’ around the house. Hell, I still catch myself makin’ enough coffee for two.”
You looked down your lap, his stare too intense.
He continued carefully.
“I know it’s only been a month but I’ve done a lot of thinkin’ and I know what you need me to be and I’m sorry I failed you for so damn long.” His eyes teared up but you still couldn’t look up at him. Instead you fiddled with your fingers on your lap, your heart racing. And that’s when he slowly got down on his knee before you, his hands gently cradling yours.
“I can’t lose you, baby. You and Ellie are the only thing that keeps me goin’.” For some reason as happy as you were to hear his feelings, you almost also felt..angry. You pulled your hands away and shoved them into his chest but he held his balance.
“Why the hell did it take you so long to realize that?!” He began to shake his head.
“You don’t get it, baby I always realized it. I just…I just was too damn stupid to say it.” He noticed a tear falling from your eye and it pulled at his heart. He couldn’t take seeing you cry. He looked down at the floor and clenched his jaw, his heart pounding hard in his chest.
“Please come home, baby. I can’t…I ain’t sleepin’ without you. I need you with me,” you looked up, his eyes big and puppy like. You’d never seen him so broken. You parted your lips but couldn’t speak at first.
“I’m..I’m not ready,” you spoke barely a whisper. Your words breaking him. You stood up with him still on his knees before you and rushed back inside into your room, holding your tears in until you locked the door.
Joel held his tears in feeling the burning knot in his throat, he looked down at the ground disappointed in himself. He knew you had every right to feel how you did.
Just as Tommy and Maria walked back towards their home they saw Joel leave with a clear look of disappointment. Tommy sighed and shook his head.
When he walked inside he found you in the kitchen washing dishes, Maria gave Tommy a nod and left you two alone.
“Should’ve left the dishes so your hand can heal” Tommy stood at the doorway. You jumped up at the sound of his voice not having heard the front door open.
“It’s fine” you shrugged. After a moment of silence he continued.
“I saw Joel leave.”
You shut off the water and took a slow breath.
“Did you?” You answered low.
“I haven’t seen him this broken in a while,”
“If you’re trying to make me feel bad it’s not working-“
“Ain’t trynna make you feel bad. My brother can be a bit of an idiot but he’s an idiot who’s crazy for you.” You didn’t respond nor turn to face him either.
“He’s tryin’, sis”
You slowly faced him.
“Now after all this time. It took me to leave for him to show-“
“I know, I know. I told you, he’s an idiot.” You sighed.
“Give him one more chance, let him show you who he really is.”
~~
That night you sat in your room in the dark, contemplating to see Joel. Thinking of what to say, what to do. Eventually you pushed yourself out of the room, Tommy and Maria both asleep you quietly walked out the front door.
You could see Joel’s light still on, of course he was awake. Taking a deep breath walking towards his steps you whispered to yourself what you would say, so lost in thought you were taken by surprise when Joel appeared out the side of the house carrying a lantern. He himself surprised to see you stood speechless. You suddenly felt stupid.
“Sorry, I shouldn’t have come” you proceeded to turn back but Joel quickly caught up.
“No” he caught your hand gently turning you back.
“Please, don’t go” he whispered. You stood silent for a moment, his eyes tracing your features.
“I thought about what you said” you whispered. “And I don’t know what to think, I don’t wanna feel what I felt for so long-“
“You won’t” he assured you stepping closer.
“I promise you I’ll give you every damn piece of me, whatever you need, baby I just can’t lose you again.” His eyes desperate, he meant every word he said. You didn’t respond at first, just quietly looked up at him before taking a deep breath.
“Can I stay the night?” You whispered as a look of relief took over him. He pulled you in closer, God he wanted to kiss you and you knew he did but you watched him stop himself.
“Kiss me you-“ Joel dropped the lantern and slammed your body against him taking your lips with his. You could feel the urgency he had for you, how much he missed your touch. You could feel how badly he never wanted to lose you again.
Warnings: Swearing, angst, fluff, unspecified age gap, misunderstanding, use of Y/N.
Word count: 1,280
Joel isn't used to this. It's been decades since he'd had a meaningful relationship. Decades since he's had to show a woman any sort of affection in public. He barely remembers any good times with Sarah's mother and Tess was on the same page as him; fuck and forget. It suited him just fine... until he met you. Patrolling together had unexpectedly brought you both closer over time and one drunken evening at the Tipsy Bison had lead to an unforgettable night in his bed. Since then you'd both been insatiable for each other, stealing moments whenever you could, both of you acting like horny teenagers. And now that you've both decided to make the relationship public, he has to face the dreaded PDA.
It's not that he hates it per say; he's just not accustomed to such open affection, and given some of the snide comments that had circulated in the past couple of weeks, the last thing he wants is for you to regret anything. The Tipsy Bison is lively tonight; a birthday party for one of the construction workers. Drinks are flowing, the jukebox is pumping and laughter fills the bar. Joel has his hand on your leg under the table, his thumb stroking your thigh. Tommy and Maria sit at the opposite side where Joel knows they can't see what he's doing. But the moment Ellie, Dina and Jesse approach, he pulls his hand away as if he's just been burned.
In the corner of his eye, he notices your head turn his way and he doesn't have to look at you to know what expression you're wearing right now. In fact, he won't look at you; it'll kill him to see that same hurt in your eyes that you can never hide every time he pulls away, wether it be from your hand in the street, or a hug that's gone on too long. Ellie and her friends settle at the table, yapping about anything and everything. Joel keeps his attention on them, all the while the guilt eats away at him. Your hand brushes his knee and without thinking he jerks it away. The next hour passes and he can tell you're putting up a cheery front. He feels like shit! Tommy has his arm around Maria as they speak, the two of them the picture of comfort.
A slow song comes on the jukebox and you instantly perk up. "Oh, I love this song. I haven't heard it in years. Joel, we have to dance!" You jump up and grab his hand, trying to pull him to his feet. "Not right now, darlin'," he says, attempting to pull his hand back but you won't let go. "Come on!" you grin enthusiastically. Annoyance flares under Joel's skin. "I'm not feeling it, okay." "Joel-" "I said no, damn it! Just stop!" It came out before Joel could even think and every head at the table turns to him. Regret hits him square in the chest as the smile on your face falls along with your hand. He's sure your chin just twitched and your cheeks are beet red.
"Joel..." Tommy begins, a rebuke in his tone but you cut him off. "It's okay," you insist through a forced smile at everyone at the table. Grabbing your glass, you sink the last of your drink and put it down with more force than necessary. "You know what, it's been a long day and I'm a little tired. I'm just gonna head off home." Joel watches with a lump in his throat as you make for the door. He calls your name but you don't stop. "Dude, what the hell...?" exclaims Ellie, staring daggers at Joel. "Don't, Ellie-" "No, she's right," Maria backs Ellie up. "You we're an absolute prick to her just now." Joel sits back in his chair, groaning as he rubs a hand over his face. "Shit," he mumbles under his breath then takes off after you.
In the snowy street your figure stands out against the white dusting. "Y/N, wait," Joel calls, rushing after your retreating form. You ignore him and carry on. "Darling... hold on!" Joel grabs your shoulder, spinning you to face him. Tears shine in your eyes against the light of the lampposts. "I'm sorry. I- shouldn't have done that." "Damn right you shouldn't have done that!" you snap, voice shaky. "What the hell is wrong with you, Joel?!" "I just... I didn't want to dance, but I shouldn't have spoken to you like that." You narrow your eyes at Joel and cross your arms over your chest. "There's something else going on with you. Ever since we became official you've been acting weird. Most of the time, you won't touch me in public or let me touch you. Are you ashamed to be seen with me? Is that it?!" "W-what...? No!" Joel sputters, his heart sinking. Oh, You have so got the wrong idea.
"Then what is it?" you imlpore as a tear rolls down your cheek. "You humiliated me in there! You've been hot and cold with me for the past couple of weeks and I've been wracking my brain try'na figure out what I've done wrong." Joel steps into your personal space, his calloused palms cupping your cheeks. He wipes the tears away gently with his thumbs. "Darling, you've done nothing wrong, do you hear me?! It's not you, it's me." "Oh, really?" you scoff, rolling your eyes. "I mean it," Joel insists, his eyes boring into yours. He releases your face and takes a step back, shoving his hands in his pockets. "I'm- I'm not good at this..." he sighs, hating the vulnerability in his voice. "I'm not used to... showing affection in public. I know people have been talking about us, our age gap and stuff..." he huffs, pulling a hand out of his pocket and running it through his curles. "...and I guess I just didn't want to give them anymore ammunition."
You laugh, bitterly. "Are you telling me that you, Joel Miller, care what other people say about you?!" "Not me." Joel shakes his head. "I care about what they say about you. I just don't want you to think you've made a mistake with me." " I couldn't give a shit what people say about me, Joel... or about our age gap. I want you, I don't want to hide anything. I want to show everyone how important you are to me, and if anyone has a problem with that, fuck them!" Joel is momentarily taken aback by the determination in your voice. He really underestimated you. "You're right. Fuck them," he says after a moments silence. "Come on." Joel slips his hand into yours, pulling you towards the bar. Despite your protestations, you follow as he leads you both though the doors and onto the dancefloor.
He pulls your body into his, wrapping your arms around his neck and his arms around your waist. The look of surprise on your face has him smiling. "Joel, what are you doing?" "Showing them how important you are to me," he replies, pressing his forehead to yours. "I'm sorry Y/N. I was an idiot-" "No arguments there," you tease. Joel chuckles, swaying you both to the slow music. "I'll do better, I promise. How can I make it up to you?" You smile, releasing a huff of air along with the tension in your body. "Just promise me you won't shut me out or pull away from me again." Joel grips your hips, pulling you in for a long, deep kiss. Breaking it, he places his forehead on yours and whispers, "I promise."
Summary: All you wanted was to escape the planet keeping you enslaved. You find your chance when a bounty hunter tears apart the fortress where you're kept, but when you sneak onto his ship as a stowaway and accidentally see his face, your freedom and life are at risk once again.
Warnings: explicit language, reader is a slave (it's mentioned a few times sex is part of that but there's nothing graphic or explicit described, just woeful resignation), some canon typical violence, slow burn
The chains around your ankles and wrists jangle as you shuffle behind one of the stewards. As usual, he's unforgiving; tugging on the chain when you fall behind, causing you to stumble, and then scolds you sharply when you fall, reminding you bruises and cuts are unacceptable given your job.
That job being a... companion. Often times you're required to just serve food, clean up, and look pretty while doing it. But then other times, more is requested of you, and it appears today is one of those times.
Thankfully, you never had to service the army who imprisons you. They don't seem like the sexual sort of creatures, whatever they are. You and the other two girls have figured out by now that they're an army for hire. They're primarily put on this planet to train and defend. But in the past, they have occasionally made you available to any guests or visitors who stop by, either as a way to create an alliance, or to act as payment for some service rendered.
The steward tugs you forward but stops you before opening the door. He inspects you up and down, curling a thick lip at your ratty excuse for a dress. He sniffs you to make sure you're clean and you flinch away—they don't usually hit you where it can leave a mark, but you're still timid.
When you're deemed acceptable, he straightens up and knocks politely on the door. He doesn't wait, just pauses before gently cracking it open. You follow behind with your head bowed, mostly so you can watch where you're walking, but also as a sign of respect. When you lift your chin, the steward is standing in front of you, blocking your view.
He makes a series of clicks and grunts in his native language, one you haven't yet mastered but have figured out bits and pieces based on context. You catch the words for food, night, and sweet. Then he steps to side, revealing you to... a droid?
At least, he looks like a droid. While the steward unchains your hands and feet, you stare at the shiny metal man sitting on the couch across the room. He looks comfortable but also like he's ready to spring into action at any moment. His knees are spread wide, arms spread even wider across the back of the couch, and he watches silently. Or, you think he watches. It's impossible to tell because he's wearing a helmet. The longer you look, the more details you take in. Hardened steel plates cover most his body. His cape is tattered at the end. Gloves are a thick, worn leather. Boots are heavy and lined with artillery.
What... is this man? You've never seen anything like him before. Stars, you hope he's human.
The steward then excused himself, leaving you alone with your droid-man. He doesn't move a muscle, doesn't make a sound. You fidget nervously and glance around the room, eyes snagging on the feast that had been laid out for him. As if on cue, your stomach growls, but you quickly clear your throat to cover the noise and focus your attention back on your quiet client.
