pastelnap

Luna// 20something / she // Silly Goose //fic reader + stanner// I communicate in lame memes (at least she's self aware)

[reedispunk]

𝑹𝒐𝒐𝒎 𝒇𝒐𝒓 𝒂 𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒕𝒍𝒆 𝒐𝒏𝒆?

You find a stray kitten during patrol and can't resist bringing him home to a grumpy Joel a/n: didn’t plan to post this so might delete, but it’s just a little fluff that wouldn’t leave my thoughts at midnight. contains: fluff, dad Joel, protective Joel, established relationship, not proofread wc: 2k

“No.”

“Joel, you haven’t even said hello.”

“I don’t care, baby; it’s a no.”

“But look at his little face; how can you say no to that?”

You look down at the kitten's big eyes staring up helplessly at you. You’re standing next to Joel as he sits at his workbench, glasses on the tip of his nose as he fiddles with something he's working on. During your evening patrol shift, you found the kitten looking scared and desperate not far from the town. Despite being more than aware that Joel would not appreciate such an addition to the family, you couldn’t just leave this helpless little being out in the snow all alone. So there was only one solution: hide him in your supply bag where it was warm and safe, and bring him home with you.

“Take it to Maria or that old lady down the road; we can’t have that thing running round ‘ere. Probably carrying enough disease to wipe out the town too.”

“Don’t be crazy, we’ll have the vet check him out.”

“I’m sure he's got more pressing matters than this.”

“Well, that was not the welcome I promised you, was it, huh?” You say down to the tiny bundle of innocence in your arms. “Think you caught him on a grumpy day.” Joel rolls his eyes as he continues carving the wooden object in front of him. “We’re not sending him back out into the cold, Joel.”

“He’s an animal; he’ll survive.”

“He’s too tiny; another night out in the snow would kill him, Joel.”

“Well darlin’, I don’t know what you want me to do, but he isn’t staying under my roof. And whatever you do, don’t let Ellie see him.”

Almost perfectly timed, you hear the front door close in the distance and soon the approaching footsteps up the wooden stairs.

“Great. Here we go.” Joel mumbles, knowing exactly what’s about to happen. Turning around, you’re greeted with a rosy-cheeked Ellie, back from her night with Dina at the Tipsy Bison. Her eyes instantly go wide with affection as she takes in the sight before her.

“Oh. My. God. Are you kidding me?? Heyyy little one!” She comes forward, taking the kitten from your arms and holding it up to her face, letting the tiny being sniff at her face. “She’s so small! Where did you find her?”

“It’s a boy.” Joel grunts from behind you. You smile then; at least you know he paid attention.

“Found him by the old barn about a mile out from town. Poor thing was shivering, alone and hungry. Checked the area for Mom and any siblings, but there was not trace. Will check again next patrol to make sure.”

"Jesus christ," Joel mutters under his breath. "I hope not, we'll have a whole goddamn zoo before we know it."

"Joel," You laugh at his words.

“What are you going to call him?” Ellie asks.

“Not calling him anything El'. He ain’t staying,”

“What?! No, we have to keep him!” She protests, worry spreading across her face at the thought of giving him away, or worse, letting him loose back into the harsh mountains surrounding Jackson.

“He should stay here, he knows us now, anyone else would only frighten him.”

“Yeah, right. Kids been out there in the wilderness by himself this long; if he can survive out there, he ain’t afraid of nothing.” Joel bites.

Ellie moves around you over to Joel sitting by his workbench. Without giving him a choice, she hands the kitten to him. Instinctively, he holds the kitten close to his chest, his protective nature kicking in. She turns to you with a wink. The kitten reaches up, his little paws coming up to rest on Joel’s chin. Joel’s a big guy, and seeing this tiny little vulnerable creature in his hands, you’d expect the kitten to be frightened, but he isn’t. Instead he seems taken to Joel more than you and Ellie as it licks at his beard.

“He loves you already.” You say in a soft voice.

“How do you get him to stop doing that?” Joel shuts his eyes in disgust, wanting to pull away but not wanting to hurt the baby.

Ellie laughs. “You don’t. He’s just telling you he likes you.”

“Hmmm.” He grunts. Moving the kitty away from his face gently, Joel rests him down on the bench in front of him. The kitten bounces across the table quickly, and the look of panic on Joel’s face amuses you. He might not want to keep him, but that look certainly tells you he cares. As the three of you watch him, the kitten begins to flick his tiny paw against a small tool laid on the surface, making it roll along the top.

“Like father, like son.” You tease.

"Don’t start with that." Joel's shakes his head.

“He could be your workshop buddy!" Ellie suggests excitedly.

"No. I’d never get any of these things complete. Besides, it’s too dangerous.”

"okay, well..." Ellie looks up trying to think of ideas, anything to try persuade Joel. "You could train him up and take him on patrol, your own little protector!”

“I don’t need a protector, El'. Besides, how would a thing smaller than my hand protect me? I'd probably just end up accidently standing on him and that would be the end of it. Look, he’s not going to be anything, ok?." The kitten then begins playing with a large piece of wood, making it spin off the surface and onto the floor. “Hey, stop that.” Joel says, picking the ball of fur up in one hand and holding it close to his chest again. “Damn things a liability. Just take him somewhere else.”

“But it’s so dark and stormy now. Tomorrow?” You ask. You know Joel too well, he might not want him right this second, but just keeping the kitten in his company tonight, he’ll be attached before he knows it.

He sighs. “Fine. He can stay here tonight, but that's it. I mean it, he’s not staying.”

"Awesome!" Ellie looks at you with a cheeky smirk. When it comes to you two, Joel may put up a fight, but he almost always gives in.

“Oh, and he’s not staying in your room, Ellie." he turns looking up at you. "There’s a box in the garage; put him in that.”

“Right, sure.” You nod in agreement, but have no intention of leaving the poor thing in a dark and scary box alone in the cold garage all night.

Two hours later as the snow falls and the wind howls outside, you snuggle up under the covers and rest your head on the pillow, waiting for Joel to come out of the bathroom and join you. When he finally plods around the bed, he climbs in and pulls you close into him with a kiss on the top of your head. He smells clean and feels a little damp from his shower, but he’s warm and always makes you feel so safe in his arms. You know he’s tired, he’s been complaining most of the night, so it isn’t long before you feel him starting to drift off. As he does, there's movement underneath the covers, something soft against both of your legs. His eyes open wide.

“What is that?” He asks, though you know he knows exactly what it is.

“What?”

“Please tell me that isn’t what I think it is…”

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” You whisper, playing innocent.

He untangles from you, reaching over to the nightstand to turn the lamp back on, and you both watch the small lump under the covers moving up towards you.

“You’ve got to be joking,” he exhales as the kitten’s face pokes out from under the covers. “You’re not supposed to be in ‘ere,” Joel mumbles, looking down at the fur ball as though he’s expecting any kind of response. He picks the kitten up in his hand and holds him up above you both, watching him make biscuits in the air. “Didn’t I tell you to put him in the garage?”

“Somehow I don’t think he wants to be in the garage…” you whisper.

“I don’t have time for this, darlin’. Got a busy day tomorrow, I need sleep.” He leans over and puts the kitten down on the floor beside the bed. “You, stay down there; don’t even think about jumping back up here.” The kitten just looks up at him, a sparkle in his eye. “Don’t look at me like that.”

He switches out the light and turns back over to you, wrapping his arms back around you to pull you in again. But of course, within seconds, you hear the tiny persistent thud of the kittens' paws on the floor as he continuously fails to jump back up onto the bed.

“You know he’s not going to stop that, don’t you? He wants to be with us.” You smile.

“Oh, he’ll stop when he gets tired, give it five.” He mumbles into the pillow.

Your heart starts to break at the thought of the kitten not being able to reach up as you lie there listening for a while. As you're about to move to get out of bed to rescue him from the floor, you see those little familiar ears climbing up the mountain of Joel’s back, over his shoulder and jumping down off his arm to land in the very small gap between your heads, the soft fur tickling Joel’s nose.

“Urghhhh. This goddamn child.” Joel groans deeply, but he doesn’t attempt to move, accepting defeat. You watch in the darkness as the kitten curls up just underneath Joel’s chin.

“He likes you, baby, I think you’re his favourite already.” You watch the kitten settling down to go to sleep in the safety beside Joel.

“Just for tonight then. Tomorrow, you find him another home.” His eyes are closed, and the sight before you is adorable. Joel, so big, so broad, so protective with the tiniest, most vulnerable little ball of cuteness buried close against him.

When you wake the next morning, your heart melts. Joel, the same Joel who told you this kitten couldn't stay, is lying on his back with the kitten curled up on his chest, both sleeping peacefully. You watch them both for a while until the kitten turns to stretch and wakes Joel. He breathes in deeply, his long limbs moving under the covers until his leg rests up against yours again and his hand reaches out to stroke and down the bare skin of your thigh.

“Morning, you two.” You say softly, head resting on your palm.

“Morning, my love.” He says half asleep.

“Hate to ruin the moment, boys, but someone’s given me the task of finding a new home for this one.”

“Talking to me or him?” Joel jokes, and it makes you chuckle. He opens one eye to look at you. “He’s resting. Let him stay for another hour, then you can take him.”

“Whatever you say, mister.”

Two nights later when you curl up into bed again, Joel walks in, the kitten balancing on his shoulder, clearly still not taken to another home.

“Ellie said I’m a cat dad now.” Joel says with a shake of his head.

You grin. “I think she might be right.”

“Jesus Christ.” He sighs, coming over to the bed.

“Don’t pretend like you hate it.” You giggle. He rolls his eyes as he climbs under the covers, and the kitten jumps down to curl up in the small space between you both.

“We have to find him a different bed tomorrow, though; he can’t sleep in ‘ere anymore, keeps stealing my spot next to you.” He sighs. “Kid needs to respect his parent’s privacy, gonna have to teach him some boundaries...” Joel reaches down underneath the covers, letting his palms roam up and down your body.

“Sure, baby.” You smile to yourself knowing full well Joel isn’t ever going to be able to let this kitten out of his sight for too long.

[absurdthirst]

Well Fed for Thanksgiving {Max Phillips x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.1K

Warnings: Max being a cocky shit, teasing, vampirism, drinking blood, oral sex (male and female receiving), Max having no boundaries, sarcasm, threats of violence, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, family dynamics, awkward interactions, mentions of bulimia, jealousy

Comments: Bringing a cocky vampire to Thanksgiving. What could possibly go wrong?

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Max Phillips MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.

“Oh God. Oh God no.” You choke, reading the text, and Max smirks as he slides up beside you, his hand not so discreetly finding your ass as he squeezes it in the break room. “I prefer you choking those words out when I’m balls deep in your pussy.” He murmurs as he playfully nips your neck and you shake your head. “Look. I - oh God.” You moan in displeasure and Max takes your phone to read the text. “Looking forward to seeing you on Wednesday, honey. Bring that cute black dress you own, some of my friends are bringing their sons.” It’s from your mom and Max’s fingers tighten around your phone at the thought of you wearing that black dress for anyone but him. He loosens his grip because he owes you a new phone and he clicks his tongue while his hand slides up to your waist. “Well, look who hasn’t told their mommy about their big bad vampy boyfriend.”

Max is a little hurt but he understands. “Max, baby.” You spin around to look at him, “I’m sorry. It’s just - I complained about you constantly and so I didn’t have the guts to tell them that our hate fucking turned into love fucking. Plus the fact that you’re a vampire. She wants grandkids and I - I don’t want kids. She’s pushing the local boys who want the little housewife pushing out the Von Trapp family.” You scoff and Max smirks, “Yodel-Ay-Hee-Hoo.” You roll your eyes, “this is serious. I do not want to spend Thanksgiving with my family pushing off Tom, Dick and Harry.” Max pouts, “I am insulted that you didn’t ask me to go with you.” He says and you sigh, caressing his chest, “I didn’t think - well, there’s food and my mother and oh God, my cousins. My aunt is a nightmare and I just didn’t want to put you through that. I didn’t think you were like that.” You confess and Max raises his eyebrows, “like what?” You bite your lip, “meeting the parents type.” You say and Max pouts even harder, “I can be the perfect boyfriend.” He promises and you tilt your head, “seriously?” You ask and he nods, “I want to be there. Meet your family. Even if I have to choke down dry turkey and throw it up later.” He says and you squeal, wrapping your arms around his neck, “thank you.” You press your lips to his and Max murmurs against them, “Vampy does Thanksgiving. Let’s do it.”

He really doesn’t want to do this shit, but you are amazing in bed and he does love you. That’s what love is, right? Doing shit you really don’t want to in order to make the other person happy? You don’t make him go to the Farmer’s Market on Saturdays or break out power tools for DIY projects, so he can do this for you. “Okay, so should we bring the sex swing or just the bondage straps?” He teases, holding them up as if he were actually going to pack them in his open suitcase. “I’ve already got that monster dildo you like, the purple tentacle one.”

You roll your eyes and giggle, “stop, you asshole. No sex toys or accessories otherwise you’re not even going to get a hand job the entire time we are away.” You warn him seriously and he immediately tosses the straps over his shoulder. You shake your head and watch him as he packs his shirts. “You don’t have to go. I can handle my family alone. Last year my parents went on a cruise and I stayed home. All they do is say how dangerous LA is and how I should be thinking about freezing my eggs.”

Max pretends to gag over going on a cruise. Too much sunlight for him. Although it’s a lot of skin on display to sneak a little snack from a drunken passenger. He considers it for a moment and then shakes his head. Sunscreen doesn’t taste good. “Don’t do that.” He huffs. “I like the way your eggs taste on the way out.” He waggles his brows at you as he neatly folds a cashmere sweater that perfectly matches your eyes. Look at him being positively domesticated. “I’m going babe. Just consider me your backup.”

“You’re so gross, Phillips.” You wrinkle your nose and giggle after a second, “I can’t believe you’re packing sweaters. Maybe we should ask if we can join them for the holidays.” You tease and his eyes widen, “don’t you dare.” You snort when he flashes his fangs at you. “Drinking cocoa, singing songs, I can see it.” You tease and he smirks as he looks at you, “your present can be my dick in a box.”

You laugh and he winks, knowing that he would absolutely do it. He’s always horny for you. “Don’t even think about bringing it up.” He warns you. “Or I’ll tell them that we’ve signed up for one of those swingers cruises you see advertised.” His eyes widen slightly, dancing with glee. “You think that’s what your parents went on last year?”

You wrinkle your nose, “I hope not. I don’t even want to think about that. No, it was definitely Royal Caribbean.” You say and Max smirks, “Swinger of the Seas?” He teases and you throw your sock at him. “Shut up, Phillips, you’ve got packing to do.” He mock salutes you, “yes ma’am. God, I love it when you order me around.” He says and you snort, knowing that this trip is going to be equally terrifying and hilarious.

****

“Fuck, I hate flying.” Max whines as the two of you shuffle off the plane like cattle. He feels a little like it, cramped on a flying tube with the overwhelming body odor of people who had used perfume instead of soap. Normally he’s hungry when he gets out of a cramped space with humans, but his stomach rolls slightly and he hadn’t thought about eating the entire time. “That greasy fucker in front of us has got to lay off the cheeseburgers.” He huffs. “Eat a fucking salad every once in a while.”

You giggle at his grumpiness, knowing he hates when he can’t control everything and flying is one thing even Max Phillips can’t control. “Don’t worry baby, it’s gonna get worse. My dad is picking us up and you know he’s going to give you an interrogation but once it’s over, he will be sweet as pie.” You promise, having gone through this with your exes, “just tell him you’re interested in baseball and you’ll be in there.”

He wrinkles his nose, although he used to play ball in high school. It’s so boring now since he wouldn’t be able to use his strength and speed as a vampire. He thinks of something and smirks. “No problem.” He promises. “I’ve been studying how to win over parents. This should be a piece of cake.”

You chuckle, knowing he can be charming when he wants to be. “You? Studying? I wish I’d have seen that.” You tease as you roll your carry on through the airport until you see your dad waiting for you in the crowd.

“Oh god, he’s got a sign.” Max huffs, rolling his eyes before he plasters on the biggest grin he can manage without looking like a serial killer. Watching as your father calls your name and waves you over.

You are nervous anytime your parents meet a boyfriend and it’s even more so considering Max is a vampire. You walk over to your dad who hugs you, kissing your forehead, and you smile, “hi dad.” He grins as he pulls back and sees Max standing there, “you must be Max.”

He could be an ass right now, claiming that he’s not Max, but he doesn’t. The entire point of this trip is to keep your parents off your ass so he turns on the charm. “Good to meet you sir.” He extends his hand and shakes your fathers, although he lets him squeeze his hand more. “Your daughter has had nothing but good things to say about her family and I’ve been looking forward to this visit since she told me about it.”

Your dad nods, turning to look at you for a second, “we didn’t even know about you until two days ago. Chicken kept it real quiet that she had a fella.” Your dad says and you fluster when Max grins and turns his head towards you, “chicken?” You sigh and grab your carry on, “let’s head to the car, I’m sure mom needs help with dinner”. You say and Max stares at you as you walk, “it’s a nickname. When I was a toddler, I’d go out into the chicken coop and pretend I was a chicken.” You reluctantly tell Max, “and it stuck.”

Max throws his head back and laughs, immediately loving this trip already. “God I’m so glad I came.” He crows as you huff and turn to punch his arm. He chuckles and shoots you a feigned look of hurt. “Oww.” He isn’t hurt, you can’t hurt him, but he rubs his arm anyway just to be dramatic. “So do you get broody too?” He asks. “Maybe that’s why I feel henpecked all the time.”

You roll your eyes, “you’re such a prick.” You mutter low enough that you know he can hear you. He grins, acting like he’s suddenly excited to be here as you follow your dad to his car. “Come on, chick-” Your dad cuts himself off to say your name as you glare at your father. “Yeah, come on chicken.” Max says and you sigh, sliding into the backseat.

You sigh and roll your eyes, already exasperated with this trip and you are wondering if it was a mistake to bring him. 

He climbs in beside you and reaches for your hand. Squeezing it and bringing it up to kiss because your father is watching in the rearview mirror. “Sorry babe.” He lies, knowing he’s going to give you so much shit. “You know how much I love teasing you.”

You know you need to melt to show your dad that you love this man and truly, you do. He’s just a pain in your ass. “Too much.” You retort playfully and lean in to nudge your nose against his. “I’ll forgive you…if you eat me out all night.” You whisper so only he can hear you.

Max growls quietly, cock twitching and he steals a quick kiss. “Of course I will, baby.” He coos, loud enough for your father to hear. “You’ll have your legs up-“ you slap your hand over his mouth and he grins under it before pulling his head back. “And I’ll give you the best foot massage of your life.” He continues, like that had been what he was going to say all along.

You glare at him until your dad speaks, “that’s right, man. Foot rubs. Been giving them to chicken’s mom since we started going steady. The secret to a happy marriage.” He says innocently and Max smirks, “you don’t say?” He looks at you as your dad navigates the airport parking garage and you shudder at the thought of your parents having foot massages.

Max chuckles under his breath, feeling your revulsion at the new information. “You’ve got to give me all your tips.” He encourages your father. “I want to be the best boyfriend I can be, and I’m sure that she’s just like her mother.” He grins at you as he delivers that line. “Want to keep her happy.”

Your dad rambles on to Max about baseball to pass the drive to their house and Max, bless his damned soul, tries to google the different teams so he’d have something to respond back with. “Are you using ChatGPT?” You whisper as you glance back at his phone. “It’s easier than Google.” Max whispers back and you sigh, wondering how you’re going to get through this trip.

Finally! The car pulls into the house and Max is ready to stop talking about sports he doesn’t watch. “Well this is nice.” He tells your father, smirking at you as he nods towards the chicken coop. “Is that where you are planning on sleeping?” He asks.

You roll your eyes, “that’s where you’ll be sleeping if you don’t stop making fun of me.” You demand and Max chuckles, “okay. Okay, chic- baby.” He grins when you glare at him and he helps you out of the car once you’ve come to a stop. “So my mom is a little crazy.” You confess, “she’s gonna ask you a million questions.”

“So you arrrre like your mother.” He jumps back when you swat at him again and grins. “Don’t worry, I can handle a little interrogation. As long as she doesn’t ask about our sex life, she shouldn’t be too shocked.” He tilts his head. “I wonder if she likes butt stuff too.”

“Oh my fucking God.” You mutter, shaking your head for what feels like the millionth time and you wonder if it’s too late to claim you’re sick and go back to LA. “Max, please.” You beg, “this is already so stressful. You have to hear my heart going a million beats a minute.” You plead softly as your dad opens the front door.

He wraps his arm around your waist and tugs you closer. While he’s a prick, he is not actually going to embarrass you like that. “Don’t worry, it’s going to be fiiiiiine.” He whispers before your mother comes barreling into view, crying out your name like she’s not seen you in years. “Oh my baby is home!” She hugs you despite Max having his arm around you and he thinks while dramatic, it’s touching that your parents love you so much. His own parents hadn’t really given a shit what he had done, as long as he didn’t bother them. It’s why he hadn’t contacted them since becoming a vampire.

You hug your mom, smiling at how excited she is to see you and you feel a flash of guilt for not coming back to see them enough. She pulls back to look at you, “you’ve changed your hair.” She observes and you wonder what her thoughts are. “I love it.” She says and you smile until her eyes drift over to Max. “Mom. This is Max Phillips. My boyfriend.” You introduce him and her eyes widen, “wow. You’re handsome. Not that I thought chicken wouldn’t find a handsome man but she’s always been a sucker for a geeky guy and her boyfriend in high school had really bad acne and oh - I’m rambling.” She giggles and you raise your eyebrows.

Max smiles and slips his arm from around you to take her shoulders. “That’s perfectly fine with me.” He tells her smoothly. “That just gives me an excuse to deal with the fact that I am going to have a gorgeous woman when she ages if she looks half as beautiful as you do.” He pulls her in for a hug. “I have brought you a little gift.” He hums when she squeaks and he shifts back to reach into his jacket pocket. “A thank you for inviting me into your home.” Before he could step over the threshold earlier, your father had welcomed him in, it makes it less awkward all round.

You raise your eyebrows at the gift and your mom giggles as she takes the box from his hands, “oh you didn’t have to get me anything.” She says and opens the box, “Chanel!” She gasps, eying the perfume and you are surprised at Max’s thoughtfulness. Your mom is surprised and she hugs Max. “Thank you, sweetie.”

“You are very welcome.” He winks at her and she gives a little giggle, delighted that he is charming. “He is nothing like you said.” She tells you and Max beams, sure that you had told them nothing but the truth when he was the bane of your existence.

You whisper, “suck up.” He playfully flashes his fangs at you when neither of your parents are looking and you nudge him as you walk further into the house. “I assume you’re sharing a bedroom.” Your mom says as she guides you towards the stairs, “your old room is a little messy. Your dad likes to do his work outs in there.” She says and you nod, “it’s fine, mom.”

Max bites his tongue but you know he wants to make a joke. Instead he grabs your bag from your hand. “Let me take it.” He coos. “You can visit with your mother. I’ll find my way.” He wants to be nosey and poke around your childhood bedroom and is up the stairs in a flash.

You sigh, knowing he’s going to be opening drawers and the closet until he finds something he can tease you about. “So honey, how was the flight?” She asks and you nod, “it wasn’t bad. LAX was a mess with how many people are heading home for Thanksgiving.” You huff as she starts to pour you a glass of wine. “I don’t like you living in such a big city. It scares me.” She says and you reach for her hand, “it’s okay, mom. I’m safe. Max keeps me safe.”

“Do you live together?” Max can hear the conversation as he peers into the rooms until he finds what is obviously yours. Grinning as he swings the door open wider and drops the bag onto the floor. “Jackpot.”

“Yes. We do.” You tell her and she sighs, “why didn’t you tell me or your dad? We didn’t even know you were dating anyone, let alone the man you called ‘spawn of the devil.’” You giggle at the memory of when you and Max hated each other and you would complain about him to your mom. “Well, there’s a fine line between love and hate. I just ended up falling in love with him instead.”

The mention of love seems to soften your mother and she sighs again, a small smile on her face as she watches you. You do love him, that’s obvious. “Is he good to you?” She asks seriously. “Listens to you?”

You chuckle, “sometimes. He can be stubborn. No, he’s - he’s good.” You promise her, “he treats me well. Spoils me, really.” You confess, “and he can be sarcastic as hell but he’s sweet when he wants to be.” You smirk as you take a sip of wine, “and you know I can give as good as I get.”

“Oh I know you can.” Your mother huffs and shakes her head. “You’ve always been strong willed, stubborn in your own way.” She’s proud of you for that, even if she worries. “So we will get to know your boyfriend and celebrate the holidays.” She tilts her head. “Is his own family disappointed he came with you?”

“No. He doesn’t really get along with them. That’s why he was nervous to come here.” You say despite not knowing entirely if that is true but you like to think you know Max pretty well by now. “Plus Max wanted to experience a good Thanksgiving. His parents fought a lot when he was growing up.” Now that is true. He told you so one night after he fucked you boneless.

“Poor thing.” Your mother’s expression softens even more, heart wrenching for what young Max must have grown up with. She tried very hard not to fight with your father around you. She didn’t want you to think that’s what normal relationships were like. Wanting better for you. “We will make sure that he has the best Thanksgiving possible.” She vows.

“Go find him. I’m gonna get a start on dinner. Take a glass for Max too.” She says as she pours a glass and refills yours. You take them upstairs to your room, wondering what Max has found during his time alone.

Max is deep in your closet, going through a shoe box and chuckling at the love letter he is reading. “What a fucking dork.” He snorts as he skims over declarations of undying love and promises to marry you. “This guy wanted to get laid baaaaaaad.” He huffs. “I mean, I understand, she’s got a fantastic pussy.”

You walk upstairs with the glasses of wine to find Max sitting on your bedroom floor with the shoe box you had hidden when you were sixteen in front of him. “Oh my God. Phillips, what are you doing?” You cry, setting the wine glasses down and some splashes on your hand as you rush to grab the letter from his hands.

“Hey I was reading those!” He protests, pouting as you rip away his reading material. “Come on…” he climbs to his feet and twirls around. “Baby, you’re the only one for me. I feel like I’m going to explode.” He recants in a mocking tone. “He was gonna explode alright, in his pants.”

You screw up the letter, “Jack was sweet. He took me to Homecoming.” Max smirks, “oh I bet he hoped he was cum-” You cut him off by tossing the paper at his head, “you’re such a dick. Just because you were probably a cocky jerk in high school who probably pumped and dumped every poor teenage girl who batted her eyelashes at you. You’re such an asshole.” You huff, crossing your arms.

He frowns, realizing that you aren’t amused, you’re upset. He moves towards you and reaches for you but you jerk away. “I’m only teasing.” He promises. “I was- hell, I’m jealous.” He admits. “I bet you were popular and had all the guys sweating. You would have never looked twice at me, I was an asshole.”

You snort, “oh I’m sure you were.” You say but you see his pout so you step closer, “baby. I’m yours now. This is from when I was seventeen. A long time ago. I’m all yours and I think you are hot as hell.”

“I won’t read your love letters from high school anymore.” He promises with a huff, but he’s wrapping his arms around you and dragging you closer. “But I saw some formal gowns in the closet.” He hums. “Might have to play homecoming Queen gets fucked.” He waggles his brows.

You giggle, “I don’t even think I can fit in them anymore. I was a late bloomer.” You confess and his hands slide down to squeeze your ass, “mmm and what a bloom, baby.” You snort and slap his chest before you caress it, “are you okay? I know this is a lot to handle for a man who is allergic to sunlight, garlic, and commitment.”

He stares at you for a moment, touched that you go from being upset to concerned about him. His cold heart bumps for half a beat and he grins. “I’m good, baby.” He promises, serious for a moment. “But I’d be even better if we christened your bed.” He hums. “Did you ever fuck any of your boyfriends here?” He asks, leaning in and pressing his lips to your throat.

“I didn’t lose my virginity until senior year and it was at his house in his basement. All thirty seconds of bliss.” You snort, “so you’d be the first one to fuck me here.” You smirk, tilting your head back a little more for him.

“Oh I like that idea.” He groans against your skin. “Thirty seconds, huh?” He snorts and makes sure his fangs aren’t poking out as he drags his teeth over your pulse. “I can give you more than that.” He boasts. “Tell me the poor bastard made you cum somehow?”

You giggle, “you know the answer to that Phillips.” You tangle your fingers in his hair and drag his face away from your neck. “No biting, Maxwell.” You order and he huffs, walking you backwards towards your bed. “He didn’t make me cum.” You reveal as you lean back on your pillow.

Max snorts and shakes his head. “Fucking shame.” He tells you. “It’s so fucking easy to make you cum.” He brags. “Want me to show you? I think I can get it done in less than three minutes. Wanna time me?”

You know you shouldn't do this in your bedroom with your parents downstairs but he always has this way of making you throw caution to the wind. Perhaps that's the benefit to being immortal. You whimper when his hands slide along your thighs until he reaches the button of your jeans. "Please, baby." You whimper, lifting your hips for him.

“That’s right.” He smirks but it’s more of a proud look than a cocky one. “You know I’ll make you feel good. Always make you cum.” He drags the jeans down your thighs and starts to growl slightly at the aroma of your arousal. “Already getting wet.”

You roll your eyes at his smirk and you lift your foot to press against the growing bulge in his jeans. "Mmm looks like I am not the only one excited." You tease and he chuckles before he rips your panties from your body. "Max. I only have so many pairs with me." You huff but your protest dies when he pushes your thighs apart and wastes no time diving into your pussy.

He doesn’t have to breathe, and even if he did, he wouldn’t want to. Tasting you, devouring your pussy, is honestly one of his favorite things to do. Some might be surprised, since they wouldn’t expect Max to give pleasure but he loves it. Making you moan and squeal his name, working you up into a frenzy and need that only he can satisfy, it’s beautiful.

You whimper, trying to not be loud with your parents downstairs, and you immediately tangle your fingers in his hair. He groans and you lift your hips so he can push his tongue deeper into your pussy.

Max groans as he works his tongue deeper, his nose pressed against your clit. He loves the breathy little sigh you give when his tongue reaches deep and presses against that spot inside you. He holds your thighs and urges you to put your legs on his shoulders as he devours you.

You have had  many complaints about Max, especially when you were sworn enemies, but one thing you have never been able to complain about is his oral skills. You lift your legs up onto his shoulders, your heels digging into the strong muscles of his back, and you whimper, “Max, baby. Feels so good.” You reach back to grip your pillow, “always so good. Best - best way you use that mouth.” You giggle and squeal when he shifts to playfully nip your clit.

He chuckles before he dives back in, his devilish glinting eyes fixed on you as you rock your hips greedily. It’s how he knows you are getting close to cumming. He doubles down, using his abilities as a vampire to make his tongue flick faster inside you, eager to see you fall apart.

“Fuck. Oh fuck, baby. Yessss.” You hiss, pulling on his hair as your thighs squeeze his head. You fall apart on his tongue in your childhood bed with a silent cry as you try to control yourself despite the intense pleasure zipping through you.

Max snarls possessively as he watches you fall apart. Hating how you mute your sounds but he knows why. You don’t want your parents to know what you are doing up here. “Fuck.” He grins happily as he pulls back.

Your legs are still shaking as he looks at you, smug with his chin shiny and eyes full of mischief. “You’re still an asshole.” You declare breathlessly despite him waggling his eyebrows at you. He chuckles and you huff, watching him shift onto his haunches, cock hard in his pants. “I did suck a few cocks in here when I was a teenager.” You confess, shifting onto your knees to rub his bulge and he groans, already working on the button of his jeans when your dad shouts your name up the stairs. “Shit.” You hiss, scrambling for your jeans.

“Oops.” He chuckles as he reaches down to adjust himself inside his jeans before buttoning back up. “Caught.” He moves over to the door as you rush to find another pair of panties. “We’re coming!” He calls back down and winks at you. “Just freshening up.”

You are mortified but also turned on at the thought of getting caught. You scramble to pull your jeans on and you walk over to Max who is now standing up, “I’ll make it up to you later, baby.” You promise, leaning in to kiss him softly.

He snorts, but he knows you will. You never like to be uneven in the score, like he actually keeps up with that. You have to be a real asshole to try to tally sexual favors. “Let’s go see what dad wants, chicken.”

You shove him playfully before you grab his shirt and pull him close, pressing a devastating kiss to his lips. A tease of what’s to come. You wink and open the door to your room, “let’s go, Dracula.” You joke and make your way downstairs to see what your parents want.

“You did tell them that I’m allergic to garlic, didn’t you?” He huffs, rolling his eyes when you turn your head and smirk at him. “Seriously.”

"No, because you're not going to eat anything anyway." You remind him, "and besides, my mom doesn't like to season anything. Salt and pepper are your best friends in this house." You promise and take his hand as you walk into the kitchen.

Max snorts and shakes his head. Just salt and pepper? He might not be able to eat food like he once did, but he prefers his human meals to have some flavor. He squeezes your hand and puts on a bright smile as he leans over and whispers in your ear, “does my face smell like your pussy?”

You lean in to sniff his face and your jaw drops, “oh my God, it does.” You confess and he smirks, “good.” He licks his lips and you are mortified as you enter the kitchen to your parents cooking dinner. “Nothing fancy tonight since the big meal will be tomorrow. I am going to make the pies tonight, honey, if you want to help.” Your mom says and Max slides his hand down to squeeze your ass, “what pies are we having? I’m partial to any cream pie.” You want to roll your eyes but you poke his side, “pumpkin and pecan. You pervert.” You murmur the last part as your dad checks the oven.

“So are chicken’s brothers coming?” Max asks as he looks around the table and only sees four places set. “She talks about how annoying they are and I want to see if I measure up.” He jokes and your dad snorts in amusement. He can already tell that Max is a man who enjoys pressing a nerve and somehow that works for his baby girl.

“They will be here tomorrow.” Your mom says, smiling at the idea of all of her kids together and your dad sets the chicken down on the counter. “Baby, isn’t this cannibalism?” Max gestures to the meat and you huff, “seriously. One is funny, twice is a bore, babe.” You raise your eyebrows at him and he snorts, leaning in to kiss your cheek. Your dad chuckles and starts to plate up the dinner. “Go take a seat.” Your mom orders and you and Max sit down at the kitchen table. The bigger table is all laid out for dinner tomorrow.

“This looks delicious.” Max lies, knowing that he will only be able to stomach a little human food before he is having to go throw it up. He can’t digest it anymore. Blood is the only thing that will go through his system, everything else tastes like ash in his mouth. You reach for his hand under the table and squeeze it gently, understanding. “If I bolt from the table, please forgive me.” He tells your mother. “No gallbladder and IBS can be a bitch sometimes.”

Your mom nods, “oh I understand, dear. I have IBS too.” She sympathizes and you squeeze his hand again, knowing he’s doing a lot for you right now. Max excuses himself after twenty minutes and your mom smiles as she finishes eating, “I like him. He acts like a comedian but I think he’s got a good heart.” She says and your expression softens, “yeah. He can be an asshole sometimes but he’s good overall. I really love him, mom.” You tell her and your dad nods, seeing the look in your eyes.

Your father clears his throat, a little emotional at the love that he sees. His little girl is grown and in love. “Do I need to offer him your grandmother’s ring?” He asks softly. Your grandmother had left her wedding set to you for when you got married, it’s a stunning set and it’s been kept safe for its intended purpose.

You look down at the table, “I’m not sure if Max is the marrying type. We haven’t really talked about it. It’s - I don’t care if I marry him, I just want to spend the rest of my life with him.” You confess, knowing that Max and you have never spoken about marriage and you doubt he would want it since forever really is a long time to him.

He can hear everything and he hears the hesitation in your voice. Making him frown as he washes his hands and stares at the reflection that masks the monster that he is on the inside. You’ve seen that face once before, but you didn’t pull away. Now he hears that you want to spend the rest of your life with him? How the hell is he supposed to deal with that? He waits another moment and flushes the toilet, the dinner purged from his stomach and he knows he’s going to have to drink someone tonight. Just a little sip or five to make it through the weekend. “Wow.” He grimaces, coming back into the kitchen. “Sorry about that. I thought I would have had more time.” He sits back down beside you and kisses your cheek. “What did I miss?”

You offer him a small smile, wondering where your future with Max is going. He’s immortal and you’re not. You’ll grow old and then what? He will let you die or maybe he will move on before you’re gray and wrinkly. You sigh and pick up your fork, “we were just talking about the plan for tomorrow.” You lie, knowing he heard the conversation and you’re not sure you want to know his thoughts on it.

“Ohhhhhhh.” He nods and looks around the table. “Now. Are you a lunchtime Thanksgiving family or a dinner Thanksgiving family?” He asks, curious about your traditions. “Gotta know if I need to sneak a snack or not.” He jokes.

You chuckle at his idea of a snack and your mom answers, “lunchtime Thanksgiving. The boys like to watch football and us girls go off to prepare for the holidays.” She grins at the thought of getting the declarations out the next day and Max nods, “more of a baseball guy but hey, I like football.” He says and your dad nods in agreement, “then we take a nap and have leftovers before bedtime.”

Max shoots you a smirk. “I like naps.” He admits, although he’s not sleeping like everyone else would be. It would be an excuse to fuck you. “Very stimulating for the body.”

You nudge him under the table and he winks at you when your parents are distracted. Your dad gets up to clear the plates but Max stands, helping him, and that gets you an approving look from your mom. “I like him.” She mouths and you smile, knowing Max can be likeable when he wants to be.

Max shoos your father away in the kitchen, wanting to make a good impression. “Visit with your daughter, I’ve had plenty of experience washing dishes.” He admits. “It was my job in high school so I could save for college.”

You raise your eyebrows at that but you know Max did not become a vampire until after college when he was recruited by the company you both work for and eventually changed years later. Your parents ask you about Los Angeles, curious about if what they see on the news reflects reality and you giggle telling them that the news likes to paint the worst picture of big cities that you feel perfectly safe, especially with Max by your side.

“Max, are you willing to defend my daughter?” Your father asks, concerned that he might look fit, but not be a fighter. Max turns, his jaw tight but it’s not from insult, it’s from fury at the mere idea someone would touch you. “I would rip their heart out with my bare hands and watch them bleed out.” He vows, completely serious. They would be his next meal if they attacked you.

You know he's completely serious and that makes your pussy clench around nothing at the mere idea of him killing for you. Your parents look on in admiration, your dad is impressed by his response even if he thinks Max is exaggerating. "Good idea." Your dad grins and Max winks at you, "told you they would like me."

You giggle and Max watches as your parents exchange approving glances. Good. He needs them to like him while he’s here. He knows that no matter how much they might annoy you at times, you love your family and that means playing nice. He turns back to his chore and his fangs pop out, needing to stretch them a bit.

You watch his back muscles as he washes the dishes and you ask your parents about your extended family, and they catch you up. You nod, listening with interest as your mom talks about her best friend and her son who graduated the same grade as you.

Max frowns slightly, hearing the wistfulness in your mother’s voice. It’s obvious that she was interested in hooking you up with the son, but that’s too bad because he is here. “Are they coming to Thanksgiving?” He asks, still washing the last pan.

Your mom nods, "yeah. Ever since she lost Terry, she has come to Thanksgiving and Chad is single. He broke up with Sarah." Your mom says and you hum, nodding, "poor guy."

Max rolls his eyes but he has a smile on his face as he turns back to the table, wiping his hands on a dishrag. “Maybe you could give him the name of your friend you wanted to meet up with.” He suggests innocently.

"Oh yeah. Jessica would be perfect." You agree, "and she's single. She wants to get married, have kids." You tell your mom, "I will tell Chad about her when I see him." You say and your mom nods, "yeah. Sure honey."

He smirks slightly, knowing that they had anticipated setting you and he had thrown a monkey wrench in that plan. “Always willing to help.” He tells your mom.

“You guys must be exhausted from your flight. Why don’t you get to bed early?” Your dad suggests and Max’s smirk widens at the thought of being in your childhood bed with you. You nod, yawning despite not being truly tired and you thank your parents for dinner. “We will be up bright and early for food prep.” She reminds you and you nod, “I know, mom. I’m exhausted. Night.” You say to your parents, taking Max’s hands.

“Good night.” Max practically purrs the words but your parents don’t seem to notice it. Eager to get upstairs with you and continue where you left off. He is deserving of a blow job. “So you wanna do it before or after I have my little sip?” He asks as you guide him upstairs, reaching over to smack your ass when you are a step ahead of him.

“After.” You say, knowing you prefer him to drink from you when he’s inside you. It’s euphoric. “When you’re inside me.” You clarify as you close your bedroom door and lock it, wanting to be sure your parents won’t walk in.

“I like the way you think.” As soon as the door is locked, his fangs spring out and he smirks at you. “You know they wanted you to come to Thanksgiving to hook you up with mommy’s boy best friend.” That's not exactly the relationship but he doesn’t care. “Too bad they are going to be hearing you scream my name and not Chad.” He makes a face at the name. “Even I’m not enough of a douche to be named Chad.”

You giggle, “he’s a sweet guy. We grew up together. Went to high school together. We, uh, did date during high school but it never went anywhere. I think my mom still imagines us together so her best friend can be my mother in law.” You say as you pull your sweater over your head.

Max pouts instantly. “You didn’t give him a blowjob, did you?” Hating the idea of  sucking this guy off and him sitting at the table with Max knowing what you look like on your knees. It’s possessive and jealous and honestly a little surprising for him, he’s normally never jealous.

“Baby, it was only a hand job.” You promise, “and we never had sex. It was before I lost my virginity.” You are surprised at the pout on his lips as you strip down until you are naked for him, still wet from his mouth earlier. “I do want to suck your cock though.” You coo, shifting to kneel in front of him, working on undoing his jeans so you can pull his hardening cock out. You lean forward and press kisses along the vein that protrudes until you suck on the tip, feeling him harden in your mouth.

“Fuck….” Max groans your name as he watches you. “You have the best mouth.” He praises, “even better pussy.”

You smirk as you pull off his cock, spitting into your hand so you can strike his length. “He never got to have that.” You promise before you take him back into your mouth, humming around him and you squeeze your tit with your free hand as you start to bob your head.

Max curses and reaches down to stroke your cheek, rocking his hips slightly. He loves that you have no qualms about choking on his cock and won’t give up. “Then let me have that.” He growls, twitching in your mouth.

You pull off his cock, pouting, “you don’t want to cum down my throat first?” You ask, confused at his lack of enthusiasm for a blow job. Max shakes his head, “I’m thirsty and I want to fuck you while I feed.” He says and you nod, standing up on shaky knees to make your way to the bed.

Max is out of his own clothes in seconds, eager to fuck you. To bury his fangs in your neck and drink your blood with his cock buried in your pussy. He smirks as he watches you spread your legs. “May I come in?” He jokes, teasing you about needing permission to cross the threshold.

You snort and roll your eyes, “just fuck me, Phillips.” You demand, “you’re such a weirdo.” You tease and he kneels on the bed, “you love it.” Offering a nod, you smile softly, “I do. I really do. Come here, baby. Want you inside me.”

He doesn’t smirk like he normally would, but he’s immediately nodding and jumping on the bed. Grinning when he hears it squeak. “Oh this is gonna be fun.” He chuckles.

“Oh God.” You groan in preemptive embarrassment but that soon transitions to a moan as he starts to push into you. He’s so thick that he takes your breath away. “Max.” You whimper, sliding your hands up his stomach.

“That’s right baby.” He groans. “You know who’s fucking you.” He braces his weight on his arms but soon enough he will be wrapped around you. He rolls his hips until he’s buried to the hilt and then grinds a little deeper, loving how you whine.

You lift your hips higher, letting him sink deeper into you, and you gasp at how deep he pushes. He’s pressing against your cervix. “Please, baby. Want you to take what you want.” You plead softly, leaning in to kiss his chin while you squeeze his shoulders.

You know how to rile him up. His teeth snap together, not ready to bite you just yet and he pulls his hips back to start pounding into you. Making the bed shake and groan, the headboard beating up against the wall of your childhood bedroom. “Fuck.”

“Ma-Max. The headboard. St- oh my God.” You choke when he continues to fuck you and you are mortified. “Put a pillow behind it. Shit. I can’t cum when you - oh shit.” You hiss when he continues to fuck you, pushing you higher up the bed until you can grip the bars of your headboard.

“Hold onto it.” He growls, his hips never stuttering as he pistons them, pushing in and out of you. “You are gonna cum for me. You know it.” He is smug, feeling your walls already trembling around him. Maybe it’s the thrill of being found out by your parents but you like this, fucking in your childhood bed.

You hate that he’s right. You are going to cum for him. You are going to fall apart on his cock. “Ma-Maxxxxx.” You squeal, clamping down on his cock with a noise you can’t conceal.

That’s when he sinks his fangs into your throat. Right when the pleasure is coursing through your body and making your blood taste like candy. Groaning and twitching in pleasure as he fucks you through your orgasm and drinks your blood.

You gasp, your orgasm always prolonged when he drinks from you and you tangle your fingers in his hair to keep him close as he drinks from you. “Oh fuck.” You finally croak, thighs shaking around his hips.

He has to be careful not to drink too much, always wanting to gorge himself on your blood, but he can’t. Not without making you a vampire and you haven’t asked him to. Normally that wouldn’t bother him, because he does what he wants, but it’s different with you. Why, he doesn’t know, but it is. He retracts his fangs and licks at your wound, knowing it will be healed by morning and grunts as he presses his lips to yours. Eager to find his own satisfaction now.

You watch him, blood dripping down his chin, and you do something you’ve never done before. You lean in to lick it from his skin. The taste is metallic and not something you’d enjoy but the way his cock twitches inside you has you smirking so you repeat the action and that’s when he’s gone. His cock throbs violently as he pushes deep inside you, painting your walls with rope after rope of his cum.

Max groans your name, burying his face against your neck and practically whining as he rides out his orgasm. Loving how good you make him feel as he fills you with his lifeless seed. A flash of disappointment rockets through him. Disappointment that it wouldn’t take and become a point of satisfaction that he had knocked you up at your parents house. Not that he had ever wanted kids, even when he could have possibly had one.