"I hope you're enjoying your time on our planet," you murmur with a smile. Typically this is the time when the other person responds, but apparently your droid-man isn't very good at conversation because he continues to just stare you down through his pitch black visor.
You take a few steps toward him, sandled feet sinking into the plush carpet. It's so soft and so much nicer than the hard, cold cell you're used to. When you get a foot away from his knees, you stop and fiddle with your dress.
"Would you like me to rub your shoulders? Or bathe you?" you offer sweetly. A long minute passes where yet again, he says nothing. "That armor looks so heavy, you must be strong," you try again before slowly stepping between his spread knees. "Would you like to take it off and show me?"
You're giving him your flirtiest smile. You're batting your lashes and subtly inching your dress up to expose more leg. Your nipples are even poking through the thin material... how is he just sitting there, not doing anything? Are you... doing something wrong? Does he speak Basic?
Your smile wavers with a flicker of insecurity. What is this? Why isn't he doing anything? If he ends up rejecting you, you can only imagine the sort of torture you'll have to endure from the master. Fear trickles down your spine as your mind races to think of something, anything, that will get him to relax.
Well, there's one thing you know a man can't resist. With a sultry smile, you stare right into his visor as you sink slowly to your knees. You think you see his helmet shift but the movement is so minuscule that you wonder if your eyes are playing tricks. Both hands carefully rest on top of his bent knees, then you begin to slide them up, over the cold steel covering his legs until they stop right at the apex of his thighs. Your gaze breaks away to look down at his lap and relief floods through you when you see it.
"Ah, so you are human," you grin before reaching for the noticeable bulge in his pants. Before your fingers even come close, he's snatching your hand away and hauling you up. It all happens so fast that the pain doesn't even register until you collide harshly with his chest plate and you cry out a soft curse.
"I—I'm—I'm s-sorry—"
His helmet tilts. The grip around your wrist is still too tight. The way he has your body stretched upwards is causing one of his plates of armor to dig into your ribs and all you can do is wince because there is no getting out of his hold.
A choked sob gets lodged in your throat and tears fill your eyes. "P-Please, I-I-I'm sorry... the—they'll hurt m-me if I—I'll d-do anyth—anything you w-want—"
"How many are there?"
The filtered growl in your ear is entirely unexpected because, honestly? You still kind of thought he might have been half droid. But from the four words he's offered you, it sounds like he's all man under there.
"Ho—how many—wha—who?"
His grip tightens and you whimper in fear.
"How many soldiers?" he snaps, and it takes you a minute because you truthfully don't know, nor do you understand why he wants to know, but most importantly if you don't give him a good answer, you're afraid he might break your arm.
"Um, we—we don't g-get out—I'm kept—" A ragged sound rips from your throat and to your dismay you realize you're shaking. "—I've never c-count—counted, but... right n-now? At least... th-three hundred."
It's a reasonable guess. The army rotates in shifts—when one or two are disbanded to other planets to fight, the third battalion remains here, to protect their home, rest, and train new soldiers. And to the best of your knowledge, the last ship you heard that left was two weeks ago, roughly a month after the first ship. You manage to tell him all of this and at last, he seems pleased.
Droid-man releases you and you fall to the floor, clutching your wrist and murmuring your gratitude as you try to steady your breathing.
"Do you have somewhere safe to hide?" He stands and strolls across the room to the food, leaving you a trembling pile on the floor.
"Uh—we ha—have. Cells. They're reinforced so we can't escape."
You watch him pick at a pile of fruit with his gloved hand, but then he pauses and slowly turns his whole body in your direction.
"Escape?" he echos. He's holding a green fruit in his hand and your stomach grumbles again.
"Yes." Your answer is short. There's a silence between you for a stretch of time, long enough for your wrist to stop hurting and for you to haul yourself up from the floor onto the couch. He's impossible to read with a helmet on, so you don't bother trying. Instead, you subtly readjust your dress and fix your hair, hoping to salvage the reason you were sent here in the first place.
"Come here."
Even through the modulator, his voice is low and firm. You rise to your feet and give him a soft smile, doing as your told despite the fear that lingers in the back of your mind. You watch your reflection in his helmet as you get closer and closer, then stop when you're near enough to tilt your chin up and look at him. He's tall and broad. He commands a room with his stature, no doubt leaving his enemies quaking, and his silent nature just makes him that much more formidable and... interesting.
"Would you like me to feed you?" you ask with practiced sweetness.
There's a long pause then and you're beginning to think he enjoys making you squirm, but you continue to bat your lashes and gaze up at him with complete ease because after the way he just manhandled you, you don't want to give him the satisfaction of your discomfort.
"No," he finally says, then lifts the hand with the fruit. "Open."
Your face falls. You blink at his hand a few times before you find your voice.
"What?" you breathe.
"I said—" He brings his hand closer so the fruit is just barely grazing your lower lip. "—open. You need to eat."
You shouldn't. They don't like it when you eat the food designed for their guests. But your stomach twists and your mouth waters from the sweet scent of the fruit and then your jaw drops obediently. Your gaze flickers back up to his visor and you don't dare look away as he slowly slips the fruit into your mouth. Your lips wrap around his leather bound fingers with a moan. Before he tears his hand away, you notice the brief shudder rolling through his shoulders and you have to hide your smirk behind your hand.
"You're so generous," you purr when he offers you more, but this time on a plate, "would you allow me to repay your kindness in another way?"
His weight shifts and he shakes his head. "No."
You're disappointed. For the first time, you actually wanted to hear the other man in this room say yes. But what truly worries you more is the steward standing just outside and what he will do when he finds out their guest wasn't satisfied with their offering. Giving your thoughts away, your gaze nervously flickers to the door and your companion reads your mind.
"They won't know. It won't matter soon, anyway."
Slowly, you turn back to your droid-man. With a curious tilt of your head, you study him for a moment while you slowly chew on the delightful fruit plate.
"What do you mean?"
Something lights up on his gauntlet and you don't get your answer.
"You said your cell is reinforced?" he asks with his focus still aimed down to his wrist.
"Yes..." you say slowly before taking another bite.
"Good. Stay there. You should be safe."
Then he whips around, cloak snapping in the air from the force as he stalks towards the door. Fear grips you then. With wide eyes, you call out and to your shock, he skids to a stop.
"You can't," you tell him, "it's only been a few minutes. They—they'll know."
"They won't." His back is still turned to you from where he stands. Your feet move quickly and quietly across the floor. When you get close enough, you set your plate down and gently glide your palms over the broadness of his shoulders.
"Just stay a little longer," you coo, "I can make it worth your while."
"I told you, no." Yet he still hasn't stepped away.
"Hm, I don't know about that." Your hands drag down his back, slowly, and even though there's a thick layer of steel separating your hands from his skin, he shivers. "From what I saw earlier, you seemed very interested," you tease. It's a risk—he might not like that. He might even turn and strike you. But you want to test him. You want to humanize him a little bit.
The helmet pivots left. "Knock it off," he tells you sternly. With a pout, you reluctantly drop your hands.
"Maybe you are half droid, after all," you grumble as he marches towards the door once again. His hand falls on the knob but pauses to address you over his shoulder.
"Not a droid," he says, the last word laced with disgust. "Mandalorian."
And with that, the door whips open and he's gone, leaving you standing alone in the lavish guest room.
"What the hell is a Mandalorian?" you say to yourself right before the steward barges into the room to retrieve you, chains in hand.
***
Rocks, debris, and blaster beams fill every corridor, it seems. The explosions started shortly after you were returned to your cell, then one of the walls took heavy damage and left a crack just big enough for a person to squeeze through. The other girls were too terrified to leave, but some flash of bravery struck you and before you could give it another thought, you just... did it. You fucking did it. You ran. But now that you're by yourself, struggling to find your way through a literal active warzone, you're beginning to wonder if you made the right choice.
Of course you did, you remind yourself just as another bomb goes off nearby. You stumble to the ground with a cry, but no one hears you. Screams and commander orders in a series of clicks can be heard all around, but it's impossible to see through the smoke and rubble.
When you stand, you take three steps and slip, falling in a puddle of... blood? It's sticky and thick but it's blue. You try not to dwell on the smell of death as you push yourself to your feet and keep going.
You don't have a plan. Once you escape the fortress, then what? Hide on this planet? You don't even know what planet you're on, let alone if anyone else inhabits it.
It doesn't matter. It's better than being a slave, you think as you scramble over a fallen stone pillar. It's rough on your hands. They're scraped and bleeding and covered with dust and sand, but you don't stop. You can't stop.
To your right, there's clear air. You'll need to climb through destruction and over dead bodies, but it's there—freedom.
With one more fearful glance around, you run. You run towards your best chance at survival. Bruised and battered feet carry you over the broken walls and glass. Weak, dirty fingers clear your path. You keep your focus on the sliver of night sky you can see through the smoke and dust. Over the pile of thick stone, slide past three dead soldiers with their black eyes still wide open, shimmy through the broken window and don't stop when you dress tears on a shard of glass.
And finally—finally—you're outside.
You take a very brief moment to breathe the fresh air in deep. When was the last time you were outside? Stars... you've lost count of the days.
Another explosion and more blaster fire erupts somewhere behind you and you break out into a sprint, into the darkness. You have no idea where you're going. Anything could snatch you and kill you out here. You might be running full speed into a huge body of water, for all you know. But you don't care because it's better to die free than live and be a slave.
You run like never before. Your feet pound the dirt, your breath comes in short bursts, your hair flies wildly around your face. Your lungs burn and your hips are starting to ache but you can't stop smiling because you're free. The smile dissolves into laughter which eventually becomes happy tears streaming down your face. You slow down then because it's hard to see, and that's when you realize you're deep in a forest. Leaning tiredly against a tree trunk, you take a few minutes to desperately drag more oxygen into your lungs while looking around.
The plant life isn't anything you're accustomed to seeing. Everything is so thick and lush. The trees have branches that extend upwards for miles. The shrubs are bright orange and softer than silk. When you curiously touch one, it shrivels up, but you find after a while, it unfurls itself once again, fanning its leaves out to bask under the bits of moonlight from... three moons? Yes, three that you can see through the branches.
Fortunately, you don't hear any creatures. The forest is silent, except for the soft sway of leaves in the gentle breeze. If you hold your breath, you can still hear blaster fire and buildings crumbling in the distance.
Good. You must have made it very far.
Food and water will be a concern soon, but you aren't too worried. This forest wouldn't be so lush if there isn't a water source around. If you keep walking, you'll find it.
And that's exactly what you do. You start walking, stepping carefully over shrubs and rocks and uneven ground as you explore the forest until you find it—a small waterfall tucked discreetly within the trees. Looking up, you hardly see any night sky. The branches hide this little oasis perfectly. Maybe this will be a good place to call home base for a while.
With shaky hands, you kneel down to cup the sparkling clear water in your hands. You drink and drink and drink until you have your fill and then you sit back happily to gently clean yourself—Maker, when was the last time you had a proper bath? The steward lets you take a sonic shower before seeing guests but it's nowhere near as clean and refreshing as actual water.
After slipping your torn dress back over your head, you decide it will be a good idea to find a place to sleep. It's hard to see in the dark, but you move and feel around anyway, determined to find somewhere safe. What you don't expect is to run smack dab into something very hard, big and metal.
"Ow!" you exclaim, rubbing the spots on your body that came in contact with the foreign object. With a frown, you squint into the darkness to decipher what could be hiding out in the woods like this. You walk and feel around until it dawns on you and you gasp.
It's a... ship. A ship!
Are you a pilot? Absolutely not. But it's worth a try to get off this death trap of a planet.
It's easy enough to open the hatch. That's a good sign, you think. You close it behind you, then feel around for a light. There's a panel a few feet away from the hatch and, after trial and error, you find the button for the lights. You blink and close your eyes when the harsh cold lighting flickers on. It hurts from how bright it is, especially compared to the darkness of the forest. It takes a few minutes, but your eyes adjust and you slowly reopen them to look around.
It's a decent sized ship. Not terribly big inside. In far corners there are some crates covered by netting, which is bolted to the walls. You make a mental note to search them for food later before you keep looking. Straight across from the telescopic gate you just walked is huge slabs of what looks like silver resin built into the wall on hinges so you can flip them like pages in a book. You're hypnotized for a moment, inching closer and closer as you grow more curious. There must be a hundred different buttons for each slab, along with a bright green square screen.
"Emergency release... instant freeze..." you murmur to yourself as you scan the controls, "... thaw... refill..."