You caress his back, trying to catch your breath, and you hum in satisfaction, “so good, baby.” You murmur, practically melting into the bed beneath him as you keep your legs around his hips to keep him close.

His recovery period is quick so he is ready to go again, but he doesn’t move. Enjoying the closeness and the way you idly stroke his back. “Think your parents heard us?” He asks, chuckling slightly.

You groan softly in embarrassment, “oh God. They probably did.” You bury your face in his neck as your cheeks burn. “The headboard. Shit. You love winding people up.” You giggle, kissing him softly.

He smirks as he pulls back to look at you. “Bet your dad isn’t gonna want to have sex tonight.” He predicts. “Listening to his baby girl getting drilled.”

You groan again, “oh my God. I don’t know how I’m gonna go downstairs for breakfast.” You confess and he chuckles, “well, you’ve already made a noise. Might as well enjoy ourselves.” He says as he rocks his hips and you whimper at the sensation. “You’re such a dick.”

He chuckles, knowing that you know he’s thinking something crude. Instead of saying it, he rocks his hips again and pulls another moan out of your mouth. “There’s the sounds I like.” He teases in your ear. “Sounds so good baby.”

You huff, "let me ride you. Maybe you'll be the one moaning." You demand, tapping on his side and he grunts, reluctantly pulling out of you so he can shuffle to his knees. You follow suit, watching him lean back against your headboard, cock in his hand, and you waste no time straddling him.

“Oh fuck.” He loves when you ride, even if it’s not often. You prefer to be a pillow princess and he doesn’t mind that. Your tits bouncing in his face is always a good day. You sink down on his cock and he groans your name again.

You smirk as his eyes flutter shut and you start to rock on top of him. “Not so cocky now, Phillips?” You tease, grabbing your headboard so you can start riding him. “You always feel so big like this.” You whisper, leaning in to kiss along his jaw until you bite down on his earlobe. “Best cock I’ve ever had,”

He groans, knowing you aren’t playing fair but he loves when you praise him. Loves it. His fingers dig into your hips and he pulls you down. “So ride me.” He pants out. “Gallop on your stud until you squeal again.” He slaps your ass and smirks when you gasp out.

You roll your eyes at his words until you decide to see how you can wreck him. He’s made you moan and now it’s your turn. You grip the headboard and shift onto your knees, rocking back hard onto his hard cock. He chokes and you smirk, repeating the action as the sound of skin slapping fills the room.

He loves watching you bounce on his cock. You ride him like a fucking champ and always tighten and grind down in a way that makes his fangs pop out and his toes curl. “Fuck.” He groans. “Ride my dick. We should film this, make a fucking movie of you bouncing on my cock.” He slides his hands up to palm your tits.

“Yeah? You wanna be able to watch it back together? See how good I take your cock?” You murmur in his ear, bouncing on his dick like you’re made for it. “Feel so good, baby. Always so good. No one has ever stretched me out like you do.”

He growls proudly. His hips rocking up to match your thrusts, but he’s not trying to take over. Enjoying you so much that a loud moan pours out of his mouth.

You giggle at his moan, wanting to hear it again so you repeat the motion, grinning when he moans loudly once more. "Now look who's making a noise." You tease, "the big bad vamp is moaning for me." You lean in to bite down on his lower lip, tugging on it.

He grunts and wants to take over, but he just squeezes your tits harder. Eyes slightly yellowing as his fangs pop out again. Taking on a more chiseled look as he slowly morphs into the monster visage he normally hides away. “Just hope your dad doesn’t break down the door.” He growls.

You giggle, loving how you are pulling him apart with your pussy. You aren't scared of his true visage, you love how he only transforms when he is lost in the feeling of blood and lust. "That's it, baby." You coo, grabbing his hair to tilt his head back so you can lean in to kiss along his neck, playfully biting down on the spot where his pulse would be.

He growls again, cock twitching deep inside you and he has to force himself not to squeeze you too tight. Close to losing control and he doesn’t want to hurt you. “Cock tease.” His voice is guttural, raspy.

You smirk against his neck, lo in the control you have over him right now. “Want you to cum for me. Fill me up until it’s dripping out of me.” You demand, grinding down on each rock of your hips and you moan at the way his pelvis rubs your clit with each move.

Max loves when you talk dirty. Loves how you get into it. He is careful to keep his sharper nails away from your skin so he doesn’t cut you, but he rocks his hips up faster, chasing that bliss and hoping you follow.

“Yesss. That’s it, honey.” You hiss when he thrusts up into you, rubbing your clit a little harder and that’s when you fall apart. “Oh fuck.” You choke into his collarbone as you shake, trying to work your hips to push him over the edge.

Max takes over as soon as you start to shake, thrusting up into you harshly and loving how you soak him. “Fuck yes, yes.” He groans out, pushing deep and giving into the need to flood your pussy with his seed again.

His groan is louder than your moans so you slap your palm over his mouth, his fangs digging into your flesh but you don’t care as you muffle his noise while he fills you up with his cum. He twitches inside you, eyes squeezed shut and you rock your hips to help work him through it

He tastes your blood again and it makes him lap at your palm, greedy for the taste of you and another sip of your blood. Completely wrecked in your childhood bed and not even ashamed of who could have heard him.

He looks like you’ve torn him apart. Something you’ve never seen before. You smirk and lean in to softly kiss him, “you doing okay, baby?” You coo, caressing his cheek now that your palm has stopped bleeding. You grin as he nods, looking a little dazed. “Mmm, good.” You coo, leaning in to kiss along his neck. “So good for me.”

Max is not subby, but he’s almost whining as you coo at him, your lips on his skin. “Fuck you.” He huffs, but there’s nothing but bluster and honestly need in his tone as his cock twitches inside you.

You giggle, shifting off his cock and you feel his cum leaking from you as you lay down on the bed beside him, “the pillow princess can ride.” You say smugly, “not so big bad vamp now, huh?”

Max snorts and rolls his eyes as he shifts down on the bed. “Don’t be ridiculous.” He reaches out to pull you into his side. “I’m still your big, bad vamp.”

Your hand rubs his chest as you curl around him, knowing you would feel his heart beneath your palm but it’s absent. “You are.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss his neck, “and you did good today. Tomorrow…it’s gonna be crazy. If you find it too much, just tell everyone you get migraines and need to lay down in a dark room.” You offer, knowing Thanksgiving can be a lot .

“Babe….” He is pouting slightly, insulted that you think he can’t do this. “The only thing I’m going to think is too much is if they use sage on the turkey.” He grimaces. “That shit smells nasty.”

You tilt your head to look at him, pausing for a moment, “fair. It does.” You smirk and lean in to kiss his chin. “Now, since we have made enough noise to scar my parents for life, what do you say to fucking me from behind?” You ask, sliding your hand down to squeeze his still hard cock. He chuckles, flipping you over onto your knees in a move that makes you dizzy. “I’d say go big or go home.” He teases and you moan when he pushes back into you.

****

He only fucked you once more before letting you sleep. Coming down the next day and finding your mother unable to look him in the eyes and your father just completely absent. Apparently he had been tinkering on something in the garage that was very important. Now the food prep is done and the doorbell is ringing, making Max smirk slightly as he walks towards the door. “I’ll get it!” He calls out.

You have another sip of wine, knowing that even having the parade on TV for your mom - her favorite thing - didn’t help dispel the awkwardness that the morning brought after Max fucked your brains out but you must admit you found it amusing when your mom whispered “good for you honey. He’s a goer.” She says and you fluster, “yeah. He’s, uh, a pleaser.” She smirks, “so was your dad.” She confesses and that makes you wrinkle your nose. “Too much info, mom.” You confess and she giggles as she continues preparing the food. You wonder why Max is so eager to answer the door and you get your answer when your mom’s best friend walks in, followed by Chad.

“Look who joined the party!” Max is greeting them like lifelong friends and Chad is thoroughly confused. That only makes Max grin as he throws his arm around the boy toy’s shoulders. “Heard a lot about you, buddy.” He tells him. “Feels like I’ve known you forever.”

Chad is confused but lets Max guide him into the living room where your parents are waiting. Your brothers will be coming soon so you worry that Max will put on too much of a show. "I, uh, I haven't heard about you." He confesses, his eyes meeting yours and you smile, "hi Chad. How have you been?" You ask and he steps away from Max so he can hug you. You look over at your boyfriend who is smiling but he looks like he could break his own jaw. "Good. Good. God, you look  - wow. Amazing." He chuckles nervously as he drags his eyes along your form.

Max smells the hunger on Chad and it makes him frown darkly for a split second before he morphs his face into a jovial grin. “Doesn’t she?” Max asks as he slips between them and wraps his arm around your waist. “Blowing her back out regularly is exactly what the doctor ordered.”

Your eyes widen and you murmur “oh my God” under your breath and Chad chuckles awkwardly. Your mom gasps and her best friend chokes. Everyone reacts like it’s a sitcom and you know Max finds this hilarious. “Uh, that’s, uh, good for you, I guess.” He says and Max leans in to kiss your cheek, “oh it is, pal.” You pat Max’s chest, “yeah, well, I think we all need a drink now.” You say, stepping away from the men to take your mom and her friend into the kitchen for a drink.

Max watches as Chad awkwardly turns away from you and feels like he’s proven his point. Smirking slightly, he walks over to the couch and plops down. “So Chad, how’s things going? Work, love.” He waggles his brows.

Chad sits down in the armchair - your dad’s armchair - and sighs, “uh, I, um, I’m a police officer so work is work. The ladies apparently don’t love a man in uniform.” He says bitterly, tapping his fingers on his knee, “so you one of those L.A types? All hair gel and no dick?” He smirks at his own joke.

Max’s eyes flash in amusement, recognizing the snark and insult in his comment. It’s good for an amateur. “Definitely not.” He snorts and shrugs slightly. “Bite is worse than my bark and my dick is bigger than my ego.” He boasts.

The other man raises his eyebrows, "I find that hard to believe." He says your name, "I have known her a long time. Just want to look out for her. She deserves a good life...a good partner." He says pointedly, "and I know her parents wish she'd come home...settle down...have kids." Chad tilts his head as he takes in Max's Gucci shoes.

Your parents really don’t know you. “She’s focusing on her career right now.” He tells Chad, although there’s a stinging barb about kids considering he can never give you any. “I’m the exact partner she wants. And needs.”

Chad snorts softly, “sure thing.” He says despite thinking that he’d be what you want and need. “For now until she wants the best.” He adds and Max chuckles, “that’s why she screams my name when she’s cumming, pal.”

There’s a moment of awkward silence where Chad doesn’t know what to say, but Max is always good about filling in those gaps. “I could always provide an example.” Max offers with a grin when it looks like Chad doesn’t believe him. “I’m sure that her mother will tell you all about last night if you ask her.” Right now, Max would just fuck you in front of Chad to prove his point.

Chad snorts, trying to conceal his jealousy. He always thought you’d go off and do your L.A thing before coming home to marry him. He’s always been in love with you. “You fucked her mom?” He scoffs, trying to be funny but it comes off as defensive and childish.

Max huffs out a dry chuckle but he doesn’t bother to respond. It’s obvious that Chad has built up some grand scheme in his head for your life and that’s not going to happen. “So what’s a police officer’s pay nowadays?” He asks, tilting his head curiously. “Can’t be much, definitely not enough.”

Chad taps his fingers on his thigh after clenching his fist. “It’s, uh, it’s enough for a good life here. Maybe not enough for L.A living but it’s a good life here.” He defends himself, “unless she likes designer stuff which I don’t think she wants or needs.”

Max lifts a brow, amused by the idea that he would have any say in what you wanted or needed. “Hate to break it to you, pal, but she likes designer purses.” You actually love them, saving up and purchasing them as a splurge. You keep them pristine and take care of them so they last.

Chad scoffs, “waste of money. She should be using that money to save for her kids.” He says and Max chuckles, “listen, you think whatever you want about her wants and needs but she’s taken, buddy. She’s with me and not you. Today we are here with her family and tomorrow, we are heading back to L.A to our place that we live in. Together.” Max says with a glare and Chad bristles but before he can retort, you walk in with a beer for Max. “Hey baby.” You coo, leaning in to kiss his lips since you know he’s been left alone with Chad for far too long.

“Hey sweetheart.” Max snags your waist and drags you down into his lap. It’s petty, but oh so satisfying to see Chad slide his eyes away uneasily as Max drags his hand up your thigh. “Was thinking we might go shopping tomorrow. Don’t they have a sale on that purse you want?” He asks innocently.

You raise your eyebrows at Max, “uh, yeah. End of season sale. It’s discounted.” You say and you are confused when you look over to find Chad looking away from you. “Get it. On my card.” Max demands and you focus back on your boyfriend, realising he’s showing off in front of Chad. It makes you smirk and you lean in to kiss him, “thank you, baby.” You murmur before pressing your lips to his.

“Of course.” He winks at you. “Have to spoil my pillow princess in and out of the bed.” He coos, squeezing your thigh. He hears Chad choke out a cough, make a mumbled excuse and shoot up out of his chair to find his mother.

You watch him go and slap Max’s chest playfully, “what the hell did you say to him?” You ask with a gasp and Max smirks, “just made sure he knew he was never gonna have a chance with my girl.” He says and you snort with a grin, “you’re so bad but I love it.” You promise, leaning in to kiss him again.

“He deserved it.” He snorts, smirking against your lips. “If you really love it, you can let me take you upstairs to scream my name before we carve the turkey.”

You shake your head, “no can do, honey. I gotta go help my mom and my brothers will be here any second.” You remind him, “and my dad is still hiding in the garage after last night.” You caress his cheek, “later though.” You promise, wiggling in his lap just as the front door opens.

Max growls right as your father freezes in the door and it’s awkward for a moment as you climb off Max’s lap. Then your father clears his throat. “Uh, Max, come out to the garage and give me a hand.” He tells your boyfriend, making him nod and stand after you get up.

You watch him go, worrying what your father is going to say to him but you’re a grown woman and he has to handle that you are having sex with your boyfriend like an adult. You sigh and make your way into the kitchen where Chad is pouting against the counter. You ignore him to help your mom with the pies.

Outside, your dad is leading Max towards the garage and he can sense the older man is nervous. He wonders why he’s nervous and what he wants help with. Only to find that there’s nothing out when they reach the garage and your father turns towards Max. “Wanted to talk to you man to man.” He tells Max, shrugging. “Want a beer?” Despite the fact that Max had left a beer inside, he nods. “Appreciate it.” He says and watches as the other man walks over to the fridge. Once the beer is in his hand, your father starts in. “How serious are you about my daughter?” He asks, his face blank and it takes Max by surprise. “I-“ he considers just saying something smart to irritate but he sees the worry in the older man’s eyes. You are his daughter, his legacy. He can understand why he would ask. “I love your daughter with my cold, dead heart.” He tells him seriously. “I would spend eternity with her if she wanted.”

Your father nods, seeing the sincerity and seriousness in his eyes and he knows Max means it. Your dad sensed that he’s a joker but right now, he is serious as they come. He smiles and reaches out to pat Max on the shoulder, “that’s all I want. You’re a good guy, Max, but if you hurt my baby girl, I’ll kill you.” He promises, pointing to the guns he has displayed on the wall ready to go.

Threats of death don’t really bother Max, especially since a gun won’t kill him. He doesn’t scoff or make a joke. “I wouldn’t expect anything less.” He tells him.

Max shakes his hand and the men head back inside just as your brothers arrive. “Wonderful. More interrogation.” Max mutters as your mom comes barrelling down the hall to greet her sons, their wives, and their kids.

Max skirts around the chaos and finds you in the kitchen. “Hiding from your brothers?” He presses against you and kisses your neck as you crimp a pie closed. He smirks when he hears your gasp and soft moan since that’s a pleasure spot for you.

You lean back into him, “hmm they are going to be chaos. The kids running around. My sister in laws asking me when I’ll be giving the kids more cousins and then being jealous of my freedom to have a career. It’s, uh, it’s a lot.” You spin around to wrap your arms around his neck, “thank you. For coming here. It’s - I know it’s not easy but you’ve done it for me and that makes me love you even more.”

“Baby, you know I would do anything for you.” He promises, leaning in to kiss you and he pulls back with a cocky wink. “You give the best blowjobs when you owe me.” He teases.

You giggle, slapping his chest, and he offers you this smile that you’ve only ever seen when he looks at you. You lean in to kiss his chin just as your nephews and nieces come barrelling into the kitchen. “Auntie. Auntie!” They squeal and Max steps back to let you greet the kids. “Hey trouble.” You coo to the youngest, only 2 and she runs off with the rest to find grandma for a pre dinner cookie.

He gives you a wide eyed look. “Wow.” He snorts, chuckling slightly. “They are a whirlwind of trouble, aren’t they?” He asks, wondering if you do want kids one day despite telling him you don’t.

You snort, “too much trouble.” You tell him and he tilts his head, “too much?” You nod, leaning against the counter, “I love them but I do not want one of them. I love my life. I love my career. I love our life. I wouldn’t want to change it and have one of those gremlins.”

He relaxes slightly and smiles. “Gremlins. They are that.” He laughs. “Horror movies involving kids.” He shudders dramatically. “Could you imagine a kid vamp?” That would be a nightmare.

You raise your eyebrows, “a kid vamp with your personality? Good God we couldn’t do that to the world.” You tease and he snorts, shaking his head in agreement. “They’d be a dick.” He adds and you reach out to squeeze his hand, “ready to face my brothers? Then you’ll be through the worst of it.”

“Can I eat them if they get too bad?” Max asks, pouting when you scowl at him. “What!?” He asks, although he knows he can’t eat your family. “It’s a valid question!”

“Max, baby. That’s not funny.” You say and he tilts his head so you add, “maybe it’s a little funny. Come on, let’s get this over with.” You take his hand to guide him into the living room where your brothers are already gearing up to watch football. “Squirt!” Your older brother greets you, pulling you into a hug. You whine in protest as he messes up your hair and your younger brother soon hugs you, greeting you with a kiss on your cheek. “So this is the boyfriend?” They both ask at the same time as they appraise Max.

Oh boy. Both of your brothers look like they would try to beat the shit out of Max if he stepped out of line. Good thing that won’t happen and they couldn’t touch him. He grins, knowing they are going to get along just fine. They are assholes, he’s an asshole. It's gonna be great. “Max Philips.” He introduces himself. “I’m the one sleeping with your sister.”

You wince at the way he introduces himself and your brothers look at each other before they look back at Max. “Goddamn. Straight to the point. My kind of man.” Your younger brother says and reaches out to shake Max’s hand, “you know, if you break her heart we are gonna fly to L.A and kill you.” He promises, “but I hear you make her happy so you’re okay for now. What you drinking? Wanna go watch the football game with dad?” He asks, knowing that the women will gather in the kitchen.

Max glances at you, smirking slightly at the mortified expression on your face and he nods. “I think that sounds great.” He lies, but knows that this is a part of spending a holiday with your family. “You okay with that, baby?” He asks you.

You know, not exactly excited to endure the chatter of the rest of the women who will no doubt interrogate you on when you are getting married and giving the kids cousins. Still, it’s good that Max bonded with the men in your family so you smile and say, “of course, baby.” You lean in to kiss him and your brothers pretend to gag which makes you roll your eyes before you walk off to the kitchen.

Max follows your brothers out and pretends not to be bored of his mind. They are all boasting and posturing, but it’s amusing to Max. They have no idea how outmatched they are by him. The beer is easily tipped out of his bottle, not actually consumed because he doesn’t want to throw up, he’s going to have to do enough of that at dinner.

You lean against the counter with a glass of wine in your hand as your mom and her friend finish on the mashed potatoes and sides while the turkey rests. “So no ring?” One of your sister in laws asks and you shrug, “we aren’t that traditional. I don’t care. I know what my future is and it’s Max. I don’t need a ring to know that he loves me.” You say and she raises her eyebrows, “that’s what all women say when they know they won’t get a ring. How long have you been together now? Like two years? We were engaged on our one year anniversary.” She boasts and your mom looks at her and says your name, “she’s focusing on her career. Not a family. Besides, she might decide to come home.” Your mom says and her friend nods, “Chad would propose right now if he had a chance.” She giggles and you frown, “and I would say no. I don’t care about rings or babies or families. I’m happy with my life. With Max. I love him and I just want him. Why can’t you accept that and be happy for me?” You ask, looking down at your wine glass. Your mom steps closer, “we do, honey. I’m sorry. I just - I want you to be happy.” You sigh, “I am, mom. I really am.”

“So man, you want kids?” Your older brother hands Max another beer, already a little tipsy and shoots him a grin as if he knows the answers. “Can’t have them.” Max admits, shrugging slightly as if it’s not a big deal. It’s not like he can tell them that his body doesn’t produce sperm because he is technically dead. “She knows. Understands.”

Your brother nods but the younger one frowns, “does she want them? And she’s just telling you she understands? Seems like she’s lying.” Chad adds and Max huffs, “she understands. We have talked many times about it.” He says and Chad scoffs, “sure. She’s probably just saying that to keep you happy. She’s selfless like that.”

Max snorts. “She might.” He doesn’t tell them that you had thought about getting your tubes tied, knowing that’s none of their business. That way you can just blame Max and it will be the truth. “Not like I can magically make my swimmers swim.”

Chad scoffs but your brothers actually step in to Max’s defense, “that sucks man but hey, as long as you guys are happy. We have made enough kids for the family.” He jokes and your younger brother nods, “I didn’t tell you? Sally is pregnant. We are going to tell mom and dad today.” He says, ruining the surprise since your father is behind them and he grins, giving him a hug. “Congrats on another rugrat.” Max offers and soon the men are being called inside to the table.

Max finds you looking a little frazzled, but nothing too bad. Making his way over to you and kissing your lips soundly. Chad huffs and looks away as Max whispers in your ear. “Told your brothers I was sterile.” He tells you softly, sure that it will come up during dinner if Chad has his way.

You nod in understanding, squeezing his hand as he sits down beside you. You smile and watch the rest of your family sit down while your father carves the turkey. It’s been a long day but right now, you feel like you can relax as the food starts to get passed around.

None of the food looks good to Max but he makes the appropriate noises and raves about how good the sweet potato casserole looks. Knowing that it will all taste like shit and he will have to throw it up. The only thing that sounds good right now is eating Chad. Watching as he tries to brush his fingers against your as you pass him the food to your right. It’s amazing how he had gotten sat next to you so you are surrounded by him and Max.

You ignore Chad’s touch as you pass the food, trying to discreetly get some food from Max’s plate so it doesn’t look like he’s not eating. “Who wants to say grace?” Your mom asks and Chad smirks, “why doesn’t Max? Since he’s new.”

If looks could kill, Chad would be dead. Max doesn’t exactly pray, considering what he is. Probably not on God’s good side. With everyone watching him, he nods and closes his eyes. “Our creator, thank you for today.” He starts. “The ability to be here with family and friends is not afforded to everyone, so thank you.” You reach for his hand under the table and squeeze it gently. “Let us remember those that are less fortunate and help them however we can. Amen.”

You squeeze Max’s thigh under the table in silent thanks for doing that and soon everyone is digging into the food. Your parents ask your brothers and sister in laws about their latest activities and you can feel Chad leaning closer to you with every minute that passes. You stiffen when you feel his hand on your thigh.

Max feels you tense beside him and looks over at you, seeing your brows furrow and he nudges you slightly when he sees Chad’s hand on your thigh. Reaching under the table and taking the other man’s hand like it’s you, threading his fingers together with Chad’s. “If you wanted to hold hands, you could have just asked.” Max singsongs as he tightens his grip. “No need to grab my girlfriend’s thigh.”

You giggle, seeing the way your family’s eyes widen at the sight of Max squeezing Chad’s hand when he lifts it from your lap. Chad looks mortified and Max smirks, letting go of his hand. “Good God, Chad.” Your dad shakes his head, and your older brother says “stop embarrassing yourself, man.” Chad shakes his head until he stands up and walks out of the dining room. “I’ll go talk to him.” Your mom’s best friend says and follows him, leaving you all alone.

Max shrugs slightly. “He should have kept his hands to himself.” He says, even though he might be the handsiest person you had ever met before you started dating. “He’s lucky I didn’t bite him.”

You giggle at that and your family all look around until your mom sighs, “well, he certainly shouldn't touch you without your say so.” All the women nod and it doesn’t take long for you all to continue eating. You keep stealing from his plate to help him out and he reaches down to squeeze your hand.

Max shoots you a small smile before he makes a face and clutches his stomach. “Shit.” He hisses and stands up quickly to rush off to the bathroom. Hoping that it seems like his supposed IBS is kicking in.

You watch him go and everyone watches him, “he’s got a sensitive stomach.” You explain and everyone nods, carrying on with their food but your brother says “is he bulimic or something?” Your mom shakes her head, “don’t say things like that.” You roll your eyes but soon Max returns and you smile at him.

He had to be careful not to make his eyes bloodshot when he was throwing up the food but he managed. He shrugs slightly as he slides back into his chair. “Sorry, I needed to go to the bathroom.”

You smile at him as he sits down and no one says a word about it, continuing to talk about extended family until Chad comes back, eyes downturned, and you ignore him while you all eat dessert. “You’ve been amazing today.” You murmur to Max as you turn down the bed, glad to have peace and quiet after such a hectic day.

“You have no idea how bad I wanted to eat that prick.” He snorts, flashing you his fangs and letting them stay out. They ache from the effort to keep them hidden. He shoots you a grin and waggles his brows. “But I was a good boy and didn’t eat the prick who wants to fuck my girl and drag her back home to pump out his babies.” He reminds you. “So that means I get extra kinky sex, right?”

You smirk as you kneel on the bed, watching him with fluttering eyes, “oh yes baby. You do. What do you want?” You ask, reaching for the hem of your pajamas as you pull it over your head, wanting him to take what he wants from you since he really has been the best boyfriend today.

“Anal?” He teases, smirking as he starts to undress out of the t-shirt and lounging pants he had changed into after a shower. You snort and shake your head and he shoots you a wounded look, even though he doesn’t want it. “How about you sit on my face and suck my cock?”

You nod, “whatever you want, baby.” You promise, pushing your shorts down so you’re naked after you kick them off. “Fuck. You’re so hot.” You murmur, leaning down to take his cock into your mouth.

Max hisses your name, always loving how fucking hot your mouth is. His hand moves to the back of your head and he lets you bob on his cock for a moment before he’s pulling away. “Let me lay down. I want you to smother me.” He coos with a smirk.

You hate pulling off his cock but you groan, watching him lay down and he waggles his tongue at you. You giggle and eagerly straddle him, stretching along his body so you can grip his cock. You take him back into your mouth with a moan.

Max grabs your ass and pulls your cheek apart. Groaning at the sight of your fluttering pussy and smirking as the other hole pulses. “Fuck, I love your pussy.” He tells you before he dives into your cunt like he’s starving.

You moan around his cock, rocking back onto his face as he slides his tongue deep into your pussy. His cock twitches in your mouth and you love it, taking him deeper as you squeeze the base of his length. Fuck, he’s so thick your jaw already aches but you don’t care.

Max loves when you sit on his face and suck his cock. He loves feeling your gasps and whimpers all around his shaft. He smacks your ass sharply and you squeak with him down your throat.

You love how he takes what he wants from you while also giving everything he has. You moan around him, choking a little as you take him deeper and he growls into your flesh.

It’s always messy and sloppy but he loves it. Devouring you in every way. Tongue pushing deep as you swallow around him. His fingers dig into your cheeks.

You pull off his cock for a moment, fingers working his length now slick with your saliva. “Baby, what - do you want to cum down my throat?” You ask, wanting him to get what he wants since he has been so good with your family.

“Fuck no.” He wants to cum inside you. Every chance he gets. He loves the sight of your pussy dripping his cum. It’s almost primal, but he can’t get you pregnant so it’s even better. “Cum for me and I’ll fuck you.”

You whimper, shifting off his face to shuffle forward so you can sink down on his cock. He growls in surprise and you look over your shoulder at him with a grin. “Like this baby?” You tease, rocking your hips, and you grab his legs for leverage.

“So fucking dirty for me.” Max watches your ass bounce, fascinated by the sight. “Fucking love it.” He growls, rocking his hips up. “Love you.” It’s not often that he is sappy and sentimental, but right now, he wants you to know how he feels.

You moan, rocking back onto his cock as you squeeze his knees, “I love you baby.” You promise and you squeal when he grabs you to pull you back into his chest, taking over the thrusts up into your body.

Max can fuck in any position and he loves taking you by surprise. He growls in your ear as he rocks up into you. “Let everyone in the fucking house hear you baby.” He groans in pleasure when you clench around him. How the hell chad and his mom managed to spend the night, he doesn’t know, but he can hear how good Max fucks you.

You know he wants Chad to hear, wants him to hear you moan and fuck, you can’t deny him when he’s so deep inside you. You cry out when he wraps his hands around your thighs, spreading you wider for him to thrust up into you. “Fuck, Max!” You cry, turning your head to kiss him.

Max grunts in pleasure, fangs nicking your lip and he groans your name when the intoxicating taste of your blood hits his tongue. Making him fuck you harder as he laps it up.

Your tongue tangles with his, tasting the metallic tang of your blood. He groans, his hand shifting so he can rub your clit. “Oh my Godddd.” You choke, thighs threatening to close but he pulls your thigh further apart. “Fuck, yessss.” You squeal as the sensations make your head spin and it doesn’t take long until you fall over the edge.

“Yessssssss.” Max isn’t shouting but he’s not quiet either. Loving how tight and wet you get as he fucks you through it, still rubbing your clit. “Do it again.” He demands.

"Max. I can't." You gasp as he continues to fuck up into you and he doesn't listen. "You can. You're going to." He demands, rubbing your clit a little faster and you tilt your head back, "bi-bite me." You demand, needing him to feed from you again.

Max snarls as his teeth flash for a split second before he is biting into your flesh. Your scream loud and sharp as you fall apart again from the pleasure and your pussy squeezes his cock like a vice.

You feel like you can’t breathe as he fucks you harder, pushing you through your orgasm as you manage to choke out, “cum for me. Please, baby. Please.” You beg breathlessly for him to fill you up, his fangs still buried in your jugular.

This is where he starts to charge. The monstrous part of his being taking over as his features sharpen, harden. His fingers turn into claws as he holds onto you and his hunger for your pussy and your blood increases. Snapping his hips up harshly and bouncing you as he holds tight to rush to his own orgasm.

You almost pass out from the sensation, another orgasm shuddering through you and you whimper when he pushes deep. His cum paints your walls and you pant, hands shaking as you grab onto him while his name is a silent whisper on your lips.

It takes him a moment to come back to himself, to retake control. Reminding himself not to drink too much as his fangs slide out of your skin and he moans your name. “Fuck, I love you.” He pants out as he licks the wounds closed. “For eternity.”

You hum, boneless and unable to move as he strokes your thigh. “Until the day I die.” You promise the best you can as you turn your head to nudge your nose against his. He gently pulls out of you and lays you down on the bed, your eyes slipping closed as you settle into the pillows of your childhood while Max cleans you up. “I love you.” You murmur, passing out moments later.

Max sighs as he settles back onto the bed beside you and gathers you into his arms. He only sleeps for a couple of hours, the myth that vampires never sleep is just that. He just doesn’t require a lot of sleep. Death. That’s what worries him. He doesn’t want you to die and he doesn’t want to be without you. Ever. He decides that tomorrow he will talk to your father about a ring.

Breakfast is a little awkward. Your brothers and father avoided eye contact and Chad already left before your mom even got the eggs out the fridge.  Clearly Max’s claim on you last night worked. “So honey, are you guys all packed for your flight back to L.A?” Your mom asks and you nod, “all ready to go. We really do need to be back before the craziness starts with the flights. We have a big meeting on Monday.” You explain with a smile and Max winks at you.

“My girl’s got a big sales pitch and she’s gonna crush it.” He brags. “Taught her everything she knows.” He jokes and laughs when you throw your napkin at him and stick out your tongue. He’s glad Chad is gone, it’s like a cloud of expectation has lifted. His worry that you might actually want the kids and white picket fence life disappearing.

Your dad looks on in approval, your brothers now occupied with feeding their kids while their wives talk and you reach under the table to squeeze Max’s hand. “You taught me some things.” You concede and he smirks, nodding in agreement, “see? She agrees. We don’t always argue like a married couple.” Max jokes and you giggle but a small part of you wonders about Max asking you to marry him. It seems silly. He’s eternal and marriage is nothing but a piece of paper.

It takes until everyone is cleaning up from breakfast before he can get your father alone. “I was wondering if I could have a word.” Max says seriously, making sure that he doesn’t compel your father. It can be easy to do when he really wants something but he wants this to be the other man’s choice.

You watch Max go, curious, but your sister in law distracts you by telling you she’s pregnant again. You grin, genuinely happy for her even though she keeps popping out kids and doesn’t have much else in her life. She’s happy but you want more than that. That’s why you moved from this town. “Congratulations.” You hug her and your nephew runs over, distracting you with his monster trucks.

“I know that we’ve just met and that I come off as a bit of a prick.” Max snorts, kicking himself for starting this conversation off like this, but he’s nervous. “But I love your daughter. And I want to spend eternity with her.” He admits, looking your father in the eyes seriously. “I would like your blessing to marry her.”

Your father stares at him for several seconds and Max, who never falters, shuffles from one foot to the other. “You’re cocky. You’re - you think you’re untouchable but let me tell you, son, shit happens and what are you going to do when shit happens and you can’t handle it? Is my baby girl going to be abandoned?” He asks,  needing to have this conversation with Max.

“Never.” He shakes his head, completely truthful. “She’s the only person I have ever felt this way about and I would be by her side no matter what life throws at us.” He can’t tell the man he’s immortal, he’ll leave that conversation for you to have if you want.

Your dad stares at him, pondering his answer, and he nods after a moment. “All I want is for her to be happy and you make her happy. That is obvious.” He says and sighs, rubbing his hands on his jeans. “Her grandma left her her engagement ring. We have been keeping it safe and well, do you want it?”

“I think she would like that.” Max admits softly. He knows you loved your grandmother and to wear her ring would be an honor for you.

Your dad slaps Max on the back, “I’ll have her mom get it from the safe. It’s yours. Just make her happy.” He demands and Max nods, “yes, sir.” You call out to Max, wondering where he is and raising your eyebrows when he and your dad come in from the garage. “Just showing Max my new fishing rod. Maybe next time you’re home, we can go out on the lake.” He says and Max nods, “that would be great.” You giggle, knowing Max is not patient enough for fishing, “well, we need to get going, babe. Otherwise we are gonna miss our flight.” You say and Max nods, “I’ll get the bags.” Your dad is going to drive you back to the airport so he helps Max with the bags while you say goodbye to your family. “Don’t get plastic surgery and end up like a L.A zombie.” Your older brother orders and you roll your eyes, “I prefer vampires.” You tease and he snorts, kissing your cheek. Your nieces and nephews all make you promise to visit and you wish your sister in law good luck with the baby before hugging the other. Goodbyes said, your mom follows you outside and hugs you tight, “I love you, sweetheart.” She chokes and looks over at Max with a pointed look, “take care of her.” She orders while your dad hands the ring box to Max while your mom keeps you turned away from him.

Max slides the box into his pocket and grins as he shakes his future father-in-law’s hand. “Thank you.” He nods and pulls the older man in for a quick hug. “It was a pleasure to meet you and thank you for letting me come to Thanksgiving.”

You watch your dad and Max hug and your mom rubs your back. “Go on, honey. Have a safe flight. Text us when you’re home.” You kiss her cheek and she grins as she waves you off when your dad drives down the driveway. “As bad as you thought it would be?” You ask Max as you walk to your gate.

“No, it was worse.” He teases, shuddering dramatically. “Family unity? Support? Groooooooosssssss.” He chuckles. “Although it was funny to watch your brothers sulk the next morning. And nice to know Chad fucked off. Prick.”

You giggle, “yeah he left before breakfast. He definitely heard us.” You snort and reach for his hand, “thanks for coming with me, baby.” You murmur and he tugs you closer so he can softly kiss you. The ring is safe in his bag and he’s already thinking about how he can propose to you. Maybe he will propose on Christmas or New Year. Max smirks and squeezes your hand as he thinks about next Thanksgiving. He knows you’ll be Mrs. Phillips by then and he can’t wait to see Chad’s face when he calls you his wife. Maybe celebrating Thanksgiving with your family isn’t so bad after all.

[absurdthirst]

A Home For Christmas {Joel Miller x F!Reader}

Rating: Explicit

Word Count: 16.8K

Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Loss, grumpy Joel, cheating, break ups, flirting, oral sex (male and female receiving), fingering, awkwardness, soft Joel, unprotected sex, cock riding

Comments: When you expect to get proposed and get dumped instead, you go back home. Buying an old house that needs to be restored, you hire Joel Miller to make that happen for you. Him promising you a home for Christmas.

Co-written with @storiesofthefandomlovers

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|| MasterList || Joel Miller MasterList ||

Click Keep Reading only if you have read the Rating and Warnings and understand the warnings may not be complete to avoid listing spoilers. As AO3 says ’creator chooses not to use warnings’. You also agree that you’re the right age to be consuming anything here.

You brush down your dress, looking in the mirror, and you inhale deeply. This is it. You're sure of it. Paul is finally going to propose. You've been together for eight years. College sweethearts. You had lost your virginity to him, your first boyfriend, first love, and hopefully, in a few moments, your fiance. You squeal and take another breath. You stand up straight and make your way back out to the table to Paul. "You okay, babe?" He asks and you nod, offering a smile. "I'm perfect." You promise and he smiles back, reaching into his pocket and you are almost shaking with excitement. "I have been thinking..." He begins and you nod, smile on your face, "...that we should-" "get married?" You finish at the same time he says "break up." You freeze, looking at him, "what - what do you mean?" You choke and he sighs, handing you a check. It's for two thousand dollars. "What is this?" You ask after he slides it across to you. "It's for the movers. I thought - I organized a moving company to come over tomorrow. Since I didn't think you'd want to hang around." He says and you are in disbelief. "I don't understand. We have been together since college. I have waited for a ring. Waited and watched everyone else get engaged, buy a house, get pregnant and I haven't given you an ultimatum once because I love you. I - I love you. Do you not love me anymore?" You choke and tilt your head and Paul sighs. "I do love you but I - there's - her name is Katie and she-" You stop listening. He's in love with another woman. He's been cheating on you. You're being kicked out of your apartment that you decorated and made a home for you and him. You only have one option now: you have to go home. You don't even think as you grab your glass of wine, tossing it in his face. He gasps and you rip the check up. "Do not come home. Do not talk to me. I - fuck you. Fuck you." You hiss as you stand up, pointing at him as the other couples in the restaurant look at you in shock. "And your inability to make me cum." You shout and spin on your heel, leaving the restaurant with tears streaming down your cheeks.

****

Joel sighs as he pulls the truck up outside an old beauty that has been sorely neglected. People who owned houses like this and let them go to rot should be shot. He checks the note he had written down for a name and rolls his eyes. The name sounds like one that would be a pain in his ass. He shouldn’t have taken this goddamn job. Tommy had taken it, right before he fucked off for the holiday season, leaving Joel alone to deal with the shit. He notices the boxes piled up on the porch and hopes that maybe the owner just bought the damn place. That might make it a little better.

The doorbell is broken and you sigh when you hear the knock on the door. The contractor. Finally. You had moved back to your hometown, and after living with your parents for way too long, you decided to buy this place. Your parents helped you with the down payment and you have enough savings to try and make this house beautiful. You walk down the hall, the floors squeaking and you sigh as you open the door to the contractor. “Hi. You must be Joel.” You smile and fuck, you sound breathless. He’s so hot. Really hot. He nods and you step to the side, “come in. It’s chilly.” You shiver as he walks into your home.

You’re younger than he had imagined and he feels a little guilty about the anger he had over the state of the house. No way you’ve owned this place for long and he has to commend you for taking on such a big project. Unless you want to take away all the gorgeous old features and make this place look like an IKEA showroom. “Feels like your furnace isn’t working.”

You nod, "and everything else. This place is gorgeous but she's going to need a lot of work." You say and watch as he starts to appraise your new home. He hums, trailing his hand over the peeling wallpaper and he sighs, "well, first things first, let's get this place warm." You can't help but groan in relief, "please. I have three pairs of socks on right now."

He chuckles, but it’s a dry, rusty sound. Like he’s not used to laughing. “Don’t think it’ll improve my reputation if I let you lose toes to frostbite.” He snorts as he looks around the room. “Where’s the door to the basement?”

You gesture to the door down the hall and Joel makes his way to it, "let me take a look and I'll get her going." He promises and you watch him walk away. He's broad and a little grumpy. You decide to make some coffee, heading back into the outdated kitchen.

“Fuck.” He nearly breaks his fucking neck on the stairs. A board is broken and his heart is racing when he finally sets his boots down on the concrete floor of the dark and musty smelling basement. At least it’s not wet, that would be a fucking problem. “Where’s the goddamn light?” He hisses, reaching for his flashlight on his lip to hopefully locate some kind of light down here. It’ll make things easier to fix if he can see more than three inches in front of him.

You pour out a cup of coffee, sighing at the warmth on your fingers and you wonder how long it will take Joel to fix the furnace. You are anxious about the furnace being able to be fixed since you have money set aside to fix this house but you aren't ready to replace the furnace.

Finally finding the light, Joel shakes his head. The furnace needs to be cleaned and serviced. It’s obvious that whomever had the house just hadn’t cared. He cleans out the nest from the rats that had made the pilot area home. That’s why the damn thing is barely running. Once he gets that clear, the furnace rumbles to life and spits out dust into his face, making him cough and curse.

You hear the rumbling of the furnace and grin, excited to finally have warmth in your new home. You sip your coffee and nearly spit it out when the contractor reappears with dust covering his face. “Oh my God. Are you okay?” You ask and he nods, “do you have a bathroom?” You try to stop your giggle as you show him to the bathroom. “Can I make you a coffee in the meantime?” You ask and he grunts, “no cream or sugar.” You leave him to clean up and pour his coffee, leaving it on the counter.

He snorts when he sees the faded mirror. Looking like a raccoon with the soot covering his cheeks. He washes his face and slicks his hair back with water before he comes out and sees the coffee waiting for him. “Thanks.” He grunts as he picks it up and takes a sip.

“I can finally feel the heat coming back into my body.” You confess with a chuckle and he sets his cup down, “you should’ve called sooner. How long have you lived here?” He asks and you sigh, tapping your fingers against your cup, “a few weeks.” He huffs and you tilt your head, “I didn’t have much of a choice. I needed somewhere to live and well, you’re here now. Thank God.”

He can sense there is a story there but he doesn’t want to hear it. It’s none of his business. “Well, the foundation is solid, and the basement is dry.” He tells you seriously. “The house has good bones and if you don’t fuck it up and strip it of all character, she will be a show stopper if you let me do her right.”

You gasp, “I would - did you see what they did to the Home Alone house? It was a travesty. I would never. I want this house to keep all of its character as long as it’s safe and functional.”

He snorts and nods. “Good, then I’ll work with you.” He decides. “Show me what you want to do, if you want any changes and I’ll see what I can to make it look like it was supposed to be that way.”

You appreciate his upfront nature and he seems to know what he’s doing. “Let me show you what needs to be done.” You say, needing a quote from him in each room so you can decide what is priority. “How long have you been in town for?” You ask, sensing an accent but it’s definitely not local and you don’t remember him and his brother when you lived here.

“ ‘m from Texas.” Joel answers, shifting slightly and looking around the kitchen as he sips his coffee. It’s not bad, but then again he’s not a coffee snob.

Your eyebrows raise, “Texas, wow. What brought you here?” You ask, curious and innocent but when he winces, you know it’s a touchy subject. “Apart from the small town charm.” You add playfully with a smile and set your coffee cup down. “Right, let’s get started.”

He’s glad you dropped it, not willing to talk about her. He follows you into the entryway and pulls out a notepad to take notes. “The windows need to be replaced.” He tells you. “Replace one, you better replace them all. They are drafty and new ones will save your heating and electricity bill.”

You sigh at the cost but know that this home is a project but you’re still excited to work on it. “Got it. New windows.” You agree and continue on following him as he scratches out his notes.

The floors need to be refinished and he recommends gap filling them, explaining how he would do that. You seem to like the idea so he adds that to the list. “Fuck, that’s a lot of paint.” He groans, looking over at the mantle and the layers of paint that looks horrible.

You nod and groan, “I don’t know who decided to paint everything millennial grey but I could kill them.” You joke, “but I know that’s gonna be a lot of paint stripper but I have a feeling it’s gorgeous under all that crap.” You say and Joel nods, “one thing I really do want is a reading book in this bay window. Just imagine sitting here reading while the snow falls.” You sigh imagining it.

Joel nods and tries to ignore how pretty you look as you imagine reading in the window seat. “You want to try to keep the radiators?” He asks seriously.

“If we can.” You nod, “unless you have another idea.” You add, wanting him to know that you trust him. You can tell he knows what he’s doing and you want to hire him for this job. He walks around and lists the things he needs to do. Things he labels as urgent. “I’ll get a quote over to you soon and we can get started so we can have this place looking liveable by Christmas.” He says and you would agree to anything honestly. He’s capable and sexy and - yeah, he’s gonna be a distraction but oh what a distraction he is. “I’ll give ya a call.” He promises and you nod, closing the door behind him. When he emails over the quote, you don’t even hesitate to agree to it.

You loved his plans for the house and quickly accepted his offer. Tommy couldn’t really help more than a few days because of a remodel he had quoted. Not that Joel minds. He doesn’t really want to hear his younger brother’s shit about how hot you are. Pulling up in his truck, he looks at the house and sees you moving through one of the windows. Those are scheduled to be delivered tomorrow and he can start buttoning the house up.

You can’t help but be excited when you hear the doorbell ring (Joel fixed that for you) and you adjust your hair as you rush over to the door to open it. “Hi. Good morning.” You say a little breathlessly and you curse yourself internally. You don’t need to be developing a crush on him and he certainly isn’t interested in you.

He wonders if you had just rushed a man out of your bed, your hair looks like you had just neatened it and he nods. “Morning.” He motions inside. “Gonna get started removing the trim from the windows this morning.”