What is all this? Too consumed with curiosity, you push two of the slabs apart with a grunt. Stars, they're heavy, you think before they finally spread. Panting for breath, you start to examine the slab, but suddenly stop with a petrified scream.
You have to clap your hands over your mouth to muffle the fearful whimpers that refuse to stay inside. Tears fill your eyes and your stomach churns with disgust but you can't look away—
It's a creature of some kind. A species you haven't seen before, but it's certainly a living thing... encased in metal.
Terror grips your throat. Every alarm in your head is screaming at you to run. And once you're able to collect yourself long enough to slow your breath and dry your tears, that's exactly what you plan to do—run.
Unfortunately for you, as you spin around to open the gate, you hear metal grinding against metal as it begins to unlock on its own and your eyes go wide.
Shit! Whoever owns this ship and has tortured these people is coming back... and all the lights are still on.
Somehow, you smack the wall and turn off the interior lights half a second before the gate starts to open with a metallic groan. You blindly stumble around until you wedge yourself safely behind a large stack of crates in the corner. With your mouth covered to quiet your shaky breaths, you peer through the tiny crack between two crates and watch.
Slow, heavy footsteps echo inside the hull of the ship, growing louder the closer they get. You curl in on yourself even tighter and wait, trembling, for whoever it is to show themselves.
"Mando, I swear! I wasn't hiding! The Vowclan, they kept me captive!"
The lights flash on, illuminating the droid-man—or, the Mandalorian—along with a man you immediately recognize.
Druk.
Druk being held captive? Fat chance. Even though he's human, Druk got the best bunks, the best food, and free rein over the entire fortress. He looked down on you and the other girls like you were cattle. There's a zero percent chance he's telling the truth right now and it's burning you up. Especially because the Mandalorian seems to be hesitating.
"None of my business," comes the familiar, filtered voice, "take it up with the one who put a bounty on your head."
Druk continues to beg but you don't pay attention because there's something else you've noticed. The Mandalorian—he appears to be injured. Even though he has one strong arm guiding the shoulder of his bounty, his body is bent ever so slightly forward, as if he were in pain.
When you watch his free hand come up to swipe the side of his neck, your suspicions are confirmed: blood is smeared across his leather palm.
As if angered by this discovery, the Mandalorian straightens up and shoves Druk forward—hard. He disappears behind a slab but you can hear him begging for his life, for mercy.
"Shut up," Mando snarls, then heaves forward to smack a big red button. He holds himself upright with both arms pinned to the metallic slabs and watches while plums of gas erupt instantly around Druk. His screams are instantly silenced and you squeeze your eyes shut to keep the panic and fear at bay. If he finds you, you'll have the same fate.
Finally, the sound of the gas being released stops. You open your eyes just to close them once again—the room is filled with smoke from the gas, you can't see anything even if you wanted to. Then, you listen to his tired, heavy footsteps scrape across the metal floor. They come to a halt and then there's a slight pause before you hear the gate being lifted and closed.
Stars, you're trapped.
Well, maybe not. Maybe you can hide as a stowaway until he reaches another planet, then you can sneak off and start a new life. Yes, maybe this isn't so bad after all.
The gate latches shut. You heard the metal click into place. You swallow thickly and listen—you hear sounds of metal clanging together again, but it's lighter. Then there's a loud, heavy thud followed by a slight roll—something heavy being dropped to the floor. You hold your breath and wait, too terrified to move a muscle. There's quiet shuffling and the sound of softer materials being shifted and torn, but you don't open your eyes until you hear him curse loudly in agony.
You expect to still see the room filled with smoke, but no. What you see changes your fate forever.
The Mandalorian is standing just a few feet away, hunched over a first aid kit. His gloves are off and discarded next to his feet, along with some trash from whatever items he selected from the kit to tend to his wound. But that's not what draws your attention.
His helmet is gone, lost somewhere on the floor after he ripped it off so he could inspect his wound. What remains now is a mess of chocolate brown curls falling limply every which way. When he shifts and slightly turns his body, you see he has a short beard, too. It dusts nicely around his chiseled jaw and plush lips. Before you can stop it, your gaze sweeps up to his strong, angular nose and lingers for a beat on his deep, rich, dark brown eyes.
Maker... he's handsome. Why would he ever want to hide in a helmet?
It takes you longer than you care to admit to realize his expression is one of great pain. He's still tending to the wound on the side of his neck—it's wrapped up and he's about to inject himself with a large needle. You watch from your spot behind the crates, eyes wide and curious now as the needle gently pierces his tan skin. The low grunt he lets out has your heart skipping a beat against your will, then the needle clatters to the floor. His eyes squeeze shut and he breathes deep for a few seconds as whatever he injected himself with courses through his veins and helps ease the pain.
When his eyes reopen, he looks healthy again. Strong. You'd never had known he was doubled over a minute ago, gasping for breath. Now his breaths are slow and shallow. He's regained control and now that his head is clear, he looks around. With one arm he scoops up his helmet and then stands to push the slab containing a frozen Druk back into the wall. The motion creates a sudden cloud of residual gas that infiltrates the air. The Mandalorian coughs gently into his closed fist before pivoting to hurry up the ladder, which happens to be located right next to your hiding spot.
It's fine. He can't see you from here. You're well hidden behind the crates, even from the side. And he's rushing to get off this planet. There's no way he would—
But then you feel it. Your throat... it tickles low, then squeezes. The fucking gas—it's drifted over to your side of the room and you inhaled too deeply and now... well, now you're about to get yourself killed because you're fighting the urge to cough and losing... badly. Your eyes water. Your lips press together so tightly they feel numb.
Just a few more seconds. Just a few more, and he will be up in the cockpit, and then you—
It's soft. It just barely slips out. And if it were anyone else, they wouldn't have even registered the noise. But you'll soon discover that the Mandalorian isn't like everybody else. Nothing gets past him.
Including your cough.
Everything is a blur. The helmet gets jammed back on at lightning speed, then the crates get shoved aside as if they weighed absolutely nothing.
You can't look. Your eyes clamp shut and you curl in on yourself, as if doing so will make you invisible. Your entire body trembles in a ball when you hear him curse loudly and punch the metal wall above you with so much force you feel it in your feet.
When you hear a soft metallic click, a jolt of fear shoots down your spine and your eyes open.
The reflective metal helmet is staring down at you, unreadable of course. He's not moving an inch, just... staring as tears begin to stream down your face because it takes you a second to realize the click came from the blaster currently aimed right between your eyes.
"P-Please," you beg quietly, "I-I won't—won't tell..."
"Shut up."
But you don't. You can't.
"I pro-promise I w-won't say a-a word," you continue through the steady flow of tears. Panic seizes your throat when his finger wraps around the trigger on the blaster and then your hands lace together as if in worship.
"Please—"
"Shut up! Fuck! I need to... to think!"
You whimper on the floor at his feet, heart just about pounding straight out of your chest. Every muscle is tense, your body unsure whether to run or fight. Both are fruitless but you can't just sit here and let him kill you. You need to at least try to survive.
The gate is up. There's a blaster two inches from your face.
Okay so running and fighting maybe aren't the best choices.
Back to begging, it is.
"I did-didn't see an-anything," you plead, imploring up at him with big watery eyes and a trembling lip.
"You did!" he roared, stepping forward to press the blaster tightly against your forehead. You cry out, body absolutely convulsing with terror at the press of cool steel against your sweaty skin. Sobs constrict your voice and pour openly from your mouth. It's impossible to remain calm now, absolutely sure that you're moments away from death.
"You did," he repeats, slightly more somber this time, "y-you saw... you saw my face."
His voice breaks on the last word, as if it pained him to admit it out loud. As if his entire world had just shattered.
"Not r-really," you blubber, "not... not enough t-to—I won't be able to... identify you. I s-swear it."
"That's not—" The Mandalorian curses under his breath before flexing his fingers around the grip of his blaster. You flinch but keep your eyes pinned on his dark visor—if he's going to kill you, he's going to have to look into your eyes when he does it. "—Nobody can... identify me. That's the fucking problem," he growls through the modulator.
If you weren't moments away from death, you would have asked him what he meant, but right now you don't care. You don't care one bit.
"I'll do an-anything," you continue through the tears, "p-please. Please. You can—you can do wh-whatever you want, I won't f-fight. Just—please—all I w-want is to get off this fucking planet."
He's so quiet and still for a moment. All you can hear is the faint sound of his quick breaths filtering through his helmet while he decides your fate. You swallow and shift forward a little on your knees, sensing that he's considering your plea.
"J-Just take me wherever you're going," you say softly while your hands slowly rise to his belt. "Take me there and—I'll go. I'll go and... I'll forget this ever happened. Please..."
Shaky fingers work on undoing his pants because, truthfully? You don't have much more to offer. But this? This, you're good at. This is something that might prove to him you meant what you said, that he could do anything.
"Stop."
The edge is gone from his voice. You've heard men like this before. They say stop, but what they really want is to walk away knowing they tried to do the right thing.
"I want to show you," you say, "what I can offer. If it's not good, then shoot me."
Right as you're about to reach inside his pants, his free hand grabs your wrist and you're in the same situation as you were two hours ago.
There's a tense few minutes where he just stares at you on the floor, fingers like steel around your arm and blaster still aimed directly between your eyes. You swallow thickly and don't move a muscle. You just stare right back with tear soaked cheeks and a quivering lip.
"It's not that simple," he finally says. "I can't just... let you go."
"Why?"
There's a pause. Then—"I swore an oath."
You blink up at him, slowly.
"...What?"
Something on his forearm starts to make some noise, and when you look down, you notice a red light blinking. His chin drops to look at it too and he curses before dropping both hands to his side. A shaky sigh of relief slips past your lips when the steel is no longer pressed against your skin, but it's short lived because a moment later, he has a pair of binders in his hand.
Your heart sinks.
"You don't need to—I won't do—"
"It's either this or the carbonite."
He points to the giant slabs of frozen metal and you audibly gulp.
"O-Okay, fine."
You present your wrists and flinch only a little bit when they tighten around your skin, an unfortunately very familiar feeling.
"We need to get off this planet," the Mandalorian tells you while leading you to another part of the hull. You sigh inwardly when you realize he's buckling your shackles to the wall, preventing you entirely from wandering around the ship.
One gloved hand grasps the ladder and then he stops, thinking about something for a second before stepping back and pulling something dark from a closed cabinet near the fresher.
"Here."
He tosses you a blanket and you could cry with relief because the cold metal floors you're currently kneeling on with your very thin and ratty dress is already causing your bones to ache.
He's about halfway up the ladder when you boldly ask a question.
"Does this mean you're not going to kill me?"
He comes to an abrupt halt. The shiny helmet on his shoulders turns to the right and you hold your breath, waiting. But then after a beat he begins to climb again, closing the door firmly behind him, leaving your question unanswered.
i saw you're looking for rqs, so how about clark kent with reader who's prone to fainting in the heat? i am SUFFERING with the heatwave where i live rn, i dont request often but this is a need 🙏
Sunshine
Warnings: fainting, mentions of blood, blood pressure, slight angst, fluff, let me know if there’s anything else <33
a/n: i feel this so much. the uk is so so so hot at the moment i've just been sat in front of my fan all day. I hope you like it! <33
Word count: 1.4k
For the last three days, there’s been a heatwave in Metropolis. Temperatures have risen, air conditioning splutters, and there’s nothing work appropriate you can wear to stay comfortable. So you’ve been silently suffering.
No one likes the heat when it’s like this, but you especially struggle in the summer warmth. You’ve struggled in heatwaves in the past, the heat causing your blood pressure to drop, as well as being dehydrated, has made you collapse more than once. Luckily, you’d been at home with your parents or hanging out with a close friend. Not in a professional setting around coworkers.
Today had been the hottest so far, some parts of the country even beating world records, and as soon as you woke up, dripping in sweat, you knew it was going to be a bad day.
Unfortunately, today the planet was extremely busy, and while you usually keep on top of your water intake to decrease the chance of fainting, you got very distracted and only had a sip from your water bottle as soon as you got in.
It wasn’t until lunch time when you started feeling…off.
Clark was the first to notice the pale and clammy state of your face. He’s well aware of your fainting spells, and ever since you visited his parents last year and collapsed in front of the cows, he’s been very conscious of your blood pressure.
He’s watching from your desk, and he can feel your headache pounding from here. He watches you rub your forehead, let out a shaky breath, and chug the rest of your water.
It’s warm now, and does nothing to help you feel better, so you push your chair out from your desk, and stand up on two wobbly knees. You’re a little woozy, and very confused, turning your head around to try and find the water cooler. You can’t exactly remember where it was.
Your legs shake, and you catch yourself on the side of your desk. You take a moment to close your eyes, the room’s started swaying, and you’re not sure if you can make it to excuse yourself to somewhere less busy.
You take a tentative step away from your desk, and your legs immediately buckle. Clark moves before anyone else even realises something’s wrong.
One moment, he was sitting at his desk typing up an interview, the next he’s got his hands on his waist just as you begin to lose consciousness.
“Woah-hey. I got you.“ He frowns. His hands move and one settles carefully on the back of your head as he brings you against his chest, the other steadying your back before you could hit the floor.
Your body goes limp against him, and he shakes you slightly. “[Y/n]?” He asks.
You let out a hum. You’re still slack against him, but not completely. You make a weak, wobbly attempt to stand but your knees refuse to cooperate. Clark tightens his hold enough to keep you upright.
“Easy…” He murmurs, lowering his voice. “I’ve got you.”
Your eyelashes flutter. “Clark?”
“Yeah, I’m here. You’re okay.” He coos, brushing the hair out of your face.
The surrounding office has barely noticed the commotion, but Lois has, already abandoning her desk while Jimmy jumps out of his chair.
“Is she okay?” Lois asks.
Jimmy panics. “What happened?”
Clark nods, barely taking notice of them. All of his attention is on you, the way your heart’s beating, the slow pressure of your blood. Your skin is still clammy, and your breathing has become shallow.
“Can you hear me?” He says softly, arms still around your waist and on the back of your head.
Your browns pinch and your eyes stay closed. “…I…”
Your words come out slow and slurred, like your slipping through quicksand or dragging through mud.
“…I don’t…feel..” You take in a breath. “Well…”
“I know, I know. We’re gonna get you sorted.” He nods, slowly guiding you back towards your chair.
He turns to Lois. “Can you get some cold water, please.
She nods. “On it. Jimmy, get some ice packs.”
“Got it!” He says, and bounces off towards the break room.
They both leave, and Clark lowers you into the chair, and you’d almost flop forward if it weren’t for his hand on your shoulder.
You try to blink, but your eyes don’t quite focus on him. Everything is too bright, and the office sounds like it’s all underwater.
‘M’sorry.” You breathe.
He frowns. “What are you sorry for?”
“I…” Your voice is barely audible now, quieter than a whisper, so quiet that he wouldn’t have heard you if he didn’t have super hearing. “I think I'm gonna…”
Suddenly, your eyes roll shut, and your weight fully slumps into Clark’s chest.
“Oh, okay.“ He mutters. He catches you before you slide off the chair, and he slides one arm beneath your knees, the other supporting your back as he moves you off the chair.
“We’re gonna move to the conference room, okay?” He says, even if you're unconscious. “It’s cooler in there.”
As he moves to the other room, Jimmy and Lois catch him up, supplies in hand.
“She out cold?” Lois asks.
Clark hums. “She gets like this when it’s hot. She’ll be alright once we cool her down.”
Jimmy opens the door, and Clark settles you carefully onto the couch beside the conference table. He thought the couch was much more comfortable than the floor, and you don’t deserve that.
He takes one of the pillows and uses it to prop your legs up, hoping to get the blood flowing. He then grabs the ice pack from Jimmy, and places it against your neck, wrapped in paper towels so it doesn’t burn your skin.
He then turns around to Jimmy and Lois who look at you with concern. “You guys can head back to work. She’ll be okay in a minute.” He says. “Thanks for your help, guys.”
He watches them leave, and turns his attention back to you. After a few moments, you stir with a tiny groan.
He smiles, watching your lips form a tiny pout as your eyelashes flutter.
“Hi, honey.” He whispers.
You frown. “Did I pass out?”
He hums, rubbing a finger against the crease of your brow. “Technically twice. You feeling okay?”
“Tired.”
He huffs. “Yeah, I bet.”
He brushes damp hair away from your forehead, and his expression softens the moment his hand meets your skin.
“You’re very warm.”
You let out a sleepy little hum, eyes fluttering shut for a second.
He sighs. “You worried me out there.”
You let your head loll towards him, eyes glossy, lips parted slightly. “I’m sorry.” You whisper. “I should’ve told you I didn’t feel well.”
He nods, and reaches for the cold bottle of water Lois left on the table.
“Think you can sit up for me?” He asks.
You pause. “Maybe.”
“That’s okay.” He says. One arm moves gently around your shoulders, lifting you gently and allowing your blood pressure to adjust. “There we go.” He mutters.
He moves to sit next to you, and your head immediately lands on his shoulder. You’re too exhausted to keep it up, and Clark’s heart melts.
“Comfortable?” He asks. You hum, and he leans down and smiles into your hair before pressing a quick kiss there. “Good.”
He cracks open the bottle, and lifts it to your mouth. “Little sips.” He says.
After a few sips, you pull away, and close your eyes for a while. Your heart has slowed significantly, and your breathing has deepened. He takes your hand, and rubs his thumb over your knuckles.
“I love you, you know that?” He mutters against your temple, then pressing a soft kiss to your hairline.
You pause, and turn your head slowly to look up at him. A shy smile forms on your lips, and you nod softly.
“Of course I do.” You chuckle. “You tell me all the time.”
He grins. “‘Cause I mean it.” He says.
Your tired smile grows, and you lean over to kiss his cheek. “I love you too, you know.”
“I know.” He teases. “You tell me all the time.”
You both smile so hard that just for a second, you forget about the pounding headache, the dizziness, and the fainting spell all together. All you can think about now is how safe you feel tucked into his side.
Clark will have a proper go at you later about keeping on top of the heat, but for now, he’s just grateful you’re okay.
Summary: You help Din and Grogu settle into your home and Gene has a word with Din...
Warnings: Fluff, angst
Word count: 3,261
Chapter 4 Houseguests
Din wasn't sure what to expect, but it certainly wasn't this. This house is far bigger than his home on Nevarro. The exterior with it's bright white paint, wrap around porch and swing seat exude a charming, rustic vibe. Hanging baskets bursting with colourful flora sway in the warm breeze and a cobbled path lined with purple flowers lead up to the porch steps. It's a sobering reminder that he's far away form home. With Grogu beside him in his floating pod, he follows you up the creaking steps and inside the house, with Gene at the rear, closing the door with a soft click. "Please, make yourselves at home," you say, setting your bag down on a shoe rack by the front door. This is all incredibly strange to Din and for once, he's not sure what to do with himself. He looks down at Grogu, who appears as out of his depth as Din feels, his head on a constant swivel, taking in this new temporary abode.
"Come..." you smile warmly at them, "I'll show you around." Wordlessy, Din follows, Grogu right beside him. You lead them through an archway on the left into a spacious living area with a large brown 'L' shaped sofa to his left. A nest of tables is tucked between the end of the sofa and the corner of the wall. On the opposite wall, a grey stone fire place with a wide mantle piece dominates the room and a black, rectangular screen hangs directly above it. A wide bookcase takes up a section of wall to the right of the fire place and a fluffy, sandy coloured rug lies in the center of the dark wooden floor, patches of it lit up in golden tones from the late sunshine spilling in through two large, bay windows. A fluffy blanket, strewn haphazardly across the sofa with a book next to it, and a coaster and half melted candle on the table gives the room a cozy, lived in feeling.
"This is the living room. Feel free to go through the books." You point to the bookcase. "I actually have an encyclopedia on Earth that might answer some of your questions." Din nods. "And through here..." You lead him into the hallway and though an archway on the right. Is the kitchen/diner." Two open planned rooms span the length of the house, three windows allowing plenty of natural light to flood the space. A large six seater table with high backed chairs take up the center of the dining area. A long unit stretches along one wall and a tall potted plant sits in a corner. The other half of the room hosts the most impressive kitchen Din has ever seen. While it's starkly different compared to typical kitchens back home, there are some similarities, such as a large sink and plenty of cupboards along the walls. There's an island with high stools on all sides and the bay window on the right side has a little cushioned nook.
The appliances look a little strange but practical. While the kitchen has an airy vibe, with it's cream and chrome tones, the other rooms have a warmer interior with floral wallpaper and lots of pictures framed on the walls. All in all, Din would have to call your home quaint. "I'll show you to your room," you say and head for the stairs. Din and Grogu follow behind, to the end of a long landing. You open the door and gesture for them to enter. The room has a large double bed in the center, it's wooden headboard pressed up against the wall. At the foot of the bed sits a low, rectangular box with a cushioned top. Two large windows on either side of the bed allow plenty of light in, making the light yellow walls appear even brighter. A tall dark unit with nick knacks all over it takes up the wall to the left and two white slatted doors take up the wall on the right. Din isn't sure what to say or how to even feel about this.
It's not often he's shown such kindness. Usually, everything is transactional; there's always a price or condition, but you haven't asked for anything. It's quite unsettling. Grogu on the other hand, shows no sign of discomfort now, having launched himself from his pod and onto the bed. His breathy giggles fill the air as he bounces up and down. Your chuckle from the doorway pulls Din's attention. "I see someone has no trouble settling in," you grin from where you're leaning, cross armed against the frame. "Grogu..." Din tries to sound authoritative but he can't keep the amusement from his voice. "That's not for jumping on. We're guests here, so we must behave as such." Grogu continues his acrobatics, ignoring his dad. "Oh, he's okay." You wave a hand. "He's too small to do any damage. I have soft toys bigger than him." Din can't help it; that draws a low chuckle from him.
A moment of silence passes, the air between you both humming with... something. He doesn't know how you do it but your eyes find his again and Din's sure he can see a pink tint in your cheeks that wasn't there seconds ago. "Rae-" Din clears his throat and sets his bags on the floor. "I want to tell you again how much we appreciate this. You have a lovely home and I promise you, we won't be a bother while we're here." You smile and shrug, standing up straight. "I don't think you two could ever be a bother." You wink at Grogu, laughing at his giant ears flopping around him, then glance back at Mando, trying to ignore the heat threatening your cheeks. "Uh... my room is the next door on the left..." You point over your shoulder," "Bathroom is the next door after that." You point to the unit and doors in the room.
"You can use the closet and dresser for your things. I'll just leave you both to settle in. Come down whenever you're ready; I'll be in the kitchen." Mando steps towards you, placing one gloved hand on your elbow, his helmet tilted. The intimate gesture catches you off guard and your pulse picks up. "Thank you, Rae, really." The low rumble of Mando's voice, his touch (even through the gloves) causes a flutter under your ribcage. The sudden urge to reach out and touch him is unexpected. "You're welcome, Mando," you smile then turn to leave before you can make any sense of what's happening. Entering the kitchen, you find Gene putting on the coffee machine. He pulls three mugs and a plastic beaker from the cupboard, setting them on the counter, then turns to you, his mouth down-turned. You know that look; it's the same look your Grampa used to give you when you'd do something he didn't agree with.
Sometimes you could swear those two were brothers instead of best friends. "Okay Gene... spit it out," you sigh taking a seat on one of the island stools. Gene sits on a stool on the opposite side, casting a quick glance at the doorway before saying, "Are you sure this is a good idea? Taking them into your house like this." "I couldn't very well leave them out there," you reply. "But you hardly know them," Gene points out. "They're not dangerous, Gene. They've had plenty of opportunity to hurt us if they wanted." You can't help but feel a little defensive, even though you know he makes a fair point. Gene exhales, clasping his hands together on the worktop. His bushy grey eyebrows dip. "You don't have children, Rae. You don't understand the constant worry parents face. I'm just looking out for you." "Gene-" Gene raises his hand and continues to speak. "I'm not saying the man is dangerous.... just... be careful, please. I only care about your safety."
He shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. "I may not be an actual grandfather to you, but you'll always be like my own." Any fight you have within you just drained away at Gene's heartfelt words. He's never been one to express his emotions, so for him to show such vulnerability makes your heart swell. With a smile, you get down off your stool and come around to stand next to him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you press a kiss on his weathered cheek. "You are a grandfather to me, Gene, biology or not." Gene releases a quiet sigh and taps your arm covering the front of him. "I promise I'll be careful," you say, giving him a squeeze. "That's all I ask," Gene nods. "Okay... enough mush." He quickly gets up, ending the hug and you chuckle under your breath. "Let's get some coffee over here."