You nod, a little dumbstruck by how good he looks in his flannel shirt after he removes his jacket to hang it up on the hook. “Oh, uh, yeah. No problem. I was just making some coffee.” You gesture over your shoulder to the kitchen, if you want some.”

“Thanks.” He nods, but he’s already distracted by his plans. The moulding around the windows is gorgeous and it also needs to be stripped back down to the natural wood. He plans on labeling each piece for the windows and putting them back once he has restored them and swapped out the old single pane windows for high efficiency ones. “Gonna start upstairs.”

You don’t answer, watching him go, and you admire his shoulders as he walks up the stairs. Shit, it’s been too long since you’ve had sex. Not that you even know what good sex is since Paul never made you cum. You sigh and head back into the kitchen to continue working. 

****

“Oh my God.” You gasp, seeing the way he has finished the floors in the living room. “That’s - you’re a genius.” You squeal, unable to stop yourself from hugging him and you surge forward to wrap your arms around him. He freezes and you drop your grip, feeling embarrassed and your cheeks burn. “I’m so sorry. I just - I’m so happy.” You rush out, “let me - I’ll go get you some coffee.” You say as you walk out the living room to the kitchen.

It’s been nearly a month, he’s been here every day. You had said he hadn’t needed to work on Sundays but it’s not like he has a life to live. Work is his life now. He sighs and reaches down to adjust since his cock had twitched and started to harden from the smell of your body wash. He’s attracted to you, and that seems to be growing every day although he tries to ignore it. The darker stain on the outside of the edge of the room had turned out beautifully and created a pattern that matches the feel of the house.

The day that really sends you over the edge is when Joel starts to work on the bathroom, and it gets really hot in there so he had taken off his sweater to be left in his T-shirt and you were practically salivating at the sight of his muscles moving under the thin fabric. You’ve never felt like this before. You feel like a teenage girl and you find any reason to check on him. “I’ve been making some cookies. Do you want one with a coffee?” You ask, leaning against the door frame.

“What type are they?” He’s been smelling something wonderful come out of the kitchen, making his mouth water. The kitchen will be the last room he tackles because you like to cook and bake so much.

You smile, “sugar cookie. Figured I would practice since it is nearly December. I’ll bring you a couple with a cup of coffee.” You wink and purposely sway your hips as you walk down the hall to the stairs.

His eyes automatically drop down to your ass and watch as it prances away in a way that should be criminal. Almost certain that you are enticing him on purpose. He grunts and shakes his head. “She ain’t for you.” He reminds himself as he turns back to the backbreaking work of laying your new tile in your shower.

When you hand Joel the cookies along with his coffee, your heart flutters as you feel like your touch lingers on his side of taking the plate from you. You stare at him for a second and smile, “enjoy, honey.” You wink and walk off, deciding to take more of a risk with him. You know he could reject you and it would make for an awkward remainder of the job but you can flirt a little.

Goddamn. He feels the heat rush through his groin as he watches you walk away. You are bold, he could see the desire in your eyes. He can tell you are attracted to him, although he doesn’t know why. He’s old and broken. He looks down at the plate of cookies and coffee and smiles. If the cookies are as sweet as you are, he is in for a treat.

You are tapping away on your laptop when Joel appears in the kitchen, setting the mug and plate down. “They were delicious.” He says and you grin, happy he enjoyed them. “Good. I need a taste tester.” You tease and he groans, “gonna make me come off this job ten pounds heavier.” He rubs his belly and you smile, “nothing wrong with that. You’re a good looking guy.” You say and he bites his lip, ducking his head, “I better, uh, I need some materials. I’m gonna - I’ll be back in half an hour.” He says and you nod, “sure thing.” You watch him go and fuck, your pussy is throbbing from the sight of him in your kitchen. You look out the window as you watch Joel get into his truck and as soon as he’s gone, you rush into the living room to your sofa, shoving your hand into your leggings. You’re soaking wet, imagining his rough hand being pushed into your panties and sliding through your folds. You moan, unable to stop yourself as you get some relief.

“Shit.” Joel slaps the wheel, irritated at himself for forgetting his notebook. It has everything that he needs written down and he won’t remember half of it if he doesn’t go back and get it. Sighing to himself, he turns around and heads back to the house that is slowly turning into a home for you. He’s proud of the work he has done and it makes him eager to wake up, giving him something to look forward to. He doesn’t pull into the driveway, just parking on the street and quickly letting himself in. Not even imagining that he would be stopped cold by the sound of a low moan of pleasure.

You don’t even notice him as he walks in, your fingers working your clit, and you sigh his name. You imagine him looming over you, touching you, making you feel things that you haven’t felt before. “Oh fuck.” You pant, rubbing your clit a little faster and you don’t even notice Joel as he steps into the room.

His eyes are blown wide, heart pounding and his cock is rapidly hardening. He shouldn’t be watching your touch yourself, even if he can’t see a damn thing since your hand is in your panties, but he can’t look away. “Jooooel.” His entire body lurches when he realises you are thinking about him as your fingers work your pussy and he snaps. Stepping over in two strides and making you squeak in surprise when his own hand drops down to slide down your sternum to dive under your leggings.

You are shocked when he looms above you but fuck, you don’t push his hand away. His thick, calloused fingers press against your clit, pushing yours out the way and you moan at the new sensation. “Oh fuck.” You gasp, chest heaving as you reach out to grip his bicep, “you didn’t - oh don’t stop.”

He wouldn’t, probably couldn’t right now. Your chest is heaving and it’s pushing your tits up. Joel groans as he slides his fingers down to feel how wet you are. “Ain’t plannin’ on it.” He promises, other hand sliding under your shirt to squeeze your breast. You moan and he slips a finger inside your wet passage and grunts in pleasure at how tight you are.

You can't believe this is happening. You've imagined him so many times at night with your fingers inside you. To have his thick digits stretching you has your eyes rolling back. Your hand pulls out of your leggings, leaving his, and you cover his hand on your tit, making him squeeze it. "So - so good. Your fingers feel so good."

He starts to pump that digit deep, twisting his wrist so he can still rub your clit with his thumb. Groaning in pleasure when you whimper and clench around him. “You gonna cum for me?” He asks roughly, watching the way you respond to him. “Soak my fingers when you cream?”

You nod, mouth open as he works you higher on his finger, his thumb pressing against your clit, and you whimper. "I'm gonna - yes. Yes. Yesss." You cry, clamping down on his digits as he watches you. Those dark eyes nearly black and you moan his name as you tilt your head back.

He squeezes your tit again, hard and aching in his jeans as he works you through your orgasm. You are beautiful as you fall apart and your walls soak his finger until it squelches as he continues to pump it into you, adding another finger just to feel how tight you get around it. “That’s it. Good girl, soakin’ my finger.”

“Oh fuck.” You pant, lost in the sensations that he’s creating. “Joel. Baby.” You whine, sliding your hand down to cup his bulge in his jeans. “Let me touch you.” You plead, “I wanna - thought about it a lot. Wanna touch you.”

Joel grunts and he knows he should say no. He should pull his fingers out of your pussy and leave. You squeeze him gently and your eyes are pleading. Begging him. He twitches under your touch and nods. “Yeah.”

You grin breathlessly as he slowly withdraws his fingers. You whimper at the loss but quickly shift to kneel on the floor, reaching for the buckle of his belt. Your eyes flick up to watch him as you pop the button of his jeans and pull the zipper down. You reach in to pull his length free of his briefs and you gasp at the girth of him. “Holy shit.” You murmur, looking up at him in shock. “You’re-” He can’t help but chuckle but he chokes when you lean forward to flick your tongue on the leaking tip of his cock.

Joel hisses when he feels your tongue, eyes dark as he watches you slowly explore his cock. It’s been a long goddamn time since he’s had a blow job and you seem especially eager. He clenches his jaw as he reaches down to caress your cheek. “No teasin’.” He begs roughly, almost making it sound like an order but his knees are about to buckle in pleasure.

You whimper at his demand, nodding as you wrap your lips around the head of his cock to take him deeper. You hum at the salty taste of his skin, your eyes fluttering closed as you want to make this good for him.

Joel groans your name, the sound almost foreign because he had never used your first name out loud. He had barely said your last name when he talked to you and now you have your lips around his cock. “It’s good.” He pants, trying not to rock his hips forward. “Show me- fuck, show me what you imagined.”

You don’t even hesitate to suck him deeper, loosening your jaw as you work him deeper down your throat until you choke. His groan has you whimpering and you sigh, caressing his thigh as your free hand grips the base of his cock.

He caresses your jaw, feeling it stretch as you take him deeper. “You like this, dontcha?” He grunts. “Suckin’ my cock. Bet your pussy is dripping again. Aching to be filled.”

You hum around him, unable to deny how good it feels to have him deep inside your throat, twitching with his pleasure. You whimper and open your eyes to look at him, choking on his length for a moment until you pull back to catch your breath.

“Don’t choke.” He warns you, rocking his hips back to give you a moment. “It ain’t worth it if you’re gettin’ sick.” His voice is rough and needy, but he lets you catch your breath.

You love the roughness in his tone and the care for your wellbeing concealed within it. Fuck, that’s sexy. You whimper and don’t give up, taking him back into your mouth with a moan. You don’t quit and you need to see him wrecked for you, because of you.

Joel groans your name when you push him deep again, feeling the back of your throat and grunting in pleasure when you swallow around him. “Fuck, that’s-“ he loses what he was about to say, lost in the sensation of your mouth as you work him in your throat.

He’s thick, stretching your jaw, but you refuse to give up. You inhale deeply through your nose as you take him deeper, able to push him down your throat. You don’t care if you choke like this. You just want to see him fall apart for you. You want to witness him as he sheds the composed exterior.

You want him to react. Rocking his hips only makes you moan around him and bob your head faster. Making him hiss in pleasure and push deeper. It’s a continuous cycle until Joel is panting and cursing, his cock throbbing on your tongue until his balls pull tight, “gonna cum,” he gasps out right before he floods your mouth with his seed.

You don’t care, eagerly swallowing down spurt after spurt of hot cum as he looms over you with a groan. Fuck, it’s hot and you love it. You really love it. You work the base of his cock, pushing him deeper until you feel him panting with overstimulation. You soften your suction, gently working him through it.

Joel sighs as he pulls back, his softening cock plopping out of your mouth as he leans forward and swipes his thumb under your mouth to get to the drops of cum that had leaked out and you lick it off his finger. “Fuck, sweetheart. I didn’t deserve that.”

You smile, pleased with his expression as you look up at him. “You do. I - God- I think you’re so hot, baby. Imagined this so many times.” You confess as you rub his jean clad thighs while he tucks his cock away.

Now is the awkward part. What comes next. He buttons his jeans back and leans down to capture your chin in his fingers. “Thank you.” He murmurs as he presses his lips to yours. He still needs to go to the store, but it would be rude to just walk out after that.

You watch him as he leans up, a little awkward in the aftermath but you know he isn’t a man of many words. “Go. Your notebook is in the hall.” You offer, honestly not wanting him to say platitudes and things he doesn’t mean because he feels guilty that you sucked him off. You don’t expect anything from him. Hell, you don’t want or need another relationship. You just want to have fun.

“Thanks.” He nods and wipes his hands on his jeans nervously. “I need to get that stuff before finishing up today.” He explains, although he knows you understand that.

You are a little disappointed that he doesn’t say anything else but you nod and watch him go, grabbing his book from your hallway table and you hear him shut the door behind him. “Fuckkkk.” You groan, flopping back on your sofa and you wonder how the hell you’re going to handle staying away from him now that you’ve tasted him.

****

Joel shuffles as he opens the door and pokes his head inside. “I’m here.” He calls out before moving to open the door wider and bring in the antique stove he had found. He had decided it was perfect for your kitchen and brought it over. Hoping it would dispel the awkwardness between you since you had sucked his cock nearly a week ago.

You close your laptop and watch him as he carries the stove into the kitchen. “Oh my God.” You gasp, pushing your chair back and you rush over to it, caressing the metal once he sets it down. “This is - this is incredible.” You grin and look at Joel, “where did you find it?”

“Estate sale.” He shrugs slightly as if it’s not a big deal. “She’s completely cast iron and look-“ a portion of the top opens up to reveal a rack to cook. “You put your sausage or bacon in here and when you close it, you can cook pancakes on top.” He explains.

You gasp, “no way. God, this is perfect. I love it so much.” You look up at him and your heart flutters. He’s so handsome and he’s moving along too fast with his work for your liking. He is on schedule to be finished by Christmas which is what you requested. “Could you, uh, help me with something else today?” You ask and he frowns, nodding, “I want to get a Christmas tree but it’s way too heavy for me to handle. I’ve been itching to put one up since you finished the living room and I don’t have a truck or the muscle to maneuver it. I know I’m asking for extra and I’ll pay you for your time.”

Joel grunts, shaking his head and your happy face drops. Believing that he is turning you down. “Oh, uh, I know you’re busy, sorry I asked.” You murmur and he huffs. “You ain’t payin’ me to go pick up a tree.” He tells you, sounding like you’re insane for thinking you would. “You gotta go now, or can I get those cabinets finished?”

"Can we go now? I want to start decorating it. I pulled the decorations from the attic this morning." You reveal and Joel tuts, "why didn't you ask me to do that for you, sweetheart?" You shrug, heart fluttering at the nickname and you are soon in the cab of his truck, pulling into the Christmas tree farm near town. "Which one do you think is best?" You ask him, resisting the urge to grab his hand as you walk through the rows of trees to find the best one.

“You want a big one.” He says as he evaluates the trees. “You’ve got that big window in the living room. It’ll be visible from the street with the curtains open. Get one like this that is tall and wide to fit the entire space.”

You nod, eyes sparkling at the thought and you definitely want it. “This one.” Joel confirms after a few minutes. It’s perfect. You can see it being displayed in the window. “Yes. It’s - yes. That’s the one.” You squeal, clapping your hands together. You pay for the tree while Joel handles getting it strapped to his truck and you smother your giggles when he curses while getting the tree into your home. When he sets the branches free, you gasp and can’t help but wrap your arms around his waist. “Thank you. It’s perfect.”

It’s awkward for a moment but then he relaxes and lets his own arms drop around your back. “You need a step stool to hang your decorations?” He asks, trying to ignore how good you feel in his arms. He’s replayed you on your knees for him so many times since that day but there hasn’t been a repeat.

“Please.” You say, clearing your throat as you step away from him. “Thanks.” You have thought about his cock in your mouth a lot. The way his fingers felt inside you - yours never reach as deep. It’s driven you crazy but it’s obvious that that night was a one off. He hasn’t even touched you innocently since that night until now. When he returns with the stool, you get to work on wrapping the lights around the tree.

He watches as you shoot him a grin and it’s such a homey moment that he wants to lean in and kiss you. “I’ll-“ he doesn’t finish the comment, but instead turns to walk towards the kitchen when he sees that you’ve stacked a couple of logs in the freshly cleaned out fireplace, ready to light. Glancing back to find you digging in the box of ornaments, muttering about lights in your own little world, he decides to light the fire to make it even more cozy for you.

You hum as you decorate, deciding to turn on some Christmas music on your speaker as you work on placing baubles and ribbons where you want them to go. The fire crackles and you wish this was an evening spent with Joel together in your home preparing for Christmas. You hear him working in the kitchen and you sigh, wishing you could talk about that night when he touched you.

In the kitchen, Joel is slowly turning your vision into reality. You love to cook and bake, so the modernisation of some things is completely needed. This has turned into a passion project for him. Spending time when he’s not here finding the perfect pieces, like the new stove, for you. He knows he should talk to you about what happened, but he doesn’t want to learn that you think that it had been a mistake. It had felt good to be wanted, needed.

You hum along to the tune as you try to place a bauble higher up on the tree. You stretch, grunting as you struggle, and you manage to hook it on the branch but you lose your footing. "Shit!" You gasp, falling back and you expect the hard floor beneath you but instead, you land in a pair of arms. He goes oof and your eyes are wide, "Joel." You stare at him, hand finding his chest.

“Need to be careful.” He murmurs softly. “Don’t want you gettin’ hurt.” You don’t say anything and he knows that he should drop his hold on you, you are standing on your own, but he can’t. You seem to want something, but he can’t imagine it’s the kiss he wants as his eyes flicker down to your lips.

It would be the ultimate romantic kiss in front of the tree with the fire roaring and music playing. You lean closer, your nose almost touching his, but you pull back. He hasn't mentioned that night and honestly, you don't want to get too involved after what happened with Paul. You clear your throat and pat his chest, "thanks for, uh, catching me." You offer with a nod and reach for another bauble.

He’s disappointed but he doesn’t hold you back when you twist away from him. Knowing it’s for the best. “Be careful.” He cautions. “You don’t want to fall and I’m not here to catch you.”

You want to make a comment but you bite your lip and refrain. Fuck, it would've been so easy to kiss him but you refuse to let another man ruin your life like Paul did. Joel definitely doesn't seem like the settling type. "Will do." You hum, placing another bauble on the tree. Joel sighs and makes his way back into the kitchen to continue his work. 

****

You look at the newspaper page, a longing glance at the print and Joel walks in, snow in his hair, and your heart flutters. "I didn't know it started to snow." You glance out the window, the newspaper still in your hand. "I didn't know anyone still bought the local paper." He retorts with a chuckle and you fluster, ducking your head. "I don't - I like reading it this time of year for the local events. There's a - a Christmas market tonight." You announce, knowing you can't go alone. Or at all. Everyone will look at you with sympathy, knowing you've been dumped by Paul. His parents live in town and you thankfully haven't seen them.

“Oh yeah?” He doesn’t really think about Christmas much. Tries to actively avoid it, bringing up to many memories. “That sounds like fun.” He offers, sensing that you want him to say something more. “What all does it have?”

“Food, of course, hot chocolate. Mulled wine. Oh games and rides and Santa. It’s - I used to go to it as a kid. And with Pau- with someone I used to know.” You add, setting the paper down, “but I can’t go this year.” You sigh and Joel tilts his head, “why not?” You bite your lip, “it’s a long story. My ex - everyone knows we are broken up and he’s engaged to a girl now. Everyone knows and I don’t want the pity looks.”

Joel is quiet for a moment before he sighs and shakes his head. “You can’t let him chase you outta anything you want to do.” He tells you but you huff. “Everyone will be feeling sorry for me and I don’t want that.” Joel snorts, thinking that everyone will be thinking that this ex is a fucking moron for letting you go. “Nah they won’t.” He promises. “And if they do, I’ll beat the shit out of them.”

You frown, “you’re going?” You ask and he shrugs, “sounds like you need support.” Your heart flutters and you bite your lip, “you’d really do that for me?” You ask and he nods. You can’t help yourself. You rush out of your chair and quickly wrap your arms around him, “thank you! Thank you!” You squeal, breathing him in.

Joel grunts as you nearly knock the wind out of him, huffing slightly but he lets himself enjoy the moment. “You’re welcome.” He doesn’t know why he would change anything, but at least you are happy. “Gonna have to shower and change.”

You nod, and step back. Your heart fluttering with excitement. Joel finishes up his work and agrees on a time to meet, he insists on picking you up and as you are getting ready, you have to constantly remind yourself that this is not a date. Even if you do put some effort into your appearance. When the doorbell rings, now working thanks to Joel, you inhale deeply and make your way to the front door to open it. You can’t help the small gasp that escapes your lips when you see Joel standing there. His hair is styled and he’s wearing a leather jacket that makes your mouth water “Hi.” You greet him softly, “let me just grab my purse and we can go.”

He has to remind himself that there’s nothing to be anxious about. This isn’t a date. You don’t really want to go with him, you just didn’t want to go alone. Still, he had trimmed his facial hair, put gel in his hair and used the cologne Tommy had given him a couple of years ago when he was trying to get his older brother laid. It hadn’t worked, but hopefully the stuff hadn’t gone bad. He watches as you grab your purse and turn around with a bright smile. “All ready.” You promise and Joel steps back as his hand goes to your back when you turn to lock your door. “You should let me install one of those keypad things.” He grunts. “Save you from diggin’ your keys out.”

“You don’t think it will ruin the vibe of the house?” You ask, knowing he’s dedicated to keeping the character. “I mean, we can find you a vintage looking one. Modern conveniences like your microwave.” He smirks and you chuckle, “true. Yeah. That would be easier. And an alarm system. It gets intense being in that house at night alone. No man to protect me.” You joke, “just me.”

Joel snorts and shakes his head. “That’s because your ex is a fuckin’ moron.” He says as he guides you down the walkway to his truck. The exterior of the house needs a little love but that will wait for springtime and he’s not a gardener. You’ve told him about what you want to do and when you get done, she will be the best looking house in town. “Why do you say that?” You ask with a frown frown. “Any man who would willingly leave your bed doesn’t have enough brains to pour piss out of a boot.” Joel answers. 

You sigh, wishing you could believe him. You step up into his truck after he opens the door. When he’s behind the wheel, you turn towards him, “I was with Paul since we were kids essentially. He was my first everything. I dedicated my life to him. I was just waiting for him to propose and the night I thought he was going to finally after years of waiting, he broke up with me. Said he’d met another woman and that I’d have to move out of his apartment. I - I gave so many years to him and he tossed me aside.  Now he’s engaged. Engaged! To this new girl. After months.” You shake your head, “and the worst part? He wasn’t good in bed. Not that I have anything to compare him to but I got used to having to fake it just so I could read my book in bed.”

Joel nearly chokes on air as he whips his head around to stare at you. “He didn’t make you cum?” He demands, almost pissed on your behalf. He knows how you sound and you damned sure weren’t faking it when you were creaming all over his finger.

“Well, not every time. I used to have to rub my - uh, I used to have to do it myself if you know what I mean.” You tap your fingers on your thigh. “He was my first. I don’t really know any different until, uh, you.”

“Goddamn.” Joel hisses, fingers tightening on the steering wheel as he imagines how you would react to him in your bed. “You deserve better than that.” He grunts. “You should be sweatin’ and exhausted, unable to move after you get done.”

You shift in your seat at the thought of him making you breathless and you bite your lip. “Maybe one day I’ll meet someone who makes me feel like that.” You murmur, despite knowing you imagine him between your thighs. “Why - why haven’t you - you’re single.” You end up saying it as a statement instead of a question mainly because you’re baffled by it.

Joel had honestly expected the question a lot sooner but he tenses slightly anyway. “Never had much luck with relationships.” He admits with a sigh. “Don’t know why, I’m such a charming guy.” He huffs sarcastically but he’s got a small grin on his face

You huff at his self deprecating nature, “you are. Just in your own way. So you’re not a hallmark movie guy who laughs at his own jokes? You’re a good man. You don’t play games and I appreciate that. Well, apart from - we haven’t exactly talked about what happened that night.”

He’s driving but he looks over at you. “What do you want to say about it?” He asks, certain that you regret it and can’t really be honest because you don’t want to lose your contractor.

You look back at him, heart pounding and you’re not sure how you summon the courage but you say “that I can’t stop thinking about it. That I wanted more but I thought you regretted it.” You confess, bracing yourself for this entire working relationship to fall apart when he lets you down and tells you it was spur of the moment and he doesn’t think about you like you think about him.

He chuckles and shakes his head. “Sweetheart, I might not be the smartest man, but I’m not a fuckin’ idiot.” He huffs, making you frown. “I didn’t regret a second of what happened. But I didn’t want you to feel like you needed to do anything you didn’t want to because I’m fixin’ your house for you.” He explains.

It’s your turn to huff and you shake your head, “and you know that I don’t do anything I don’t want to do. You know how stubborn I am based on what we have been doing with the house. I don’t regret a second of what happened.” You echo, “I haven’t - it’s all I’ve thought about. You. Touching me.”

There’s a long silence in the cab of the truck while Joel wrestles with what he wants and what is the best. He nods finally and looks over at you when he stops at the red light. “Then you can see how you feel about it tonight when I take you home.” He tells you.

You can’t stop the shiver that runs through you. “I would love that.” You promise, biting your lip as you watch him. “I still want to go to the market though.” You add and he chuckles, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel, “of course, sweetheart.” 

****

“It’s gorgeous.” You gasp at the sight, enjoying the twinkling lights and Christmas decorations in the transformed town center. You can already feel eyes on you and Joel but you don’t care as you reach for his hand to drag him to the mulled wine stand. “It will keep us warm.”

He doesn’t resist, allowing you to lead him around the Christmas market. It’s cozy and happy, the lights sparkling and the crisp, cold air making it seem even more magical. It’s everything Sarah would have loved and he feels a pang of loss and sighs softly as he imagines what his little girl would have thought about this.

You can tell he’s a little withdrawn and you assume that’s because you are getting stares from people. You try to ignore them, sampling the different foods and admiring the stalls until you come face to face with Jessica from high school. She offers you a sickly sweet smile and you try to offer a sincere one even though you remember the way she bullied you back in school. “How have you been?” You ask and she continues on a rant about how amazing her life has been and her two kids. “Oh wow. That’s amazing.” You say and she hums, “so I heard about your boyfriend breaking up with you. All those years and no ring then he -” She makes a noise, “must really be a punch in the gut, huh?” She asks and you nod, “yeah. It’s, uh, been a lot but I bought my own house and Joel has been helping me fix it up.”

Her eyes turn towards Joel and she lifts a brow as she drags her gaze and up and down, assessing him. He’s used to this but he doesn’t flinch or look away when her eyes meet his. He can see the calculation in her expression and he shuffles closer to you and casually slides his arm around your waist. He doesn’t say anything, waiting for her to look away first.

She snorts, “well you’ve moved on quickly.” You smile and bring your hand up to Joel’s chest. “What can I say? I like a man who knows how to use his hands.” You tease and Joel chuckles, squeezing your waist, and it feels good. It feels right. “Of course.” Jessica offers a sickly smile, “well, hopefully this one doesn’t take ten years to propose.” She says and you hum, “he can take however long he wants. I don’t care about marriage.” You say even though you would love to be married. It’s more about the commitment than anything else. “Sureeee.” Jessica says, and you nod, “well, we will see you around.” You take Joel’s hand from your waist and guide him away from her, “sorry about that. She - she’s always been a bitch.”

Joel grunts. “I can tell.” He shrugs. “Don’t let her bother you. She’s just insecure and feels better by tearin’ others down.” He squeezes your hand. “So you want another drink or you want to shop?” He asks. “I think I smell roasted nuts.”

You are soon munching on nuts while browsing the rest of the market until you arrive at the horse and carriage rides. “Oh I’ve never been on one of these.” You confess, “Paul never wanted to.”

Joel rolls his eyes, finding this Paul to be more of an idiot every time you talk about him. “You like horses?” He asks as he guides you over to the man in a top hat who is obviously in charge of the horses. “Two tickets please.” He reaches for his wallet and shakes his head when you huff in protest. “I’m payin’ sweetheart. Can’t romance you if you pay.”

You fluster, ducking your head, “I didn’t know you did romance, Miller.” You tease, taking his hand as he helps you up into the carriage. “I can when I want to.” He reassures you and when you are seated, you turn to look at him, “and you want to?”

He tilts his head as if he’s considering it, there’s a sparkle of amusement in his eyes. “Seems like if it’s worth doing, it’s worth doing right.” He admits as he throws his arm around the back of the bench seat and inviting you into the space at his side. “You seem like you think it’s worth it.” The operator offers a lap blanket and Joel nods, knowing it will get colder once the horses start moving.

His words have your heart pounding and a grin appears on your face as you lean closer, “I do. I really do.” You reach for his free hand over the blanket and lean into his side as the carriage begins to move. “I think you’re worth it.” You say softly, knowing that he can be gruff but he’s shown you nothing but kindness.

It’s cozy, romantic. Even if Joel would rather just ride a horse, there’s something to be said about being here with you. The carriage ride takes you around the market and off to see Christmas lights. “Shit, we should have gotten hot chocolate before we got in.” Joel huffs.

You hum, “we can get one after we are done here.” You lean in to rest your head on his shoulder as you watch the Christmas lights. Joel smiles, keeping you close as you hum softly to the Christmas music playing. It’s like a movie and you are lost in the feelings this night has brought up in you. When you finish the carriage ride, Joel takes your hand to help you down and he keeps his hand in yours as you get some hot chocolate. “You ready to go home?” Joel asks, seeing the shiver when you rub your hands together. You nod and he guides you back to his truck, your stomach twisting with nerves.

“You should think about getting that wreath for your door next year.” Joel tells you as he opens the door. “I think that it would look good. Especially if you had some of those garlands with lights in them framing the door and the posts for the porch.”

“Oh yes. I love that.” You grin, “maybe you do have some Christmas spirit in you after all.” You tease and he snorts as he shuts the door. He slides into the driver's seat and you buckle your seatbelt, “you sure you’re up to putting up some lights next year?”

“Hell, I haven’t put up lights in….years.” He sighs as he remembers how Sarah would nag him until he did. He always put it off until she was begging, just to tease her. “But….I’ll do it if you want me to.”

His offer makes you smile, knowing he just kind of agreed to being around next year and your heart flutters at the thought. You can tell he doesn’t think he’s a good man but you think he’s incredible. He’s shown you nothing but kindness and he’s funny and sarcastic and - “I really hope you’re around next year.” You murmur, knowing your heart would break without him nearby, even as a friend.

He doesn’t say anything but he doesn’t need to. There’s a sense of anticipation and he knows that now isn’t the time to start making promises, even though he will still be here if you want him to be.

You don’t take offense to his silence, reaching for the radio to turn it up a little as the Christmas music fills the cab of his truck. It crackles and you frown, “oh it’s old.” Joel says, “just needs a-” He smacks it and you giggle as the radio crackles.

“Fuckin’ thing.” He grumbles, but it finally starts acting right. “It’s old. Sometimes you have to slap it around a little.” You smirk and he lifts an eyebrow at you, “that doesn’t mean I like to be slapped around.” He teases gruffly.

You giggle, “you say that now but I bet you wouldn’t say that in bed.” You joke and he huffs, flustered and shaking his head. “Besides, you’re grumpy, not old. And sexy. Very sexy.”

He chuckles. “Sexy, hmmm?” He tilts his head as he shoots you a smirk. “I think you’re mistaken, sweetheart. Only sexy one in this truck is you.” He can flirt when he wants to, be charming and right now, he wants you to know how sexy you are. “You know how many times I wish I had returned the favor that day?” He asks. “Gotten the taste of you on my tongue so I could think about it when my hand was wrapped around my cock?”

You whimper at the thought, loving the idea of him tasting you and the fact that he touched himself to the thought of you. “Fuck, I wanted more. I wanted all of you in the moment.” You promise and he groans, adjusting his hands on the steering wheel. “And now?” He asks and you reach over to place your hand on his thigh, “and now I want all of you.”

Joel hums, reaching down and taking your hand. He squeezes it gently as he glances over at you. “Tell me what you want so I can make it good for you, sweetheart.”

You look down at your joined hands, heart fluttering at the idea of telling him what you want. “I want you to show me what I’ve been missing out on after being with only one man. I want you to leave me breathless and sweaty. I want you to make me cum.” You order, feeling confident and slick in your panties when he hasn’t even touched you.

Joel chuckles, the sounds deep and sexy, “sweetheart, I’ll give it all I got, even if I die tryin’.” He jokes. “And you might just kill me.” He winks at you and looks back to the road, pressing the accelerator a bit harder. Eager to get you back to your house.

You smirk, lifting his hand to kiss the back of it and you are practically vibrating with excitement as he drives back to your house. When he parks his truck in the driveway, you turn to look at him and he doesn’t hesitate to cup your cheek with his free hand. “Have I told you how goddamn pretty you are?” He asks and you giggle, shaking your head, “no. Not until now.” He scoffs, “should’ve said it soon-” You don’t let him finish his sentence as you surge forward for press your lips to his.

His brows wing up in surprise but he doesn’t pull you away. Dragging you closer and wrapping his arms around you. He loves his assertive you are, you might have only had one lover but you are taking what you want now. Your tongue slides against his lips and he groans, letting you in and tasting the hot chocolate that lingers.

You cup his neck, caressing the skin there as he kisses you thoroughly enough to make you need to pull away for a moment to breathe. He's overwhelming in the best way. In a way you haven't experienced before. "Come inside." You demand breathily, caressing his chest.

“Is that an order?” He jokes softly, leaning in to kiss your lips once more before he is gently pushing you towards your side of the truck again. “Get your purse, sweetheart. I don’t have my keys tonight.” He has a set of keys to your house but had not felt right bringing them.

You nod, understanding him without him saying everything he’s thinking. A gift, considering he’s a closed book most days. You grab your purse and Joel helps you out of his truck and up the steps to your front door. His hands on your hips as you struggle to open the door until one hand releases your hip to take the keys and unlock it. You stumble forward, shivering but you quickly set your purse down and shrug your coat off, reaching for Joel’s.

“Are you nervous?” He asks seriously, feeling the way your fingers fumble as you push his jacket over his shoulders. “Just excited.” You assure him, making him relax slightly as he closes the door behind him and flips the lock to close you both into the house for the night. “Why don’t you show me your bedroom?” He asks, voice low. Like he isn’t intimately familiar with every part of your house.

You nod, taking his hand, and you guide him to your newly renovated bedroom. His hands have touched every surface in the room except you. You walk up the stairs, feeling his eyes on your ass, and you look over your shoulder to smirk at him. He winks and you walk across the landing to your room.

He’s honestly eager to touch you. To hear what you sound like when you fall apart on his tongue and then again on his cock. He’s jerked off enough that he shouldn’t embarrass himself. He watches as you sashay into the room, completely confident and it’s a sexy look for you. He smirks as he leans against the door jam. “Why don’t you strip for me, sweetheart?” He suggests, voice rough with anticipation.

You turn to look at him and you can’t deny the nerves swirl in your guts but you don’t want to come across as inexperienced. He knows you’ve only slept with Paul. You reach for the hem of your sweater, dragging it over your head, and you expose your bra beneath, it’s black and lacy and picked with him in mind. You smile when you see the dark look on his face and you kick off your boots before you unbutton your jeans, pushing them down.

His eyes sweep over your body possessively, mapping every spot he wants to touch, to kiss. “Fuckin’ beautiful.” He grunts as he looks into your eyes. You fluster, like you aren’t used to raw praise. “He was a fuckin’ idiot.” He snorts. “Lucky me.” He pushes off the door frame and walks closer as he starts to unbutton his flannel shirt.

You watch him with hungry eyes while he shrugs off the flannel shirt and you can’t help but whimper. Dressed in your underwear, you go to walk to him but he shakes his head, “and the rest, sweetheart.” You fluster even more as you reach behind you to unclasp your bra, dropping it to the floor moments later and you resist the urge to cross your arms over your chest.

“Fuck you have nice tits.” Joel groans as he licks his lips. “Shoulda sucked on them last time.” He smirks. “I will tonight though.” You moan softly and he nods towards you. “Panties too, sweetheart. Want to see your pussy.”

You hook your fingers into the cotton, underwear not matching and you hope he doesn’t mind as you shove them down to your legs to your ankles and step out of them. You stare at his chest, he’s broad and strong, not built, but the muscles of a man who works for living. It has you slick in your panties and you moan his name as you step forward so you can run your hands along his chest.

When you touch him, it’s like a switch has been flipped. Joel isn’t a weak man. He has hefted heavy materials, beams, cabinets and more for years. So it’s nothing to grab the back of your thighs and haul you up into his arms as his lips slam against yours in a bruising kiss.

You gasp into the kiss, wrapping your arms around his neck as you cling to him in shock. Your tongue slides into his mouth, desperate to taste him as he carries you over to your bed. He follows you down onto it and you moan when you feel the hard bulge in his jeans pressing into your thigh. “Joel, baby.” You whine when he kisses along your jaw.

“We got all night.” He huffs against your skin. “Ain’t gonna rush this.” His hands start to roam over your skin. Teasing, squeezing, weighing and appreciating your soft skin and curves. He loves a woman and it’s been a long time since he’s enjoyed himself and he wants to make sure this is good for both of you.

You feel overwhelmed already in the best way. His lips on your skin and his voice low. You turn your head to press your lips to his, your hands reaching for his belt. You want to see all of him. “Joel.” You whine when he bats your hands away and he starts to kiss down your neck and check until he is taking your nipple into his mouth. “Fuck.” You gasp, losing your mind.

You arch up into his mouth, body already begging for more. He holds your hips and suckles before pulling off and tracing around the hard bud with his tongue. He groans when you whimper softly.

Your fingers tangle in his hair as he bites down and you whimper at the temporary loss when he releases your nipple so he can swap to the other. “Oh fuck.” You gasp, tugging on his hair, and you are already so lost in the sensation. He flicks his tongue over the hardened bud and you whine when the cool air hits it while he starts to kiss down your stomach.

He’s not selfish, he’s actually more of a giver than anything. Soft with someone important and he considers anyone willing to sleep with him important. You are giving him a piece of yourself. He nips your hip, making you squeal as he chuckles, settling between your thighs.

You shift to sit up on your elbows, watching him as he lays between your thighs. His thick fingers push them apart to expose your dripping folds and you bite your lip, watching his expression darken. “Please.” You beg softly, needing to feel him in some way, any way he’s willing to give you.

He inhales your scent, the body wash and perfume that’s strategically located mixed with your own unique smell. He groans as he smirks slightly, glancing up at you and winking before lowering his mouth to your waiting pussy.

Fuck, he blows your mind. That sexy wink and then the drag of his hot tongue through your folds has your mind blown. You whine his name, hips bucking into his mouth but he grunts and swings his arm across your stomach to keep you still. “Fuck.” You squeak when his tongue flicks your clit. “That - that feels so good.” You exhale shakily, fingers gripping your sheets.

He doesn’t rush this. Taking his time as he experimentally flicks his tongue and learns what makes you squeal. Savoring the sounds and the taste of you while he devours your cunt with determined enthusiasm.

You sigh his name, falling back onto your sheets as he works you higher and higher with each swipe of his tongue. It’s like nothing you’ve ever felt before. You want him to spend all night doing this but you also desperately need him inside you. “Oh God, Jo- Joel.” You moan when he sucks on your clit. “Do - do that again.” You cry out when he repeats the action, pushed higher and you know it won’t take much to send you over the edge.

He can feel that you are just on the edge and he shifts his shoulder to push two fingers into your tight pussy and curls them deep. Feeling you lock down around his digits. Your loud squeal fills the room as he sucks on your clit.

You cry out, lost in the sensations he’s created and you tangle your fingers in his hair while your body shakes under his touch. “Joel. Joel. Joellll.” You squeal when his mouth pushes you into overstimulation and your chest heaves as he pulls back, a smirk on his shiny, and slick lips.

Joel watches as your chest heaves and you try to catch your breath. Addicted to the taste of you and just wanting to dive back in the moment you can take it. “How was that, sweetheart?” He coos smugly. “Just the first of many.”

You nod, speechless from the pleasure, and you blink slowly while you offer him a lazy smile. “That was - wow.” You giggle and he smirks, “ready for more?” He asks and you frown, “you don’t want me to - or to skip straight to sex?” You ask, knowing that Paul would’ve already been done by now and checking his emails on his phone.

Joel snorts and shakes his head, caressing your hip as he licks his lips. “We have all night, unless you plan on kicking me out soon.” You roll your eyes and he chuckles. “Then let me make you cum again. I want to see how boneless I can make you. Then I’ll fuck you.”

You gasp, almost shocked by the way he isn't rushing to find his pleasure and be on his way home. His hand slides along your thigh and you whimper as he shifts to lay beside you. You reach out to caress his cheek, leaning in to press your lips to his. You don't care about the taste of your slick on his tongue as you deepen the kiss. You are greedy. You want more from him, of him.

It’s slow, languid. The two of you take your time as you kiss and let your hands wander. He loves learning the curves he’s watched sometimes as he worked around the house. You whimper and moan into his mouth and he answers in kind. It’s a special kind of foreplay, a work up towards what will come next and Joel forgets everything but you as he kisses you.

You love how his hand grabs your ass and you slide your hand down his belly, the one that you’ve admired when he lifted something above his head and his shirt rode up. You wanted to get on your knees and kiss it. You slide your hand lower until you can squeeze him through his jeans, needing to touch him. You fumble with the button, flicking it open until you can drag the zipper down. He groans into your mouth and you smirk against his lips when you reach into his briefs to wrap your fingers around his length.

“Shiiiiiit.” The hisses curse is half relief, half pain as he twitches violently in your grip. He pants into your mouth and the way he slides his tongue against yours turns rougher, more passionate as he feels you start to squeeze and pump him.

You rub your thumb over the leaking tip, gathering the pre-cum before you pump him again, squeezing the base until you twist your wrist. "Fuck. You're so thick. Gonna stretch me out."

He grunts against your lips. He doesn’t think he’s too thick, but he’s happy to have you think so. His fingers dig into your ass and he grinds into your hand. “You’ll find out.” He promises. “Gonna make sure you enjoy yourself tonight.”

You believe him. He hasn’t given you a reason not to so far. You decide you want more of him, shifting onto your knees so you can bend down and take the head of his cock into your mouth. Your fingers grip the base of him and you moan at the salty taste of his skin.

“Fuck, sweetheart.” He groans your name as he looks down at you. “You are so fuckin’ gorgeous.” He promises as he reaches down to caress your cheek. “You must like suckin’ my cock. You want to do it every time you see it.” It’s a lame joke, but you just hum around him in agreement.

You pull off his cock to giggle, continuing to pump him in your grip, “it’s a gorgeous cock. That’s why.” You smirk and release his length so you can straddle his thighs. “But I’d much rather 

ride it.” You coo, feeling confident with the dark hunger in his eyes, “condom.” You murmur, “I don’t have any. Didn’t think - I’m on the pill. If you want-” You bite your lip, hoping this isn’t the end of him in your bed. “My wallet.” He grunts, his hands squeezing your hips and you shuffle back to drag his jeans and briefs down his legs in your efforts to find his wallet.

It’s not that he doesn’t trust you. He does, he’s seen you everyday for months. He knows what you are like and you would have been tested after your boyfriend left you, just in case. He just wants to be safe.

You know he’s trying to be considerate since you don’t know his past yet but you would love to feel him bare inside you. You don’t argue as you reach for his wallet, opening it, and you frown when you don’t find one. “Baby. There’s nothing in here.” You huff and he frowns, sitting up to take his wallet from you. “Well shit.” He hisses and tosses the wallet. You straddle him again, “I don’t mind waiting until we can get some condoms but, baby, I trust you. If you want - you can still fuck me.” You murmur and caress his chest, allowing him to consider it.

Joel looks up at you, watching as you bite your lip and he smirks slightly. “So eager to ride my cock you want to bareback.” He teases as he slaps your hip. “I’m up for it if you are. I’m clean.”

You nod, eager to have him, and you trust him. Within a moment, you’re gripping his cock to position him at your entrance. Your eyes meet his and you slowly sink down onto him. Fuck, he’s a stretch and you brace your hands on his chest.

Joel’s body lights up with pleasure as the hot, wet perfection of your pussy surrounds his cock. “Fuuuuuck” he hisses, gripping your hips like a lifeline and his legs shift as his toes curl. “Hottest, tightest pussy I’ve ever been in.”

His words send a thrilled shiver down your spine as you adjust to him. His fingers dig in hard enough to leave bruises but you don’t care. “Fuck. Never - never been so full.” You confess, leaning down to press your lips to his. His hips rock, pushing him deeper and you gasp into his mouth until you finally manage to move your hips, starting to slowly ride him.

“Take your time.” He groans, enjoying the way you slowly circle your hips as you adjust to him. “We ain’t gotta race to the finish.” After he says that, he wraps his arms around your back and drags you down to lay on top of him, holding you as he kisses you thoroughly.

Your tongue slides against his, your fingers through his hair as you moan into his mouth. He’s overwhelming and yet you have complete control right now. He isn’t in a hurry and that has your walls fluttering around him. He groans at the sensation and you smirk against his chin when you rock your hips a little harder.

You like to tease, that’s obvious as you giggle when you clench down around him a little harder. “Vixen.” He huffs, cock twitching because he likes it. He slaps your ass and chuckles when you squeal in surprise.

His touch is like a drug, your heart pounding and you're surprised he can't hear it. You moan his name when he slaps your ass again and he chuckles, making you clench around him even harder. "Thought about this - you - a lot. Even before that night."

“Yeah?” He’s thought about you too, even if he had tried not to. You were a temptation, an unreachable angel. Until you decided to come down and let him taint you with his touch. “So did I.” He admits with a smirk. “Many nights, alone in my bed.”

You moan at the thought, pushing up from his chest so you can start to rock a little harder. You look down at him, "you look so hot when you're working. Had to go into the bathroom to get off so I wouldn't try and jump you." You confess breathlessly, "made you coffee so I could watch your tongue swipe across your lips when you took a sip."

He groans as he imagines it. “Was imagining licking your pussy juices from my lips.” He teases, grunting when you clench down around him. “Plenty of times I’ve imagined laying you out on that bar and making you moan.”

“Fuck I wish you did just grab me. I wouldn’t have said no.” You promise, moaning his name when he rocks up into you. You gasp when he thrusts up even harder on the next thrust. “Baby, I need - want you to show me.” You plead, needing him to roll you over and take over.

It’s not as smooth as it might have been ten years ago, but Joel managed to slip you on your back without slipping out of your pussy. “You want me to show you what I thought about?” He grunts as he rocks slowly into you, grinding his hips.

You nod, jaw dropping as he takes over. Your hands gripping his biceps as you lift your hips up towards his. “You feel so good.” You pant, tilting your head back.

“Good.” He drops his head down and starts to kiss along your neck, grinding deep before pulling back with perfectly positioned thrusts. He’s not hammering into you, instead he’s letting you feel every throbbing vein and ridge of his cock as he works himself in and out.

“Oh my fucking God.” You moan, closing your eyes as he overwhelms you in the best way. You feel every inch of him and he isn’t jagged. He knows what he’s doing. You slide your hands up to caress his shoulders, nails digging in slightly when you lift your hips to meet his thrusts and he sinks deeper inside you. “Joel. Oh fuck.” You shake, needing him to hit that spot again. “Again.” You plead, gripping his shoulders.