Little do you or Gene know, but your whole conversation, though spoken quietly, had just been picked up by Din's enhanced settings in his helmet whilst he was coming down the stairs. He's stopped halfway when he'd heard muffled voices and, though he should be offended by what he'd just heard, he can't find it in himself to feel anything other than understanding. For all intents and purposes, you are Gene's grandchild, just like Grogu is his son and he knows full well the worry that Gene speaks of. He'll just have to show him he means you no harm. Glancing down at Grogu in his arm, Din pulls his shoulders back and strolls down the remaining steps and into the kitchen like nothing has happened.
"Hey," you say cheerfully, setting your mug down on the island worktop. "Did you find everything okay up there?" "Yes, thank you," replies Din. "You two thirsty?" You point to the third mug and beaker on the worktop. "Gene made coffee." You smile at Grogu, "Orange juice for you." Grogu immediately leaps from Din's arm and onto a stool, drawing the beaker into his eager hands. "Hold on there, buddy," Gene chuckles, steadying the cup in his hold. Slurping loudly through the straw, Grogu downs it quickly. Din takes the remaining stool, his cape draping over one side. "Thank you but I can't drink it in front of-" "One step ahead of you." You pick up a straw and plop it in the mug, smiling like you'd just uncovered the secrets of the universe. It brings a hint of a smile to Din's lips. You slide the steaming mug of dark brown liquid over to him, the strong odor infiltrating his helmet.
"What did you call it?" He swirls the straw in circles. "Coffee..." It comes out more like a question and you look at him, incredulous. "You've never tried coffee before?" "Nope." Din shakes his head. "Well then..." You wave your hand and dip your head. Positioning the straw under his helmet, DIn takes a sip. The rich, bitter taste hitting his tongue is a pleasant surprise. It's a lot like the Caf he drinks back home. How can two different galaxies have such similarities? he muses. "So what do you think?" Gene asks. "It's good. We have a similar drink in my Galaxy called Caf." "There's plenty more in the pot over there." You point to the coffee maker. Grogu points to it, a little 'Mmm," coming from him. You shake your head. "Too strong for you, sweetie. I'll get you some more juice." "Don't drink it too fast this time," Din adds. You take the beaker and fill it up, placing it down in front of Grogu. "So what's the plan now?" You sit back down, glancing between Mando and Gene.
"We'll head into town tomorrow morning, see what parts we can get," Gene tells you. "We?" Your eyebrows raise up. "Is that wise?" You hope you don't sound rude but a man with armour and an assortment of weapons strapped to him strolling through own isn't going to go un-noticed. "I just mean you'll attract a lot of attention." Mando shrugs. "I'm used to it. Even back home, Mandalorians are few and far between." His voice softens. "You don't need to worry." "But what about Grogu?" you say, worrying your bottom lip. "He'll stay hidden." Mando turns his head to Grogu. "Nothing you haven't done before, hey pal?" Grogu's lips pop off the straw and he nods. A pang of sadness hits you somewhere deep. Why do you get the feeling there's a troublesome story there? You want to ask but now's not the time. "Okay... If you're sure." You give Mando an uncertain smile. Taking a last mouthful of coffee, you rise to your feet and head over to the fridge. "I hope everyone's hungry," you chirp. "I'm making spag bol and garlic bread."
*****
Dinner had gone down a treat with your new guests. Grogu had clearly been more than satisfied- It's a good thing you'd had the foresight to tie a tea towel over his clothes because he's wearing just as much as he ate. The only thing that would have made it perfect is if Mando had stayed to eat with everyone instead of dismissing himself to the patio table on the porch out the back garden. You couldn't help but feel bad for him. When he'd explained the importance of his helmet the other day you didn't really think about how isolating this way of life must be. But if that's how his people chose to live, who are you to judge? At least the baby doesn't have to cover his face and, boy are you glad, because right now, the look of sheer joy on his face as you push up and own on the seesaw in your back garden is worth everything. A rush of memories come to you of happier times when you would play on here with your dad, him pushing up from the ground for the both of you. Now you are the one doing it for Grogu, while he giggles and waves at Mando enthusiastically, the man watching on from a bench on the porch. "Okay, hold on tight, sweetie," you singsong. "We're gonna go a little faster." Grogu's tiny hands grip the handle harder and away you go, much to his delight.
A grin grows under Din's helmet as he watches you and Grogu laughing like neither of you have a care in the world. It's been a long time since he's seen him get to be a child, so he'll savour this moment because maker knows what's in store for them in this world, in this galaxy. He'll worry about that tomorrow, though. "Now that's something I haven't heard in a while," Gene remarks as he sits beside Din, offering him another coffee. Din's head turns towards Gene as he takes the mug, surprised to see the old man regarding you with a wet shine in his eyes and a wistful smile. Looking between you and Gene, Din asks, "What do you mean? Is she okay?" Gene's smile turns troubled. "She will be... in time?" Din frowns. Something about Gene's tone doesn't sit right with him. "What happened?" he probes, hoping he's not overstepping. He doesn't know you and it feels wrong to pry but something tugs in his chest. If something is bothering you, he wants to know.
"It's not my place to say..." Gene begins with a sigh, "...but she's been through a lot, hurt too many times... and by those closest to her." Din's skin prickles, a sense of injustice on your behalf darkening his mood. Who the hell would want to hurt you? You've been nothing but warm and kind and selfless from the moment he met you. Just the idea of someone wronging you makes him want break some bones. "She's got a soft heart, my Rae," Gene smiles sadly, breaking Din from his train of thought. "She does," he agrees, some of the tension melting away as he returns his gaze to you. "It's one of her best qualities," Gene continues, "But it's also one of her worst." Din sits up straight, his head turning to the man, who's giving him a serious look. "How so?"
"Soft hearts can be crushed. She's suffered enough already." Gene's voice drops lower, his stare hard. "She doesn't need anymore pain in her life." Din knows that tone; a friendly threat. This short, pudgy pensioner just threatened a fully armed warrior without even a hint of fear and all to protect you. He can respect that. "I would never hurt her," he says, resolute. "And neither will anyone else while I'm here." Gene's eyes close for a split second, a small, relieved smile tugging below his peppery mustach. "Good man." He slaps Din on his shoulder pauldron. "It's what I like to hear."
*****
Later in bed that night, Din can't take his mind of his conversation with Gene. She's been hurt too many times... and by those closest to her. By whom? That's the question niggling away at him. He'd seen the photographs downstairs: Some of you as a child with a tall, dark haired man who shares the same eyes as you; presumably your father. Others where the two of you are with an aging couple, grandparents, perhaps. There are some of you - maybe a few years younger than you are now, with the same couple, only they're older, even some with Gene in them. And in every picture, you look happy, so they can't be the people gene had spoken of. Din let's out a tired sigh and rolls onto his side on top of the quilt, willing his mind to quiet. Why does the thought of you hurting bother him so much? Beside the bed, tiny snores come from the floating pod. Din pulls his helmet off and places it beside him, inhaling the cooler air.
Without the aid of his helmet he can only see part of Grogus face in the moonlight, peaceful and content. The little bugger can fall alseep anywhere. "It's alright for some," Din chuckles quietly and rolls back onto his back, staring up at the ceiling. It's going to be a long night. In the next room, the ceiling also has an audiance. Sleep has eluded you so far, but that's not surprising. You have literal visitors from another world- another galaxy- sleeping in the room next to yours; the most unbearably adorable creature you've ever seen and the most mysterious and... fascinating man you've met in your life. You don't even know what he looks like and yet, you find yourself drawn to him. His confidence, his low, raspy voice, the way he cares for his son... It stirs a warmth in your chest, something you haven't felt in a long time.
But just as sudden as it comes, it fizzles. They won't be here for long, you tell yourself. They have to go home. A knot twists in your gut, knowing this acquaintance is temporary and once they're gone it's extremely unlikely you'll ever see them again. You rub your hands over your eyes and sigh. It's okay, your inner voice says. People leave; it's just a part of life. It's better this way, anyway. No attachments means no one gets hurt when it's time to say goodbye. It's best to just focus on making their short time here as pleasant as possible; nothing more, nothing less. With that in mind you shift onto your side, pull your quilt up to your chin and close your eyes.
Summary: One nasty fever and too much medicine are all it takes for Din Djarin to finally admit what months of stolen glances and terrible flirting couldn't. The good news: you remember every word. The even better news: you've been waiting for him to say it.
Warnings: Fluff, medicine-induced honesty, Din being down bad, Grogu acting as emotional support, yearning, first kiss, established feelings, mild fever delirium, one (1) stubborn Mando.
Word count: 2.8k
Notes: My second fic for Din ever! Yay. Also, to everyone who sent me requests, I promise I am working hard on them! Once again, so sorry if some of the information is off canon or something. I have barely scratched the first season of the show.
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Miserable.
If Din Djarin could use one word to sum up the illness that was running its course through his exhausted body right now, it would be miserable.
He couldn’t remember the last time he was actually sick. He would sustain some grueling injuries more often than not, but this was something else.
His voice was hoarse, his muscles ached profoundly, and he swore he could feel this fever down to bones.
The Razor Crest felt remarkably humid, and Maker, all the beskar that covered Din’s body didn't help.
You’d done your best to take care of him, doting on him every chance you got, but that didn’t change how uncomfortable it was to be in a full suit of armour while he felt his absolute worst.
You knew Din was especially stubborn, but that didn’t deter you from trying to convince him to take off the beskar.
You’d managed to keep the ship cool, turning the temperature down to the point where you were past freezing, but your comfort was the last thing on your mind.
Taking care of a certain sick Mandalorian was first.
Trying to balance taking care of the child and doting on Din at the same time was a lot of work, but you were managing. Grogu seemed to understand that the usually menacing bounty hunter was a little under the weather right now.
Anytime you would bring Din medicine, water, soup, anything – little footsteps would follow tightly behind you.
The child babbled at your side when you placed a bowl of warm soup by the cot, worried about his dad.
“I know, honey,” you said softly while the child was looking up at you with his big, round eyes. His green ears tilted down slightly. “He’s not himself today, is he?”
In response, Grogu cooed and reached up to signal that he wanted you to hold him. You obliged of course.
You couldn’t help but feel a surge of warmth in your chest. It was almost cute seeing Din like this. A man usually so intimidating and reserved was now reaching out for you and the child, acting like he’d just been shot as he reached for the bowl of soup.
If you were completely honest, you liked being his medic. Especially when you had such a cute helper by your side.
You sighed, looking at the sick Mandalorian.
“That bad, huh?”
He groaned in response.
Even though you couldn’t see his face, you knew that behind his helmet, he couldn't have been smiling.
“Let’s let dad eat and rest, okay little one?” you said to the child in your arms. He made a small noise in agreement, and you grabbed a thin blanket before the two of you made your way outside.
Din had set the Razor Crest down in a quiet, forgotten stretch of space on a planet with no name that mattered since the two of you were in between traveling when he’d gotten sick.
It was beautiful here. Wide, open fields of grass and meadows. The wind was crisp and there was a river that quietly rippled nearby. A beautiful planet that was so peaceful and full of life.
As you wrapped the blanket around yourself, you watched the child play in the grass and wobble around. You smiled to yourself at the sight, your heart feeling warm again. You’d imagined a life like this before:
Just you, Din, and the child living a peaceful, quiet life off the grid.
You had a feeling it may have crossed Din's mind, too.
Grogu made a happy noise snapping you out of your thoughts as you watched him pick up little things such as flowers and pebbles with the force. A small laugh escaped your lips.
“Good job, little guy!”
The child made more noises of excitement and happiness, and you felt complete. The only thing missing was Din beside you.
You’d been too preoccupied to notice, but Din had been watching you and Grogu from the ship. He’d gotten up to get some water, too stubborn to bother you for something so simple, and noticed that you were outside.
Din felt his heart beat faster in his chest as he watched.
Why’d you have to be so cute?
He wondered if you knew that he thought about you in this way, but he was leaning towards no.
The wind tugged at the edges of your blanket as your hair blew softly in the wind, and Grogu was still mindlessly wandering outside with your company.
It was astonishing how something so simple made him feel so many things.
Quietly, he made his way back to bed to rest, silently wishing you’d come and dote on him so he could catch a glimpse of your face again.
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“Hey, you.”
Your soft voice woke Din out of his sleep, and the gentle touch of your hands on his shoulder made his heart flip.
“You’re here…” he grumbled as his gloveless hand came to touch yours. You felt your cheeks heat up slightly and you let out a hum of acknowledgment.
He’d never done that before. Especially not with his gloves off.
It took all your strength to pull your hand away from his. You held up a small glass bottle.
“Medicine,” you announced softly. “It’ll help you feel better.”
“Don’t need it.”
You sighed and shook your head with a smile.
The stubbornness of this grown man, you thought.
“I’m going to leave this here in case you need it, then. Rest up, Mando.”
Mando.
The nickname made him perk up for a moment; he loved hearing your voice. He watched you quietly leave again, but he wished that you’d stay.
Your touch was so warm. Again, he found himself wondering if you knew what you were doing to him.
Din had been…testing the waters recently, so to say.
He was trying to see if you noticed the subtle things he did or said. Then, he would study you carefully to gauge your reaction. It was never anything super forward or out there, but he’d been trying in his own way.
At first, he started standing a little closer to you when there was space for him to be further. Just to see. He wouldn’t move away if you stepped into his space.
One time, he even placed his hands gently against your waist while trying to move past you. He noticed that when he did that, your cheeks went rosy.
Did you like when he did that? He desperately wanted to know.
Then his tone when speaking changed too.
He was reserved when you first came into his life. Very stoic and independent. He’d mostly nod to acknowledge what you said, but slowly and surely, he started to break.
Din reflected on that one time he slipped up and called you mesh’la, but luckily, you didn’t notice.
The growing ache in his body pulled Din away from his thoughts. Reality was so much worse than his fantasies with you in it.
Hesitantly, he reached over for the bottle of medicine you left. He was admitting defeat; this fever was awful.
Skimming over the instructions printed on the back of the glass, he lifted his helmet ever so slightly and downed the bottle.
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After preparing dinner for both you and Grogu, as well as another bowl of soup for Din, you heard babbling and squeals coming from where the Din was resting.
Glancing back at the table where you last placed the little green child to sit, you noticed he was missing.
“Sweetheart?" you asked softly, calling out to the child.
You walked into where Din was sleeping earlier, but he was up now. He was sitting upright and playing with Grogu. You sat on the edge of the cot with a warm smile, catching the attention of both Din and the kid.
“You’re up,” you said with surprise. “Feeling better?”
“There you are.” Din’s voice sounded slightly slurred through the modulator, the medicine clearly working its magic. He tilted his head and looked directly at you. “I like when you’re here.”
Your eyes widened. Was this just the cold medicine talking for him, or were your suspicions right?
“Din," you asked. “Did you take the entire bottle?”
“Yes.”
“You’re only supposed to take, like, half of that…”
“Oh.”
“Are you feeling alr–“
“You’re really pretty.”
You froze as his words interrupted yours.
Surprise was written on your face as you blinked. He let out a small laugh, clearly delirious from the medicine.
“I like when you stay, cyar’ika.”
Your heart was thumping against your chest. You couldn’t help but wonder again if he was truly out of it from the medication or if he was just loose around the edges right now.
Perhaps the medicine was simply blurring his inhibitions, making it easier for the truth to slip out.
After a few more moments of silence, you found your voice.
“You took a lot of medicine, Din.”
“I did, didn’t I?” he replied.
His helmet was tilted slightly, but you could tell he was looking right at you. You averted your gaze to the child who was babbling quietly in Din’s arms.
“So, by that logic, what you’re saying isn’t true. It’s just the medicine talking.“
“No, it’s true. I liiiike you.”
You had to hold back a laugh at the way he was talking, but you could feel your cheeks heating up more than ever.
“Okay, you need to lie back down. Come here, Grogu.”
You motioned the child towards you, unable to hide your smile. Grogu came waddling towards you on the bed. Gently, you scooped him into your arms and stood up, watching Din lie back down as he mumbled something to himself.
You looked at Grogu with a smile.
“What do you think, little one? Do you think he’s telling the truth?” The child babbled in agreement to your question, and you let out a breathy laugh. “Maker, you’re so cute.”
“Thanks. You’re cuter.”
You turned your attention back to Din.
“I was talking Grogu, but…you’re not so bad yourself, Mando. I’d like to see how much of this you’ll remember tomorrow morning, though.”
“Okaaaaay.”
And true to your word, you held him to it.
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Morning eventually rolled around.
You were up early making breakfast with the child by your side. He squealed suddenly, causing you to turn around, only to be met with a familiar tall, broad figure covered in shiny metal.
He sits down and his tone is normal again.
“Morning.”
“Good morning," you replied normally.
He didn’t say anything else, but...you didn’t like the silence. You wanted to ask him about last night.
However, in order to save whatever dignity he had left after that, you decided to hold off on any serious questions for now.
“How are you feeling?” you asked.
“Like I got hit by a speeder," he huffed.
Din looked over at you and suddenly, bits of pieces of last night came back to him.
“You’re really pretty.”
“I like when you stay.”
“I liiike you.”
He shifted in his seat.
“Did I…say something to you yesterday?” he asked.
You stayed silent for a moment before answering.
“You were extra affectionate last night,” you replied. It almost sounded like you were teasing him.
Din froze and he pretended not to remember. “…Was I?”
“Mm, very.” You gave him your full attention as you set breakfast down. “Nothing bad, though.”
He cleared his throat. “What exactly do you mean by affectionate?”
You bit back a smile as you replied, “Oh, you know. Wanted me to stay close, kept reaching for my hand.”
“...Right. I was sick.”
“Mhm.”
“I don’t remember any of that.”
That was a lie, and a terrible one at that. Even with the helmet on, you could practically see him replaying the memories in real time.
“Did I say anything strange?” he asked carefully.
There it was – your chance to dig deeper.
“Depends on your definition of strange,” you replied with a shrug. “Honestly, most of it was sweet.”
“Sweet?”
“Well,” you began. “You told me that I'm pretty.”
He groaned, but you continued.
“You also said that I'm cute. Then you said that you...liked me.”
Another groan.
“And–”
“That’s enough.”
“It isn’t, actually.”
Din didn’t argue back.
“You were very honest,” you continued with a small smile.
“How honest?” His voice was low.
“Relax. You didn’t reveal any Republic secrets or anything.”
“You know that’s not what I’m worried about.”
The words slipped out before he could stop them, and silence settled between you. Din froze. You froze.
For a second, neither of you moved.
“No,” you said, breaking the silence. “I suppose it isn’t.”
Gone was the attempt to play dumb. Gone was the denial. The truth settled between you and him in the stillness.
“So,” you added, unable to resist. “The good news is that you were very polite about it.”
Din let out a deep sigh as he braced himself for your rejection. “And the bad news?”
You stared at him. For a moment, you couldn't believe he was serious. The way his shoulders had gone rigid. The way he'd already begun preparing himself for disappointment before you'd even answered him.
As if there was any world where you wouldn't want him back.
As if you hadn't spent months hopelessly, painfully in love with him.
Din thought he was about to lose you. Your teasing smile faded.
“The bad news is that you apparently only confess your feelings when you're running a fever. You couldn't have done this six months ago?"
He sat there silently, clearly not following.
You shook your head, letting out a breathless laugh. "Do you know how long I've been waiting for you to figure it out?"
You watched the exact moment your words registered. He shifted ever so slightly. You folded your arms across your chest.
"I was beginning to think I'd imagined all of it,” you said.
"All of what?" he asked.
"The staring."
"I don't stare."
"The hovering,” you continued. “And don’t forget the finding excuses to sit next to me."
"I—"
"The fact that every time someone flirts with me, you suddenly become the most unpleasant man anyone's ever met. I spent months trying to convince myself you weren't interested."
"Months?" His voice was full of genuine shock.
"Yes, months."
The word seemed to genuinely disturb him, as if the idea that you'd been wondering all this time was somehow unacceptable. You should have been his all this time.
"You knew?" he asked hesitantly.
You stared at him. "Knew what?”
“That I…you know.”
You pinched the bridge of your nose. “Din.”
“Yes?”
"You wear a helmet."
"Oh."
"You barely talk."
"Oh."
"And your version of flirting is handing me things without making eye contact."
"Oh."
You pointed at him again. "Exactly."
He visibly relaxed. You took this opportunity to take a seat beside him. No distance this time.
“So you didn’t know?” he asked, turning to face you as you sat down.
You blinked.
“Do you have any idea how good I've gotten at reading you? You have one visible facial expression and it’s just…helmet. Of course I knew.”
“You did?” His head tilted.
"Din Djarin, you once spent three days fixing a door that wasn't broken because you didn't know how to ask me to stay in the cockpit with you."
The silence that followed was incriminating.
You sighed as you leaned against him, laying your head against his beskar-clad shoulder. He didn’t stop you.
"I was fixing the door," he told you.
"You were absolutely not fixing the door."
"I was.”
"It worked perfectly."
"It was making a noise."
"It wasn't."
"It was."
You looked up at him lovingly, and he looked down at you through his visor.
For a moment, all was still. All was quiet.
"...I guess this means I don't have to wait until I'm sick again,” he said, a faint hint of confidence returning to his voice. “Close your eyes.”
Your heart immediately began hammering. You searched his visor, as if somehow you'd be able to see the expression hidden beneath it.
Whatever you were looking for, you found enough of it.
Slowly, you closed your eyes.
Then there was the faint sound of movement as you felt him shift beside you, and a soft hiss of beskar.
Your breath caught.
And then...you felt it.
His lips pressed against yours.
Everything in the galaxy seemed to stop. He was yours. Warm and real and finally, finally yours.
The kiss lasted only a moment. It was just long enough to leave your head spinning, and you wrapped your arms around him to treasure the feeling.
When he pulled away, you were still sitting there with your eyes closed.
But when you opened them again, Din was already lowering his helmet back into place. However, this time, neither of you needed to say anything.
Author's Note: This is for @the-blind-assassin-12 A picture is worth 1000 words Challenge and the picture I got is posted below. Thank you for hosting sweets! This was so fun! I can't wait to do another! Thank you alll so much for reading and sharing! Much love always! ❤️❤️❤️Divider by the lovely @firefly-graphics thank you Daisy! 🥰
Warnings: soft and sweet fluff, reader is pregnant and Djarin is doting and really slightly obsessed...which we love, Grogu is super cute as always!
PS I don't know what it is about this photo but I find it so sexy...
“Where the heck…?”
Grogu cocks his head to the side, his dark eyes blinking as he watches you search for the small stool.
“I could have sworn it was here…”
You push aside a bag of weapons. “Ah ha!”
Grogu’s small squeak of surprise makes you laugh.
“If we make too much noise,” you whisper to Grogu. “We’ll get in trouble. We have to be quiet.”
Grogu’s ears fall back and he presses his lips together. “Don’t worry. It’ll be worth it. They’re finally ripe!”
You carefully free the stool of it’s hiding spot and tip toe toward the cabin door, peeking around the edge. “It looks like he might be asleep…”
Grogu stands between your legs, doing the same. You secure the stool against the side of your body, trying to hide it as much as possible before you walk out.
“Come on buddy, let’s go pick some oranges!”
He waddles out the door after you, both of you passing quietly by Djarin who’s seated comfortably against the side of the cabin, seemingly resting.
You don’t notice his helmet turn as his gaze follows or hear his exasperated sigh before he asks, “what are they up to now?”
You can smell the oranges before the tree comes into view and when you round the cabin to the back it sits nestled between some rocks, growing tall against the backdrop of the mountains beyond.
Once you find a flat spot on the ground you set the stool down, turning to Grogu with a smile.
“I can’t wait for you to try one!”
He coos and holds out his open hands. “Ok, let me just get up here….”
You’re just finding your balance on the stool when you feel a pair of strong, warm hands at your waist.
“If you’re trying to give me a heart attack, it just might work.”
His words are soft against the shell of your ear as he presses your back to his chest.
“I just wanted some oranges,” you pout, turning to face him and resting your hands on his wide shoulders.
“What did I tell you about climbing on things,” he replies, helping you off the stool. “And lifting…”
You place a palm on his armored chest. “I know, I know…lifting heavy things and carrying too much and not eating or drinking enough and making sure I rest…”
“I love you,” he whispers, his hand gently sliding along your hip to the soft curve of your stomach. “All three of you.”
He looks Grogu’s way, chuckling as he watches him study the oranges on the tree then focuses on you again, his hand caressing the gentle bump you’re growing.
The sweet moment is disrupted when you hear Grogu straining, his hand outstretched toward the top of the tree. With a disgruntled sound he falls back just before a bunch of oranges fall loose of the tree and onto the ground.