He can feel how you react and he groans as he angles his hips the same way again. Wanting to hear your moan and feel your walls contract around him. It takes him a few thrusts before he gets it again and he grunts as he nips at your jaw. “There it is.”

"Oh fuck me." You cry, lost in the sensations and you barely hear him say "that's what I'm doin' sweetheart." Your eyes roll back and it only takes a couple of thrusts to push you over the edge. "Jo-oelll." You squeal in separate syllables, lost in the first orgasm you've had like this.

He hisses as you soak him, but thankfully, he just keeps rocking into you. His stamina not completely failing him as he works you through it. “So good for me.” He pants out, kissing along your jaw. “Cumin’ all over my cock like a good girl.”

There's a buzzing in your ears and you swear you hear squealing but it doesn't register that it's you. You cling to Joel as he works you through it, "oh my God." You whimper, "oh my God."

He loves that you just melt under him. Your body is going limp and he’s the one anchoring you to him. His arms are around your waist and he slows his thrusts down to let you recover. Kissing your throat and jaw and finally his lips.

You moan into the kiss, running your fingers through his hair as he works you through it, and you can’t believe he’s made you feel this way. “More. I want more.” You demand against his lips. You’re greedy now that he’s shown you how it can be. You want him to make you fall apart again.

His chuckle is low, raspy. The smugness in it is evident, but you don’t seem to mind it. “You’re gonna get more.” He promises as he kisses down your chest to lavish more attention on your tits. He doesn’t recover like he used to, so making this last is his goal.

You can’t believe he hasn’t cum yet. He thrusts a little harder, pushing deep and you gasp, wrapping your legs around his hips to push him deeper with your heels on his ass. Your fingers tangle in his hair as he bites down on your nipple.

His back aches but he loves this position. Sucking on your tits and having you arch up into his touch. He pumps into you slowly as he bites down again, loving how you whine his name like it’s the best sensation you’ve ever experienced.

You are pushed higher up the bed with his thrusts but you don’t care as the pillow bunches up behind your head. “Oh shit. Baby. I need - just - a little more.” You confess, sliding your hand between you to rub your clit.

Joel groans as he bats your hand away. Replacing your fingers with his own, wanting to be in control of every orgasm you have tonight. He lifts up, twisting his wrist to press his thumb to your clit to rub tight circles as he continues to rock into you. “That what you need?” He grunts. “Me rubbin’ your clit while my cock is buried inside you? It feel good?”

His words made you shudder and you’re close, so damn close. “Baby. Yes. Oh fuck. Jo- Joel. Just like - oh my God. Fuckkkk.” You cry out, legs shaking as he sends you spiralling into another orgasm, your nails digging into his freckled skin and you squeeze your eyes shut.

Joel pants your name, this time he is close to cumming but he manages to hold back. Stopping thrusting and instead he is just grinding his hips as your walls pulse around him. “That’s it, that’s it, cum for me.” He growls into your ear.

It's almost like you are having an outer body experience as he overtakes all of your senses. All you can smell, see, hear, and feel is him. You whimper, glad when he slows the pace a little, and you feel him twitch inside you. "Want - want to feel you cum. Wanna see it." You demand breathlessly, rocking your hips up to meet his.

“You sure?” He asks, pulling away to look up at you. Your entire face is relaxed into blissful pleasure and he smirks slightly. “I want to feel it.” You beg and he’s lost to the plea in your eyes. It’s the same look you gave him when you asked him to fix your heat for you and he had given in then too. “Need you to kiss me.” He demands before leaning in to press his lips to yours as he starts the quicker pace that will lead to his own end. 

You slide your tongue into his mouth, greedy for his moans, and you whimper at the way he pushes hard and deep into your cunt. He grunts, his hips pushing into your ass and you tangle your fingers in his hair. “Cum for me. Fill me up.” You murmur against his lips.

Joel loves the pressure on his scalp, the slight burn as you tug on his hair. He groans, the sensation sending him over the edge and his plans to make you cum one more time are ruined as he starts to pulse inside you. Pushing deep and throbbing as he paints your walls with hot ropes of his seed, kissing you while he gasps in pleasure.

You love how it feels. How he sounds when he falls apart above you. “That’s it, baby. Fuck. Feels so good.” You murmur, running your fingers through his hair as he works himself through his pleasure.

He groans as he melts against you, trying not to put too much of his weight on you but you seem to want it. “Fuck.” He huffs, kissing you again and then pressing his face into your neck to catch his breath. “You are perfect.” He whispers.

You sigh at his words, caressing his back as he relaxes above you. You have no words. Your body is buzzing with relaxation and you finally sigh his name. “So good.” You murmur, “so good.” You feel him softening inside you and you whine when he pulls out, shifting onto his back next to you and it doesn’t take long for him to pull you into his side.

“So are you disappointed?” He asks, although there’s an edge of teasing in his voice as he caresses your back. You snort and slap his chest playfully. “I don’t even want to know how long you could go ten years ago.” You huff, making him grin. “I need about an hour to recover now. Back then? Two minutes. And I was good for about five or six rounds.”

You lean in to kiss his chest, “damn, I’m kinda jealous of those women you slept with all those years ago.” You tease, “but I’m happy with what I got. It’s more than anything I have had before so thank you. For showing me how sex should be.”

He lifts a brow, wondering if this is where you show him the door. Your curiosity is suitably satisfied. “Didn’t sleep with that many.” He snorts. “Single dads weren’t really hot back then.”

You shake your head, “then they were fools. You’re a heartbreaker, Miller.” You smile until you frown, “you never mention your kid.” You realize he hadn’t talked about having a child until today.

Joel freezes slightly, surprised that he had ever mentioned her. He normally doesn’t, but he had been comfortable and relaxed with you. You shift slightly, twisting to look up at him with concern and confusion in your eyes and he sighs. “She- uh, she died.” He manages gruffly, his heart aching and shattering as he thinks about those last moments. You gasp softly, consolation and probably guilt for asking is starting to show like it always did when people found out. “Car jacking attempt.” He clears his throat. “Guy was strung out. She- she was trying to move towards me and he-he said he thought she had a gun.” He snorts and shakes his head. “I wasn’t fast enough to cover her.” The scar on his side is a daily reminder of that. Of his inability to protect his little girl. “She was twelve.” The bitterness in his voice is only covering the tears and he swallows harshly, waiting to see if you judge him like he judges himself every day.

You stare at him, at the devastation and guilt on his face, and you know he’s probably heard the words you want to say too many times so you surge forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Silently telling him so sorry you are that he lost his little girl. That it wasn’t his fault. That you can’t even begin to understand his pain. You linger for a moment until you pull back to look at him.

He relaxes and his arms are around you, squeezing you onto him slightly. “Thank you.” He murmurs softly. He had Sarah young, he had still been in high school and had felt like he had grown up with her in a lot of ways. Still, he misses what could have and should have been.

You caress his cheek, "I won't say words you've heard a million times but know that I mean them." You murmur, wanting to convey how you feel without giving him platitudes. "Thank you for everything. You can - I would like you to stay the night. If you want."

Joel stares at you for a moment and then nods. “I’ll stay.” He murmurs softly before leaning in to kiss your lips again. “Do you need a drink or something?” He asks, knowing that you might need to pee or something and you might feel odd about him being in the room.

You nod, “some water would be good while I try to stop my legs from feeling like jello.” You giggle, “you really wrecked me baby but in the best way.” He smirks and you run your fingers through his hair. “Go on, honey. I’m gonna go pee.” You shift to stand up, legs shaking slightly as he shuffles off the bed.

He watches as you stumble to the bathroom, proud of making sure you were barely walking. Groaning as he climbs out of the bed and swipes his underwear up to slide back on and head downstairs. He will check to make sure the door is locked and everything is good.

You are shaky as you sit down to pee, a grin on your face from how good he’s made you feel and you hope he wants to spend more nights in your bed. You don’t want him to go just because the work in your house is nearly complete. You enter the bathroom after cleaning up, pulling on some panties and a tank top, and you take the bottle of water from his hand as you lay back on your mussed bed.

“House is locked up.” Joel opens his own bottle and takes a sip of water. “Think we need to install some lights on the stairs though.” He suggests. “So you can go downstairs without turning’ on every light in the place. I’m lucky I know it well enough that I didn't break my neck.”

You nod, “good idea, baby. Can’t have you breaking your neck before you fuck my brains out again.” You giggle, taking a sip of your water before you set it down on the nightstand. “So what are you doing for Christmas Day?” You ask, curious if he’s spending it alone or has other family nearby.

Joel contemplates his plans and shrugs. “My brother invited me over, but he’s got Maria - his new girlfriend and I don’t want to intrude.” He really doesn’t want to be questioned about when he’s going to get out there again, but it’s a handy excuse. “So I planned on staying home and watching tv.”

“I don’t have any plans. My parents are on a cruise - they thought I’d be spending it with Paul - so it’s just me. If you - I can cook something if you want to come over. Or not. It’s up to you.” You rush out, wanting to act nonchalant despite your heart pounding at the idea of spending Christmas Day with him.

Joel looks at you as you try to conceal the desire to have him come over and he hums as he thinks about it. “Why don’t you let me cook?” Joel asks. “I’m pretty good at smoking’ or grillin’ something. You can do the sides. What do you want to eat? Goose, lamb, prime rib?”

You grin, excited to have him joining you for Christmas Day. “Prime rib? With mashed potatoes, mac and cheese? Oh and I can do some honey glazed carrots and green beans.” You start to ramble about food until Joel leans in to press his lips to yours, “that sounds perfect.” You smile against his lips, caressing his cheek, “perfect.”

****

“Prime rib’s got about twenty more minutes.” The smoker had been set up on your back porch, brought from his house,, which prompted questions about an outdoor kitchen and entertaining area. A project that would firmly put Joel working at your house into summer. Not that he hasn't been spending every night in your bed since the Christmas festival. He drops his beer bottle in the trashcan and moves to the stove, kissing your neck and making you giggle before going to the fridge to get another beer and that bottle of wine you’ve been sipping on since you put on Christmas movies this morning.

You watch him move around your kitchen and you love how natural it feels being with him. You sip your wine and stir the red wine jus you’ve made with the same bottle. You feel almost giddy with happiness at having Joel here and you turn towards him, “merry Christmas, baby.” You murmur, leaning in to kiss him softly just as the doorbell rings. You frown, “who the hell is that?” You step away from him and Joel squeezes your hand before walking towards the front door. He opens it and you are on his heels, “Paul?” You gasp, confused by your ex standing on your doorstep.

It’s obvious that Paul had been expecting a romantic reunion, a big bouquet of flowers and a bottle of champagne in his hands as his face falls when he sees Joel. The ex boyfriend. Joel’s stomach twists when he sees how polished the guy looks. He’s obviously some kind of professional. A man who doesn’t work with his hands. While it explains why he couldn’t make you cum, Joel didn’t miss the way that you had gasped and looked thrilled to see him for a moment. “I’ll….give you some privacy.” Joel murmurs as he walks towards the porch to go back out to the smoker.

You stare at Paul, part of you thrilled he showed up, another part of you wants to scream at him and tell him to get the fuck away from your house. "What - what are you doing here?" You ask, looking over your shoulder at Joel as he retreats to the porch. "I'm here for you, silly." Paul says and you wrinkle your nose at his tone. He always did treat you like you're a kid despite being the same age. "Why? Aren't you engaged?" You huff, crossing your arms and his smile falls, "I made a mistake, baby. She wasn't - she was some fun but I couldn't - she wasn't you. She wasn't the woman I want by my side as my wife, as the mother of my kids. You are. It's always been you and I fucked up. Take me back and we can celebrate Christmas together." He offers and it's what you wanted on lonely nights just after you broke up. "I can't. I have company." You say, a frown on your face and Paul scoffs, "the old dude? Are you serious? Look, we both needed to experience different people. Now we have. Let's not fuck around. We belong together." He says and you stare at him for a moment. "No. No. We can't - I don't want you. I don't love you. I thought I did but I didn't, not really. You were comfortable but I don't want that anymore. I want to feel wanted, to orgasm for God's sake." Paul gasps at that and you chuckle, "I want - I want more." You look back over your shoulder, "so thanks but no thanks. Merry Christmas." You say and shut the door in his face, making your way through the house to the porch to find Joel without putting your coat or shoes on. You need to talk to him.

Joel’s staring at the water fountain that needs to be cleaned out and replumbed when he hears the back door open, the slight whooshing sound much better than the god awful screeching of the old doors before he had them replaced with high efficiency security doors that just looked like real wood. He can feel you staring at him and he sighs. “He propose?” Joel asks quietly, knowing he would have if he had been Paul. Motherfucker had finally come to his senses and now things will go back to lonely nights and avoiding people. “Tell him you felt bad for your contractor. Didn’t have any place to go on Christmas.” He turns towards you with understanding in his eyes. “You don’t have to tell him that we slept together. And I won’t quit working on your house, unless you want me to.”

You shiver, shaking your head as you step towards him. You reach up to cup his cheeks and he’s so confused, his brow furrowed when you lean in to press a soft kiss to his lips. A goodbye kiss, he thinks. “I sent him away. I don’t want him. I don’t love him.” You reveal, leaning back to look at Joel. “I don’t want you to leave. I want to spend Christmas with you. I want you, Joel. Not him. I don’t love him. I- I love you.” You confess softly, “and you don’t have to say anything back or feel the same way. I just wanted you to know.”

He opens his mouth to say something, but you shake your head and lean in to press your lips to his. “Not now.” You murmur, making him relax. Words are never his strong suit in situations like this, but he reaches for you to pull you closer. “He was a fuckin’ idiot.” He reminds you. “I’m not the smartest, but I’m not stupid enough to let you go unless you want to leave.” He nudges his nose against yours and feels you shiver. “Hell, sweetheart.” He grunts, pulling back to shuck off his jacket and give to you. “You shouldn’t be out here freezin’ your ass off. It’s why I built a fire inside.”

“That’s why I love you. Paul would’ve told me to stop being an idiot.” You grab the lapels of his coat to stop him from taking it off, “keep it on. I’ll go back inside to admire the fire. Come in when you want, baby.” You murmur, patting his chest as you step away to go back inside the warm house he’s renovating for you. He doesn’t need to say the words, you can quite literally touch them. In his handiwork, in the care he’s put into restoring your home.

Joel doesn’t spend much longer outside. Checking on the meat again and then glancing around the open aired porch. He feels a lot better and when he comes inside, he’s carefully wiping his shoes and he puts his hands on his hips. “I think we should add a fire pit to your outdoor entertaining idea.” He announces. “So you can drink your coffee out there.” He would be out there too, but he doesn’t say that.

You hum in delight at the idea, “I love that.” You carry on preparing the sides and you don’t want to spook him by being too gushing. Seeing Paul on your doorstep knocked some sense into you. You love Joel. You’ve been falling for him since he arrived on his first day of repairing your home, and he’s quietly let you find yourself while supporting your ideas and schemes. You don’t want to pressure him, knowing he’s had a lot on his mind and a lot of trauma. You don’t want to push him into something unless he wants it, no matter how you feel.

Both of you seem to be in your own little worlds as dinner comes together. You had wanted to have the meal laid out on the table and you snap a pic of everything after Joel carves the prime rib and you both sit down with a glass of wine. You look at him when he clears his throat and he holds up his glass. “To finding love.” He offers softly, looking into your eyes. “The best Christmas present anyone could get.”

You melt at his words, lifting your glass to clink it against his, "to finding love." You murmur, leaning across to kiss him softly and you groan at the meal, "this looking amazing." You murmur, setting your glass down after taking a sip. "Merry Christmas Joel." You smile and dig in, enjoying the food you made together. "I, uh, got you a little something." You confess, pulling a box from behind the pillow as you both sit on the sofa after cleaning up from dinner, glasses of wine on the coffee table while the fire crackles.

“You didn’t have to do anything for me.” Joel huffs, even as he is taking the box from you. Even though he had gotten you something that is in his bag upstairs. “What is it?”

You chuckle, “that’s kinda the point to opening it, sweetheart.” You nudge him and he snorts, pulling on the delicate ribbon. You watch him, biting your lip as he rips the paper and opens the small box. “A key?” He asks, frowning, and you nod, “it’s for you. For the house.” He snorts, “baby, I already have a key.” He says and you cup his cheek, “not this one. It’s - I want you to move in.” You confess, “I don’t want to live in this house without you here. I want you to be in my bed every night. If that’s - I don’t want to pressure you so you can say no but I wanted to make sure you understand that I love you and I want you. For more than your construction work.”

Joel stares down at the key, something so small and yet so meaningful. Faith in the form of a little piece of metal. Faith in him, in what you could be together. He swallows harshly and nods. “I- this place is special to me.” He admits as he looks up at you, “because you are here. This is home.”

You smile at his reaction, knowing that he’s not someone who overreacts and you lean in to kiss his cheek, “no pressure. I wanted you to have it. You can use it or not. I am just happy to have you.”

Joel chuckles, touched that you are trying so hard not to make him feel pressured. “I spend more time here than I do at my house.” He reminds you. “But I do have a lot of tools.” He hums. “Might have to turn the old garage into my workshop if I am living here.”

You grin at his agreement, “I’m sure the owner of the house will allow that.” You tease and he smirks, “she’s too generous.” You shake your head and lean in to press your lips to his, “this is your house too. You’ve touched every part of it. I’ve trusted your decisions and I want you here. I want you.” You promise and kiss along his jaw.

Joel huffs as he turns his head and kisses your chin before your lips. “Touched every part of you too.” He teases quietly, setting the box down and wrapping his arms around you.

You giggle against his lips, “yeah. That too.” You shift to straddle him, “wouldn’t mind you doing that some more.” You murmur, caressing his chest, “I love how you touch me.”

He smirks slightly as he slides his hands down to your hips. “I love touching you.” He confesses. “I love you.” The confession is soft, barely audible but he knows that you hear it.

You don’t say it back, not wanting to make it a bigger deal even if your heart is pounding in tone chest, you lean in to nudge your nose against his and you softly kiss him again. “Merry Christmas, baby.” You murmur, knowing that the greatest gift you got this year was from Paul. Breaking up with you led you to your dream home and a man who knows what it takes to please you. You love your life and you wouldn’t trade it for the world. This is hopefully the first of many amazing Christmases to come.

[wardenparker]

Killer Writing Masterlist

Dave York x plus size female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst​

After divorcing Carol so she could marry her soulmate, Dave York threw himself into his work. There is no way he could have predicted that the unexpected collateral damage on an op would turn out to be his soulmate. Now all he can do is keep you safe, and try his best to get you to not hate him as the two of you try to navigate a blooming relationship that started out with threats and a mean right hook.  

Explicit chapters marked with **  

Chapter 1 

Chapter 2 

Chapter 3 

Chapter 4** 

Chapter 5** 

Chapter 6** 

Chapter 7** (marked explicit for violence) 

Chapter 8** 

Chapter 9** 

Chapter 10** 

Chapter 11** (marked explicit for violence) 

Epilogue**

My Masterlist

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part VII: What a Girl Wants

Summary: Dinner was meant to be simple. Instead, it leaves you caught between who you were, who you’re expected to be, and who you can’t seem to stop thinking about. Hours later, you let it all bleed out where everyone can see. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, kinda bratty!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, drinking, partying, jealousy, cw: vomit || a/n: plz forgive me I realize some of this might be a wee bit corny but we all do it sometimes, no?

Over the next few weeks, things begin to shift. Just in those quiet, sideways moments that make you pause without understanding why. There was a change, almost imperceptible, but you felt it all the same. Like a thread pulling ever tighter inside your chest or a single bead of water slipping endlessly down a windowpane. There was something crawling at the back of your mind — a little worm of thought, small and soft and persistent — and no matter how many times you brushed it away, it stayed, burrowing deeper, wriggling just beneath the surface. You felt it when you woke up, bleary-eyed and wrapped in silk sheets that still smell faintly of your Chanel perfume. You felt it when you would sip your morning coffee across from your mother, her eyes on her emails, steam curling between you like a wall. You could feel it when you were filling out applications for positions you don’t even want, still clinging stubbornly to the hope of employment that wouldn’t be handed to you by your father’s name. You felt it when you went to sleep, head pressing into the cool side of the pillow, thoughts trailing somewhere else entirely.

But most of all, you felt it when you were with Harry.

At your weekly meet-ups, whether it’s walking beneath the cherry blossoms in Central Park with lattes in hand, or lounging on a bench overlooking the water while the wind pulls at the hem of your Gucci dress, it’s always there. You could be leaning close across a marble bistro table sharing lunch, or sitting in a dark booth sipping martinis in a room humming with low jazz and the distinct smell of luxury — but that worm never leaves you. 

Harry is a hopeless romantic.

Harry, who claimed love had always been difficult, and yet, had somehow made all of this feel… effortless.

Harry is a hopeless romantic.

And you don’t know why that sentence keeps repeating inside you like a prayer or a warning or something in between, only that it does. So yes, when he catches your eye over the rim of his glass of tequila and offers you that quiet, knowing smile, just as your own martini kisses your lips, you’re thinking about how the light from the sconces turns his eyes to honey. You’re thinking about how handsome he looks in that navy polo, how soft the line of his throat is beneath his open collar, how natural it feels to laugh at his jokes and plan your next appearance together and forget, for one stupid second, that it’s all pretend. That this man with his easy charm and his sharp mind and his too-generous smile is playing the same game you are, just from a different side of the board.

You’ve been ignoring the notifications on your phone more and more lately, letting texts and calls slip into silence while your mind is busy with planning the next photo op, the next restaurant, the next outfit that will look just right for the cameras. You’ve been shopping with Blair, slipping in and out of dressing rooms as she tosses silk and sequins over the top of the door, happy to assist so long as it’s not during her hours at Waldorf Designs or her increasingly erratic rendezvous with your brother.

“He’s been acting weird,” she said once, half-buried in a pile of chiffon and hangers.

You had shrugged, blaming it on Chuck’s usual springtime dramatics. He had a tendency to disappear during Gala season, to avoid the litany of questions from press and peers alike about his place in the family, about legacy, about marriage, about purpose. He always did this, you told her. It was routine. Nothing new. But Blair had only narrowed her eyes and pinched her lips, folding her arms like she knew something you didn’t.

“Something’s off this year,” she said. “It’s different. He’s different.”

You’d nodded, but your mind had already drifted, wondering whether the sapphire blue dress you were holding would match that steel-grey suit Harry planned to wear to the wedding for Dan and Serena. You’d turned toward the mirror, holding the fabric against your body, thinking about lighting, about shoes, about the angle when the flashbulbs went off.

You’d also been ignoring Nate’s calls. Not because he was being pushy or persistent in a way that bothered you — quite the opposite, really. He’d been kind, careful, patient in that quiet, golden-boy way he always was, leaving voicemails that were gentle, warm, never accusing. Just checking in. Just wondering how you were. Sometimes sending a photo of something you both used to laugh about, or a quiet little “thought of you” in the middle of the afternoon. He was trying, earnestly, sweetly, because the last time you’d spoken you had told him, maybe, one day, you’d go out with him again. And he believed you. He believed you because, at the time, you’d meant it.

But…what were you supposed to say?