“He’s making me look bad,” Djarin grumbles.
You raise an eyebrow. “How?”
“I could have done that!” he says, hands resting on his hips.
“Not like that!” you tease.
Even though you can’t see his face you know he’s giving you a challenging glare.
“But I can do it like this,” he says and pulls out his blaster, masterfully aiming and shooting down three oranges in succession. Each one falls to the ground, not a spot singed and even a leaf or two intact.
Grogu’s ears fall and he looks at you with big eyes.
“Aww, you did great kid!” you say, patting his head softly. “Thanks!”
You start to reach for an orange but Djarin swoops in and grabs some before you can and you give him a pointed look. “I can bend down!”
“But you don’t have to,” he says in answer, ushering you back toward the cabin with his free hand splayed at your lower back.
Grogu follows behind already digging into an orange.
Once you’re seated comfortably just outside the cabin, cushioned by the blanket Djarin insisted you use, you show Grogu how to properly peel the orange.
“See,” you say, digging your thumb into the soft skin. “Just get it started like this then you can pull the off the rest.”
Grogu’s ears move up and down like antennae as he watches you, then he takes his own orange and sticks one of his fingers in. Some juice squirts out into his face, and he squeals before falling backward.
“Good start,” you giggle.
He tries again and stabs holes in the orange more than peels it before giving up and just biting into it, skin, and all.
“That works too” you smile.
Djarin comes back outside to join you, cup in hand.
“Freshly squeezed,” he says as he hands it to you.
Your eyes light up and you take a sip. “Delicious! How did you manage it?”
“Don’t ask,” he says and you hear the smile in his voice.
He sits down next to you then pulls the helmet from his head. You immediately run your fingers through his hair, tousling the already mussed curls. You pop an orange slice into your mouth, moaning around the juicy and sweet taste.
Feeling the weight of his gaze you turn your face his way, holding up a wedge of orange. His lips part and you feed him the piece, leaning closer when you notice some juice escape. You kiss the corner of his mouth.
“Thank you.”
It’s a whisper against his lips and he kisses you, tasting of sweet orange.
“For?” he murmurs as his fingers trace the column of your neck before splaying along your cheek, thumb delicately brushing your bottom lip.
“Searching the galaxy for an orange tree,…” you murmur, kissing him again. “And bringing it here.” Another kiss. “And planting it and making sure it grew.”
His eyes close, dark lashes fluttering against his cheeks as his smile meets your kisses.
“I told you,” he says softly. “I would give you the world. You simply have to ask.”
Entering the kitchen, you find Gene putting on the coffee machine. He pulls three mugs ad a plastic beaker from the cupboard, setting them on the counter then turns to you, his mouth downturned. You know that look; it's the same look your Grampa used to give you'd do something he didn't agree with.
Sometimes you could swear those two were brothers instead of best friends. "Okay Gene... spit it out," you sigh, taking a seat on one of the island stools. Gene sits on a stool on the opposite side, casting a quick glance at the doorway before saying, "Are you sure this is a good idea? Taking them into your house like this." "I couldn't very well leave them out there," you reply. "But you hardly know them," Gene points out. "They're not dangerous, Gene. They've had plenty of opportunity to hurt us if they wanted." You can't help but feel a little defensive, even though you know he makes a fair point. Gene exhales, clasping his hands together on the worktop. His bushy grey eyebrows dip. "You don't have children, Rae. You don't understand the constant worry parents face. I'm just looking out for you." "Gene-" Gene raises his hand and continues to speak. "I'm not saying the man is dangerous.... just... be careful, please. I only care about your safety."
He shifts in his seat, clearing his throat. "I may not be an actual grandfather to you, but you'll always be like my own." Any fight you have within you just drained away at Gene's heartfelt words. He's never been one to express his emotions, so for him to show such vulnerability makes your heart swell. Wordlessly, you get down off your stool and come around to stand next to him. Wrapping your arms around his shoulders, you press a kiss on his weathered cheek. "You are a grandfather to me, Gene, biology or not. Gene releases a quiet sigh ad taps your arm covering the front of him. "I promise I'll be careful," you say, giving him a squeeze. "That's all I ask," Gene nods. "Okay... enough mush." He quickly gets up, ending the hug and you chuckle under your breath. "Let's get some coffee over here."
Little do you or Gene know, but your whole conversation, though spoken quietly, had just been picked up by Din's enhanced settings in his helmet whilst he was coming down the stairs. He's stopped halfway when he'd heard muffled voices and, though he should be offended by what he'd just heard, he can't find it in himself to feel anything other than understanding. For all intents and purposes, you are Gene's grandchild, just like Grogu is his son and he knows full well the worry that Gene speaks of. He'll just have to show him he means you no harm. Glancing down at Grogu in his arm, Din pulls his shoulders back and strolls down the remaining steps and into the kitchen like nothing has happened.
How it works: Pick a favourite passage from your work for each category below. It can be a line or a few paragraphs.
Thank you for tagging me @missadangel @madpanda75 @bardot49
Most Romantic (or sweetest): Touch Starved Din (Din Djarin):
Without even realising it, his hands have begun to stroke yours. He marvels at how much smaller they are than his, so delicate looking, fitting so perfectly inside his own. He languidly slides his hands along your wrists and up to your elbows, his entire body alive with electricity and want. Your closed eyes and faint sigh is enough of an indicator for him to continue.
His fingers tremble, slightly as he works his way up to your forearms, then to your shoulders, stopping at the base of your neck. Your next move almost causes Din's heart to stop, as you calmly take a hold of both of his hands and bring them to cup your cheeks, leaning your face to the side so your lips are brushing against his fingers. He could die right now and he'd be a happy man!
He wants you to know how much you've come to mean to him, but words were never his strong point, so he'll show you instead. With a feather light hold on your face he gingerly pulls you to met him halfway as he lowers his helmet, bringing his forehead to rest against yours.
Din had once explained what this gesture means in Mandalorian culture, and the fact that you are now returning that gesture confirms what he had begun to hope; That you want him as much as he wants you. Foreheads still joined together, Din whispers "My Cyare."
Your Angst-iest writing: I'll Come Back For You (Joel Miller):
"Joel...," your voice wobbles as you struggle against the lump in your throat. "It's time. You need to let me go. You have to allow yourself to move on." Joel's soulful brown eyes meet yours, glistening with unshed tears and you feel your heart breaking for him. 'I... I can't," his voice almost sounds pleading, "I can't do this without you."
He desperately wants to hold you, to keep you in his arms forever. He's never loved any woman the way he loves you. Love isn't a strong enough word to describe the depth of his devotion and affection for you. You are (were) his life, his joy, the very beat of his heart, a missing piece of his soul.
He can't do this, not again. How can he even put one foot in front of the other if you are not in step with him? Without you he will remain hollow, aimless, just a simple lifeform existing from one day to the next. You take a shuddering breath, hoping your next words can convince him.
"Yes, you can, baby. You're the strongest person I know. I know it will be hard and I'm sorry... "I"m so sorry it has to be like this-," "Don't," Joel cut you off gently, shaking his head, "You have nothing to apologise for," "Neither do you," you reply, matter of factly. Joel looked straight ahead, his jaw ticking as he tries to tamp down the anger festering away inside of him.
The self loathing he deserves for failing another person he loves. "I should have been there to protect you." "Oh Joel," you sigh, sadly, "How many times do I have to say it? We cannot control everything around us. You need to accept that life has it's own plan and what will happen, will happen. It's. Not. Your. Fault." You enunciate the last sentence with conviction, tears threatening to chock you at the obvious ruination haunting Joel's visage.
Even from his side profile the pain is clearly evident. A moment of silence follows, after which, Joel turns to face you, eyes redened, tears now trailing the curve of his cheeks. "I love you so much," his pained words are barely above a whisper, as if his grief is physically crushing his windpipe. "And I love you. I always have," you reply softly as your own tears begin to fall.
You want nothing more than to comfort him, to take him in your arms and shield him from his suffering, to wipe his tears away and kiss his soft salt and pepper curls. But it's impossible and you feel so helpless, so useless.... and you hate that. How cruel its, to be so close and yet, so far away.
"And that's why...," you take a deep breath, your own sorrow weighing heavily on you with what you now have to do. "I have to go." Joel's eyes widen but before he can protest, you continue, "I'm sorry," the regret choking you is stifling, "I wanted to help you find a way through this, but I can see now that I'm doing more harm than good. You need to be able to mourn, Joel. And you need to accept the love and support of those around you. You still have family here and they want so desperately to help you, but you've pushed them away. I can't bare to see you wasting away like this."
Somewhere, deep down Joel knew that this time would come, he knew you couldn't stay here forever, but how the hell can he let you go? It would be like expecting him to live without breath in his lungs. "Please, y... you can't go..." Joel's voice wavered as he continued., "I... I can't lose you again, sweetheart." You try to reassure him with a gentle smile, "You'll never never truly lose me, darling."
*****
6 Years Later...
Joel couldn't focus, his eyelids like lead and his body trembling. The voices around him seemed distant and muffled one second, then loud and sharp the next. Throbbing pain bloomed through his torso, exacerbated by each breath he took. "What do you mean there's nothing more you can do?" Was that Tommy? "You can't just give up on him!" Tommy shouted, his voice a mixture of anger and fear.
"I'm so sorry, but all we can do now is try to make him as comfortable as we can." Darkness encompassed Joel as the voices began to fade once more.
*****
"Joel?..." a warm hand on his cheek and a soft voice he'd know anywhere, resounded in his ears like a sweet melody. His eyes shot open and he gasped in shock as he took in the image of you standing beside him and... touching him! Maybe he's dreaming? "Hi, baby," you smiled down at him with tears in your eyes, stroking his patchy jaw, tenderly. "You're here," he sputtered in disbelief.
"I promise I'd come back for you," you replied soothingly. And that's when Joel knew without a doubt he's not dreaming. As if on instinct Joel reached for your hand, clasping it in his own, bringing it to his mouth and pressed his lips to your soft palm. "I missed you," he cried, unable to believe that the moment he's waited years for is finally upon him. How he missed your delicate touch.
"Joel...," he brings his attention back to you, raising a quizzical eyebrow at the smile plastered across your face. "I brought someone with me. Someone who has been waiting a long time to see you again."
Realisation of whom you are referring to flashes across Joel's face, but before the name can pass his lips, he hears the sweetest, most perfect voice say the word he hasn't been called in over twenty years. "Dad...," With bated breath, Joel slowly turned around, his mind struggling to function properly. There she is! His baby girl, standing in front of him, just as beautiful as he'd remembered her.
"Sarah...," Joel whispered in awe, frozen to the spot where he stood. 'Hi, old man," she smiled as she closed the gap between them. Her close proximity snapped Joel out of his statue like stance, quickly pulling her into his arms and holding her tightly to his chest. "I missed you," she cried into his chest, while wrapping her arms around his waist. "I missed you too," Joel choked out, "It's okay baby girl, I'm here, I'm here," he comforted her as his own tears joined hers.
Your most humorous: Happy Grumpy Halloween
You can't keep the smile off your face as you walk towards the town hall for Jackson's annual Halloween party. The crisp autumn breeze cuts right through your thin brown jacket - well, Joel's jacket, actually. You'd secretly borrowed it earlier in the day when you knew Joel wouldn't be home. After seeing him leave his house you'd snuck over to ask Ellie if you could have it for the evening. She'd cracked up when you'd told her your costume idea, only agreeing if she could be there when Joel sees you.
*****
You place your hands on your hips as you've seen Joel do so many times when he's annoyed or frustrated and, putting on your best attempt at a Texan accent and in the deepest voice you can manage you huff, "Happy Halloween." Joel's head swivels around at your greeting, his eyes widening and mouth agape. Tommy practically spits his beer all over the table while Ellie and Maria laugh hysterically.
"What the fuck...?" Joel exclaims, looking you up and down in disbelief. "Is that... my jacket!?" "Sure is, Darlin'. Name's Joel, nice to meet ya," you drawl, trying to keep to the grumpy persona while fighting back the urge to grin. "Are ya fucking kiddin' me?" Joel grumbles, his eyebrows in his hairline. Tommy clears his throat, having regained control of his lungs. "Oh my god! That is the best costume I've ever seen! And the grumpy face... spot on!" "I can't believe you actually pulled it off!" Ellie shrieks and Joel's head snaps her way. "You knew about this!" Ellie continues to laugh, face going red. "Hell yeah. I've been waiting for this all day." Joel breathes out in exasperation, turning back to you. "You think you're real funny dont' ya? Well, once you've had your fun I want my jacket back." You narrow your eyes at Joel, keeping your voice low and gruff like his. "Oh, I know I'm funny. And don't pretend you're not impressed," you add smugly as you sit in the empty seat between him and Ellie.
*****
"Aww, have a little fun, Joel," you rib, knocking your shoulder into his. You can feel Joel tense under your touch. God, the man is so easy to provoke. "You never know, you might smile for once." "Jesus, don't you ever stop talking?" Joel grumbles. "Oh, you're right. Talking is definitely out of character," you agree and lift your hand to your face. You swpie your hand down in front of your face and replace your smile with a frown. "That better?" You lower your voice. Joel sighs and looks around the table. His companions are clearly enjoying the show. "I'm Joel Miller," you tease, "I've forgotten how to laugh and- "That's it!" Joel finally snaps, downing the rest of his whisky and standing abruptly. "I'll show ya out of character."
Before you could gather your thoughts, Joel's hand was around your wrist and you were being pulled to your feet. "Joel! Wh- what are doing?!" Joel smirked at your stammer. "Dancing with you," he says casually. A scoff climbs up your throat at the absurdity of what you'd just heard. "You don't dance," you almost laugh. "I don't... but you do." Joel sees the recognition dawn on your face. He's playing you at your own game and it's delicious. "If you're going to be me tonight, then I'm going to be you." "Oh? And how exactly do you plan on being me?" you sass. "By running my damn mouth and not taking no for an answer." And with that he pulls you in the direction of the dance floor.
Your sexiest: The Lesser of Two Evils (Marcus Acacius)
An involuntary moan escaped you when you felt Marcus' weeping head brush your now wet folds and his hips bucked up as if he had no control over them. Marcus swung around, lowering you onto your back on the bed. His face disappeared into your neck, his lips and tongue, kissing and licking all the way down to your throbbing sex. His tongue spread flat and wide over your pussy, your back arching and thighs tensing.
"Yes, oh yes Marcus," you moan loudly. Marcus smiled against your core. "I missed you," he said, as if the confession was sacred. "Missed tasting you." Your hands find leverage in Marcus' hair, desperate to find any kind of outlet for the pleasure building throughout your lower belly. "Oh, that's good- OH!" "Let it out," Marcus hums against your lips and clit. "Don't hold anything back. I want to hear how good I make you feel." You do just that, gasping and crying as seconds later you come hard, legs shaking and head swimming. Marcus lays his body on yours, supporting his weight on his elbows. When he kisses you, you can taste yourself on his lips. It's downright sinful! "Is my lady pleased?" he grinned, lips hovering over yours. "Yes!" you gush, looking at your husband with heart eyes. You kiss him again and begin to push him up, his eyes opening in surprise, but he allows you to guide him onto his back.
You spead your legs and straddle him, your swollen cunt sitting on top of his dark curls. Reaching behind you, you wrap a hand around his solid shaft and begin to pump up and down. Marcus sucks in a deep breath through his nose, his eyes rolling closed and hands grabbing your hips roughly. A couple more pumps and you raise your hips, lining him up at your entrance and sink down onto him. Marcus shudders as he feels the heat of your tunnel envelope him. Lifting his head, he watches with dark eyes as his length disappeares futher inside you and you start to grind faster and faster. And what a sight you are; hair falling wildly over your shoulders, breasts boucing with every rock of your hips and face aglow with pleasure. Marcus cups you tits with his large hands and he begins to knead, rubbing your pert nipples under his thumbs. He can never get enough of them.
Every stroke of your tight walls along his dick is pure bliss! "Fuck, darling," Marcus pants, his voice a rasp. "You're taking me so well, feel so- so incredible squeezing me." You flash him a lustful smile. "You're so big, Marcus. So good." Your voice is practically a whimper and Marcus can tell you're on the cusp as your walls begin to spasm, squeezing the life out of him. Still caressing one breast, Marcus brings his other hand to your clit, his thumb teasing your nub, as he basks in the beautiful sounds you're making just for him. His sensitive tip sends currents of pleasure throughout his groin, all the muslces about ready to tense but he's determined to get one more orgasm from you first. He speeds up the circles on your clit and seconds later you're crying out his name in a symphony of praise, collapsing on top of him and soaking his pelvis.
"Good girl," he soothes, kissing your sweaty forehead. "I... I can't," you mumble, sounding far away. "Shhh... I've got you," he hums, wrapping his arms firmly around your spent body and then he begins to thrust up into you, chasing his own release. You're in a daze; a post orgasmic delirium you never want to leave. Marcus' breath is hot on your neck as his thrusts become more frenzied. All of a sudden you are on your back, legs hooked over Marcus' shoulders and OH FUCK! He's deep, so deep, hitting a depth you didn't even know you had. You've already come twice but now you can feel another orgasm building at this new angle, and rapidly so. Sweat slicks both of your writhing bodies and the sounds of slapping skin and Marcus' groans overwhelm your senses. "M-Marcus! I'm g-going to come again!" you cry out. "Do it. Soak me!" At his command you shatter again, wave after glorious wave rippling through your body, igniting every nerve under your skin.
Marcus gives one more punishing thrust before stilling and you feel his cock pulsing inside you, pumping spurts of hot come into your sex. Afterwards, he lays his whole body on top of you and you welcome the weight. It's grounding, intimate. "I love you so much, Alia," Marcus says, resting his head on your chest. "I love you too," you smile, holding his tired body in your arms and kissing his dishevled hair. "Don't make me wait this long to have you again."
The thud of distant horse hoofs grow closer as you anxiously await the return of your husband, General Marcus Acacius. Fingers twisted in the the folds of your Palla, you pace the courtyard of your villa, hoping, praying the rider is Marcus. The gates open and your breath leaves you in one forceful exhale as Marcus rides through, bloodied and bruised and covered in dirt. The guards at the gate rush to him as he dismounts but he waves off their concerns without a second thought, as if this is all in a days work for Marcus.
It's only when he sees you that he stops dead where he is, the look of surprise and confusion plastered across his face making you bite your lip as guilt washes over you. Maybe you've been too unfair to him. Maybe he means more to you than you were willing to accept and today was the push you needed to finally admit to yourself that you do indeed care for him. Three months have passed since your wedding and for those three months you'd been giving him a wide berth (as much as you could being under the same roof).
You were silently furious when Marcus and your father arranged the union, speaking of dowries and wedding plans as if you weren't even in the same room as them. That day you'd felt like nothing more than cattle to be traded. And every day since your wedding you'd felt like a prisoner in your own home. Marcus tried to make you feel at home, engaging you in conversation (even though your answers were as short as possible), making sure you had every comfort and even kept a respectful distance (even while sharing a bed, he'd stayed by the edge of his side) after you'd broken down in tears on your wedding night, fearing your 'wifely duties'. Upon seeing your distress he'd swiftly promised you he wouldn't touch you until you wanted him to and has kept his word all these months.
And now as you take in his battered form and big puppy dog eyes your last resolve cracks and with that an outpouring of respect, appreciation and even affection flows freely from your heart. Before you even realise what you're doing you're burying your face in Marcus' chest, your arms wrapping tightly around his waist. He smells like sweat, blood and dirt but you don't care. He's alive and he's here. After a few tense moments you feel his muscles relax and his strong arms come around and envelop you, holding your much smaller frame as if you're made of glass.
"It's okay, it's over," he whispers into your hair. "I was so worried, Marcus," you muffle into his chest, still holding him tight. "shhh..." he soothes stroking the back of your head. You pull back to get a good look at him, studying the cuts and bruises littering his face and arms and your heart clenches in your chest. He did this for you, for all of Rome. He'd literally put his life on the line for you today and you'll never forget that. Marcus' eyebrows raise in question as your wet eyes trail the remnants of the brutality he'd just endured. The fact that he wasn't expecting such a reaction form you makes you want to hang your head in shame.
"You're hurt" your voice wobbles as you cup his cheek, watching the blood still trickling down the other side of his face. Marcus' gaze softens and the small smile he gives you makes your heart soar. "It's nothing major," he shakes his head, "Just cuts and scrapes. I've had much worse." "Come with me," you say softly, reaching behind you to take his hand from your back and lead him to your bed chamber. Pressing on his shoulders, you make him sit at the foot of the bed whispering "Wait here." Moments later you return with a tray containing a large bowl of steaming water, gauze, cloths and jars of vinegar and honey. You place the tray beside him on the bed and step between his spread legs, all the while Marcus just watches you, the intensity of his stare making your skin tingle.
Squeezing the excess water from the rag you return your attention to your husband, gently cupping one side of his face and slowly you begin to wash the part dried, part sticky crimson trail from his skin and beard. When your eyes meet, your heart skips a beat. He's looking at you with both intrigue and warmth and you can't hold back the tenderness in your own smile. As you clean the deep wound on the top of his forehead, you feel him flinch slightly but he makes no sound. "Sorry," you grimace, making sure to lighten your touch even more. "It's okay," Marcus smiled at you. A few seconds of silence pass. "I'm sorry," you say again.
"It's okay," Marcus cocks a brow, "It doesn't really hurt-" "No, I mean... I'm sorry for how I've been treating you." Marcus' mouth snaps shut, waiting for you to continue. "I know I haven't been easy to live with theses past months. I haven't really appreciated everything you've done for me-" Marcus' hand reaches up to hold yours and your eyes flick back to his. "I understand. It's been a big change for you and I'm not sure you were prepared for it." You shake your head. "You've been nothing but kind and patient with me and I don't deserve it. When you left to stop that uprising... I was so scared-" "You were never in any danger, I promise you," Marcus' hand gave yours a tiny squeeze.
A humourless chuckle passes your lips. "I wasn't scared for myself. I was scared for you. I was afraid I'd never see you again and... I didn't want to lose you, Marcus" your voice trembled as you let everything you'd been too afraid to admit come to light. "I've grown to care deeply for you and it confused me, but watching you leave for maybe the last time..." your shoulders sagged as your head dropped. "It made me realise how much you've come to mean to me. I really am sorry," you mumbled regretfully. Unable to look him in the eye now, you move onto the cuts on his right arm, taking great care in your ministrations. It's the very least you can do for him after what he's just been through.
Your name, whispered so softly, as a lover would address his sweetheart, causes your head to lift up and you find yourself drowning in a look of adoration you're not sure you're worthy of. Marcus cups your cheek, the warmth of his calloused hands bringing you the comfort you didn't know you needed. "Don't apologise," he frowns softly. "Let's just begin again. You and me, a fresh start." You drop the rag to the floor and clasp the back of his hand on your cheek, tears of relief and of happiness filling your eyes. "I'd really like that, husband," you blushed.
A single tear falls and Marcus wipes it away with his thumb. His eyes drop to your lips and you can see the longing residing in them plain as day, the same longing you've been feeling for the past month. Marcus slowly leans in, eyes not leaving yours, stopping just inches from your lips and you realise he's giving you the control to close the gap if you wish. Excitement swells in your tummy, your heart beating like a drum. You close the gap, shutting your eyes at the last moment and ever so lightly press your lips to his. Marcus' lips are so soft, so plush that you can't help but melt into them. His arms come around your back and he pulls you closer so you are pressing chest to chest.
You slide your hands behind his neck, feeding your fingers through his curls at the nape and you open your mouth to allow his tongue inside. Marcus deepens the kiss, both of you exploring each others' mouths for the first time. You feel him smile as an involuntary moan climbs up your throat. Marcus pulls his lips away, resting his forehead against yours. "You don't know how long I've wanted to do that, to kiss you, to hold you and take care of you," Marcus professed in a hushed whisper. Placing your thumb and forefinger under his chin, you tilt his head so he's looking you in the eyes. "I look forward to much more of that, my love," you beam at him, kissing the tip of his nose, "but for now you're going to rest and let me take care of you."
Marcus chuckled at your assertiveness. "You're giving the General of Rome orders?" "Damn right," you smirk, "and you'll do well to obey." "Yes, my lady," a deep rumble of amusement echoes from Marcus' chest. You stand and place yourself between Marcus' legs again, picking up a clean cloth and continue with cleaning his wounds, applying vinegar and honey before carefully covering them with gauze, finishing with a kiss to each injury. And the whole time Marcus watches you like you're too good to be true. You've both crossed into new territory now and you have a feeling that this is the beginning of something incredible; a deep and sacred connection that will only grow and grow.