Sorry, Nate, I’m in a fake relationship with a man who barely knew me a month ago and now takes me to tea at the Carlyle to distract the press from his niece’s rehab. 

Sorry, Nate, the last time I saw you, Harry responded by drafting a binding legal document.

Sorry, Nate, it’s not that I don’t miss you. It’s just that my pretend, very not real boyfriend is planning to take me to the Ritz Carlton for drinks tonight so we can be photographed by Gossip Girl and end up on the front page of the tabloids instead of said niece.

Yeah, that’d go over well. 

And maybe that’s why, when your parents told you they’d made reservations at Nobu on a friday night and asked you to join, you said yes without thinking. You didn’t think to ask who’d be joining. You’d expected a regular night out with your parents, a cup of warm sake and sashimi salads with your mom, Chuck absent as always, and your father talking to the owner and asking how business was while you avoided any talks about job interviews or apartment searching.

You surely, most definitely, were not expecting to see Nate there. 

Those blue eyes and that messy, perfect hair, the way his entire face lit up when he saw you, like you hadn’t been dodging his calls for weeks. No, no, you hadn’t expected any of that.

“I—” you stammered, turning toward your parents, “Mom, what—?”

Your words tangled as you froze, standing over the table, hand still clutched around the strap of your purse, heels sinking slightly into the plush carpet.

“Nate here was just telling us about his recent meeting with the mayor,” your father said, all good cheer and no awareness, tapping the cushion of the empty chair beside him, and you knew it was his gentle way of telling you: sit down and behave.

“He also mentioned,” your mother added with a smile that didn’t quite reach her eyes, “that you’ve been ignoring his calls.”

You stayed there, standing beside the empty chair, feeling the heat creep up your neck as Nate looked at you with something between hurt and bashfulness in his gaze like he didn’t realize they’d start interrogating you this soon.

Eventually, catching your breath, you sat down across from him. Your eyes danced across the room around you, grateful you didn’t see any cameras or people watching. 

“Care to explain yourself?” your mother asked, her voice light, curious, but dipped in expectation. It was the same voice she’d used when you were seventeen and late coming home, the same one that had always made your jaw clench and your shoulders coil. Making you feel so small. 

You kept your expression smooth and unbothered.

“Hi, Nate,” you said, ignoring her question, turning toward him with a soft smile that was real enough to make the moment pass. He smiled back with a quiet hello, all bashful sweetness, and there was that familiar pull in your chest, warm and stupid and nostalgic. You didn’t want to make him feel bad. He didn’t know what he was walking into. You did.

“Warm sake for the table, please,” you said quickly to the waiter as they appeared, cutting off whatever comment your mother had lined up next, “and maybe a Sapporo too.”

“Beer? Really?” your mother asked.

Your father raised a brow but turned to the waiter all the same. “Make that two, please.”

“Three,” Nate added, smiling as he folded his hands on the table.

Your mother exhaled through her nose, setting her menu aside. “Green tea for me, thank you.”

The waiter nodded and disappeared, leaving behind a silence that pulsed like a nerve just beneath the skin.

Her eyes found you again.

“Don’t you think you ought to take it easy on the alcohol, dear?” she asked, in that way she always did — not judging, of course not, just concerned, just gently implying, just twisting the knife with the faintest flick of her wrist.

You didn’t bother looking up from the menu. You’d memorized it years ago, could order in your sleep, but you turned the pages anyway, letting the glossy paper shield your expression as your mouth curved into something sweet.

“Oh, have some fun, Mom. We’re out for a nice dinner, with nice company,” you said, the words syrupy and smooth as you lowered the menu just enough to wink at Nate.

He chuckled softly, eyes meeting yours, and it soothed something inside of you, remembering nights out and days spent with him so many years ago. 

Your mother said nothing, just pursed her lips and reached for her napkin, smoothing it over her lap. 

And then, just as the conversation threatened to teeter again, your father cleared his throat and leaned forward, pulling the attention back into his orbit with practiced ease.

“So, Nate,” he said, clasping his hands together with a kind of ceremonial delight, “tell us more about this electoral run of yours. I hear the numbers are looking promising.”

You barely registered Nate’s polite response, the way he straightened slightly in his seat, voice low and measured and every bit the picture of a man becoming exactly who he’s meant to be. Because suddenly, your stomach dropped, hollow and fast, like an elevator falling through the floors. Your lungs couldn’t fill properly. There was a flood in your ears with a hot, rushing sound like blood and waves and too many thoughts crashing into each other.

Across the room, near the bar, half-shadowed by a carved pillar and a bloom of white orchids arranged in a glass vase that caught the light, sat Harry.

He wasn’t alone, but seated beside him was someone who looked like a colleague, an older man in a dark gray suit gesturing as he spoke, his voice animated, his expression lively, but Harry’s posture made it clear he hadn’t heard a word. His elbow was braced casually on the edge of the marble bar, the line of his jaw sharp in the warm, amber light, his mouth unreadable, his eyes nowhere near the man beside him.

No, his eyes were on you.

Black and bottomless from across the room, they locked onto you like a vise, unflinching and full of something that made your skin heat beneath your collar, something that sent a flicker of panic across the inside of your ribs. You didn’t move. Not until the waiter reappeared beside the table with a tray of drinks and poured the first round of warm sake into the ceramic cup in front of you. Only then did you blink, reaching for the cup, and you shot it back in one motion like it was tequila on a rooftop with Blair and not dinner with your parents and an ex boyfriend from three lifetimes ago.

“Jesus—” your father cursed, whispering your name in vehemence.

“I need to pee,” you said, not waiting for permission, already pushing back from the table with a clatter that turned one or two heads, already moving, already walking away.

You moved fast through the dining room, past the curve of the hostess stand, down the dim hallway lined with flickering sconces and framed black-and-white photographs of celebrities who had long since died of overdoses and a life of fame. You didn’t make it far.

A hand caught your arm just before the corner and in the next second, you were pulled, spun, pushed against the wall with your back pressed flush to the cool plaster. Your breath knocked from your chest by the sheer presence of him. It was vertigo inducing and fast, but not rough or cruel. 

“Tell me I’m seeing things,” Harry said, his voice low and sharp and slicing through, like needle across skin. You didn’t open your eyes. You couldn’t. You didn’t want to see what lived in his expression right now. The anger or the heat or the betrayal he hadn’t earned the right to wear. Or had he? It was all so confusing. You breathed through your nose, long and shallow, your eyelids locked down so tightly it almost hurt as you shook your head.

“I didn’t—”

“I’m fairly certain this falls under the category of things very clearly stated in the contract,” he interrupted, his voice tightening, “things I was very specific about not being okay with.”

“My parents told me to come to dinner,” you said quickly, every word crisp and short and cracking. “I didn’t know—”

“To think everything had been going so well,” he said bitterly, “and all this time you’ve been seeing him, what, behind my back?”

“No!” you said, louder now, trying to cut through the sting of his tone. “Harry, Jesus, listen—”

“What part of ‘appearance of exclusivity’ and ‘abstaining from romantic relationships’ was unclear to you?” he snapped, the words falling cold and polished from his mouth like glass off a table.

“Would you just listen to me for one second!?” you hissed, your eyes flying open, fury meeting fury in the narrow dark of the hallway. Your chest rose with each breath. Your vision blurred for a moment, not with tears, but with rage and sheer indignity of being accused when you hadn’t even known you were playing the game wrong.

He looked like he was about to say something else, but you got there first.

“I didn’t do this,” you snapped.

Your voice wasn’t gentle or soft or designed to win him over. It was sharp and fast and fraying at the edges, because you were so tired. Tired of being questioned, managed, and trapped inside someone else’s idea of what your life should look like all the god damn time.

“I didn’t know he’d be there,” you bit out. “My parents set me up. They didn’t tell me.”

Harry stared at you, breathing hard, jaw clenched, but you pushed forward.

“I came here thinking it was just dinner with my parents, Harry. I didn’t plan for him to be here. And I sure as hell didn’t do it to hurt you.”

The silence snapped closed around the two of you. Your back was still pressed to the wall, and hands that were still on your arms pinned you in place.

You couldn’t breathe right. You couldn’t think right. Because somewhere behind your anger, behind your embarrassment and exhaustion, that same stupid worm kept wriggling its way through your skull, digging in deeper now. Because the way Harry was staring down at you, the way his hands tightened on your arms, it didn’t feel contractual. And as much as his eyes were a deep, dark, molasses brown, the green in his shirt had started to reflect in them, catching along the edge of his stare like a shadow.

You let out a breath through your nose when he didn’t say anything. “God,” you muttered. “You don’t even trust me enough to ask first.”

Looking back, you could’ve named the look in his eyes now, as he moved forward. And maybe, because of that, you should’ve told him that no one was watching, that there were no cameras hiding in the hallway, no eager eyes ready to feed this to the tabloids, that this wasn’t a scene and you weren’t playing a part. But in that moment, you didn’t want to stop him. You let him come closer. You let him reach.

His hands released from you finger by finger, but not entirely falling away. His touch trailed up your skin, brushing up your arms, over the slope of your shoulders, along your throat, and finally around your face, his palms cradling your skull. His nose nearly touched yours as he leaned in, and your chest barely moved as you inhaled. You weren’t thinking clearly. You didn’t think you were thinking at all.

Harry is a hopeless romantic.

Harry is a hopeless romantic.

Harry is a hopeless romantic.

And he kissed like one too. 

His lips, soft and full, met yours with the kind of careful grace that made your stomach flutter. It was tentative at first, like he wasn’t sure he had permission, like he was waiting to be told no. And then something shifted. And maybe it was the way your breath caught or just the dam breaking after too long of pretending. Because suddenly, he was on you in a frenzy, tongue pushing past the slant of your mouth before you could even think to stop him, and you didn’t want to. You opened for him without fuss or fight, your hands flying up, suddenly desperate, clawing, gripping fistfuls of him just to feel him, to anchor yourself. His mouth devoured you, wet and hot and demanding, claiming you, biting at your bottom lip like he was angry with it, like he’d been starving for the taste of you and couldn’t believe he’d waited this long. He drove you backward with each press, pinning you harder to the wall, pressing his entire body to yours until there wasn’t a breath of space left, until you could feel every solid inch of him through his suit, burning and alive and impossible to ignore.

It wasn’t polished or poised or camera ready. Nothing like  the sweet goodbye kisses or pecks in the park you’d shown Gossip Girl to prove anything. This was needy and feral and starved. It was like something had clawed its way out of both of you in gasps and heat and the nauseating ache of having wanted something for too long.

When he pulled back, it was as if everything he’d done came crashing down all at once. He stumbled a step away from you, breath shallow, shoulders tense. He moved fast, retreating until his spine hit the wall opposite and he stayed there, eyes wild and unreadable, the silence swelling between you like a tide.

It was only a few feet, but it might as well have been miles.

He brought the back of his hand to his mouth and wiped it slowly as his head tipped back, gulping in fitfuls of air into his lungs. His eyes shifted, never towards you, but towards the dining room with a distant sort of look in them. 

“Harry—” you started.

“Enjoy your dinner,” he cut in, his voice low and rough and nothing like the sharp, hissing from only moments before. 

You blinked at him, still breathless, your fists curling tight at your sides, nails biting into your palms, your fingers still tingling where they’d twisted into his jacket. Your whole body still ached with the heat of him.

“Wait—” you started, but he was already walking away, shoulders squared, footsteps sharp, the dining room swallowing him whole before you could say anything else.

You’d pulled apart your entire wardrobe, ransacked every shelf and drawer, leaving silk and sequins and scraps of chiffon draped over every surface like the aftermath of a fashion hurricane. Shoes littered the rug in mismatched pairs, hangers dangled from lampshades and drawer knobs, and your closet doors hung open like wounded things, emptied and gutted. It was forty-five minutes past ten and you hadn’t even pretended to try and sleep.

Blair’s face flickered on your phone, propped against the glowing bulbs of your lacquered vanity. Her face was glossy and glared from the lights against your screen, eyes half-lidded and amused where she sat in some dark lit space as you held another rejected top at arm’s length like it had personally offended you.

“I just need a night out, B!” you said, breathless with rage, flinging a lacy black blouse over your shoulder where it landed in a pile near the bookcase and unopened Dior bags. “I’m so—”

You reached for the next hanger. “—sick—” a sheer barely-there cream camisole that shimmered like spilled milk, “—and tired—” a velvet, sleeveless turtleneck you’d convinced yourself was sophisticated once, now crumpled onto the floor. “—of being this perfect, prim little wind-up doll for these people!”

Blair raised a brow. “Which people, babe?”

“My parents,” you snapped, throwing your arms out dramatically, a denim mini skirt flying into the other room, “And Gossip Girl and the entire damn city, honestly!”

You paused mid-rant as your hand brushed across something glinting. Soft gold sequins stitched into a backless, cowl-necked slip. You held it up to the light. It was a little scandalous, a little dangerous and scantily tied with a strap tied at the neck. 

Blair squinted through the screen. “I was gonna stay in and force Chuck to finally watch Breakfast at Tiffany’s, before the wedding tomorrow but…I could be talked into a bottle of champagne at The Box.”

You didn’t hesitate. “Perfect. Want to come over and get ready, or just meet me there?”

“I’ll meet you,” she said, adjusting her camera angle, showing the dark blur of the town car interior behind her. “I’m already out—Chuck had some meeting and I’m waiting in the car.”

“Where are you, anyway?” you asked, still staring at the dress like it had the power to change your night around.

“Uh—oh, he’s here. Gotta go, see you in a bit!” she said quickly, hanging up before you could ask another question.

You blinked at the screen as the call ended, then huffed, tossing your phone through the double doors of your closet and onto the bed. “Weirdo,” you muttered, grabbing the gold slip off the hanger.

By midnight, the table in the corner was barely recognizable. Half-empty champagne flutes glittered in the purple lights, cocktail glasses sweat against mirrored trays with their garnishes limp and melting. The air was syrup-thick with perfume, liquor, and the low throb of bass that seemed to pulse beneath your skin.

You were standing on the velvet banquette in your strappy stilettos, that little gold slip clinging to your body like it had been sewn on wet. Your hair was wild from dancing, cheeks warm from champagne, and laughter bubbled in your throat.

Chuck was stretched across the booth, one arm tossed around the back of the seat where Blair sat beside him, the other wrapped around a bottle of Dom. His shirt was mostly unbuttoned, his tie hung around his neck like a loose noose, and he looked entirely too pleased with himself as he stared at Blair like she’d hung the damn moon.

“They’re gonna have to bleach this couch tomorrow,” you shouted over the music, pointing at the two of them as they kissed as if they hadn’t been doing it for nearly a decade.

Blair pulled back, scrunching her nose in that Waldorf way, “You’re just mad we’re in love!”

“And I’m mad that I didn’t bring a second bottle,” Chuck said lazily, raising the one he had and toasting you with it before taking a long swig straight from the mouth. “God bless the American dollar.” 

The club had filled with bodies by then, the room a tangle of limbs and heat and synthetic beats, some pop remix rattling the walls. You danced with your arms overhead, hips rolling lazily to the rhythm, the hem of your dress flirting with indecency. The music was stupid and loud and so infectious, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. 

You’d spotted Jack Antonoff on the dance floor sipping his beer, arm slung around some new singer who was dancing in a leather dress with safety pins down the side. At some point, you remember Troye Sivan floating by, shirt sheer and smile blinding, mouthing You look amazing before disappearing into the crowd again.

Another bottle appeared like magic, escorted by a girl in a black bustier and heels too high for the tray she carried. Glass clattered against glass as she set down a round of shots, lime wedges slick with condensation.

“These are from the booth across the room!” she called, voice barely cutting through the sound.

You blinked past the lights, shielding your eyes, and there was Zayn, all teeth and trouble, holding up a shot glass like a peace offering while his friends laughed behind him.

You let out an excited squeal, grabbing two shots, handing them to Chuck and Blair, who were still tangled up with their tongues down each other’s throats in the booths corner. The others around you, a few randoms that people Blair knew from the last fashion show or the fit models for her company, grabbed theirs too. You cheers’d mid-air in Zayn’s direction, tossed yours back in one go, the liquor warming a path down your throat before biting into the lime wedge. You were tipsy, warm and glowing, the buzz of it all making everything soft at the edges.

“Hey!” Blair shouted, tapping your thigh with something glowing in her hand.

You looked down and saw her holding out your phone, screen illuminated in the dark red and purple lights. You crouched, reaching down, nearly tipping over into the table like a baby deer.

“Get down before the night ends up with you in the ER, would you?” Chuck slurred, his shirt completely open now, hair a mess.

“Party pooper,” you grinned, flipping him off and staying right where you were.

But your smile faltered as your eyes focused on the screen.

Harry Castillo was calling.

The music didn’t change. Blair was still letting Chuck mouth something filthy along her collarbone. Zayn and his friends were still laughing across the room. The DJ was still yelling into the mic. But something inside you shifted hollow and cold and furious.

You hit answer.

“Hellloooooo?” you sing-songed into the phone.

“Where are you?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know.” You giggled, letting your hips sway again as a club version of a Doja Cat song rolled over the crowd.

“No need. I see you.”

Your heart gave a sudden, traitorous thud, but your body kept moving, almost defiantly. Another buzz hit your palm, and when you looked down, a Gossip Girl update flashing on the screen with a blurry shot of you mid-dance.

“Don’t tell me you actually signed up for Gossip Girl alerts?”

“It’s the only way to keep tabs on you,” he said, and you hated that you could hear the strain behind it, like he was gritting his teeth through every word.

“Cute,” you said, your voice honey-slick with mockery. “You miss me.”

There was a pause, but it didn’t last long. “Go home, Montclair.”

You laughed once, sharp and humorless. “You know,” you said, letting the words tumble out while you had the false, liquor-induced confidence, “you wouldn’t need to keep tabs if you hadn’t stormed off earlier. Maybe try staying long enough to talk about it next time.”

He veered the conversation left faster than you could catch up to, “You do realize it’s Serena’s wedding tomorrow? You’re going to be hungover. Go. Home.”

You rolled your eyes so hard it made your vision tilt.

“Awwww, sorry, Daddy, but I’m a big girl now. You can't tell me what to do.”

“And whose money are you spending tonight, big girl?”

You didn’t even hesitate. “Article five,” you said, stumbling over your own laughter, “section C—you remember that part, don’t you? About ‘appearance upkeep’?” You dropped your voice into a sing-song again, saccharine and smug. “I’m keeping up appearances, Harry. I’m out here being your stupid, ditzy party dream girl. You should be thanking me. In fact, Rubert fucking Murdauch should be writing me a check for how many magazines he sells with my god damn name as the headline!”

“Watch your mouth,” he snarled, “Stay there, I’m coming to get you.” You didn’t give him the satisfaction of hearing your breath hitch. “Don’t bother,” you snapped, and before the burn of his silence could spread, you hung up and threw your phone into your bag, the music swallowing the moment whole.

You’d drifted over to Zayn’s table not long after, weaving through the crush of bodies and flashing lights, a glass still clutched in your hand. The club had filled to the brim by now, thick with perfume and sweat and flashing strobes that turned everything colorful and electric. You tossed your hair, smiling as you reached their booth, leaning in to thank them for the shots.

Zayn pulled you in for a friendly kiss on the cheek, flashing that sleepy grin of his, and you laughed, your fingers clutching the velvet cushion as you took a seat. You recognized a few of the others lounging in the corner—one had been a few years ahead of you in school, another you’d matched with on Raya weeks ago and never messaged back.

And sitting closest, tall and impossibly pretty in a sleeveless black tee and Cartier around his wrist, was Alton Mason. You’d seen him on the cover of Vogue just last month, styled in leather and lace with a cigarette barely hanging from his lips. He looked just as expensive now, a double shot of Hennessy in his glass in hand, watching you with a smile like he already knew what you were about to ask.

You ended up on the dancefloor with him before you could think hard enough to stop yourself.  The music was filthy, the bass rattling your ribs, and the air so heavy with heat and perfume it was practically dripping. Alton’s hands found your waist with an amused little laugh, steadying you as you moved against him, loose and carefree and just drunk enough not to care who saw.

You grinded against him lazily, knowing full well it meant nothing — not with Alton, who’d already told you you were his “favorite girl to party with” ten minutes ago. He was your safety net, cheering you on and letting you have your moment while the crowd pulsed around you and the lights danced across your thighs.

You tossed your head back, caught in the thrum of it, letting the world blur. Let Gossip Girl get their pictures. Let Harry see them.

And maybe he already had—because just then, you felt something. It was an innate human sense, one that prickles the edge of your neck, a tether hooked through your chest, one that knows where to look almost instinctively in the direction of danger.

The sting of a stare.

You held your breath as you met his eyes.

Leaning against the upper railing, he looked like he’d been carved out of stone. Out of place in the crowd, too still, too sharp. Standing as if the night hadn’t touched him at all, was Harry.

His hands rested on the rail, his jaw tight and gaze unblinking. As though the room swelled and pulsed around him, he only saw one thing.

You looked around instinctively, finding that Blair was still in the booth, half-draped in Chuck’s lap again, but she clocked Harry the second you did. She caught your eye: you good? and when you nodded back, she relaxed into your brother.

But Harry was already moving.

He shouldered his way through the crowd like a storm, black coat flaring behind him, the club’s heat parting around him. You didn’t even have time to plant your feet before his hand found your wrist.

“Hey—” you started, but he was already tugging.

He didn’t say a word as he pulled you from the floor. You didn’t resist, exactly, not when the music was deafening and everyone was watching. You only turned to try to give Blair a silent goodbye, but she was already lip locked with Chuck again. 

Outside, the night air hit you like a slap. The spring chill was still biting, hanging onto the remnants of winter as it sliced through the heat that clung to your skin. You yanked your arm free and staggered back a step, swaying when he tried to walk you to his black Mercedes.

“Jesus Christ, Harry,” you hissed, hugging your arms around yourself. “You think you can just manhandle me like that?”

He looked down at you, eyes fuming with red, “What the hell was that?”

“Partying. Like I’m allowed to.”

“You were grinding on some kid.”

“Oh, calm down. I’m almost certain he’s not even into girls—”

“I don’t give a damn what he— and you were practically—” he snapped, faltering, but stopped and collected himself with a big breath in through his nose. “You can’t act like that when people are watching your every move right now.”

You opened your mouth, some snarl already half formed on your tongue—but it didn’t come out. Instead, your stomach turned with too many shots and too much sugar. You hadn’t eaten a bite of dinner earlier with your parents, it had all tasted like ash after you'd left the bathroom. 

Without warning, you doubled over and threw up onto the curb.

Harry was there in an instant, one hand on your back, the other gently gathering your hair out of your face.

“Hey, hey. Come on, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You gagged, wiped your mouth with the back of your hand, blinking tears out of your eyes. “Don’t—don’t call me that.”

He didn’t answer, just waited as you straightened, breathing through your nose. His hand was still light on your back, steady and warm.

“I’m fine,” you muttered.

He sighed, soft, almost tender. “Let me get you out of here.”

You hesitated.

“Please,” he added, and this time, his voice cracked just slightly around the edges. “Let’s just go.”

You acquiesced, the street feeling too loud, the club too far, and your skin too cold to argue anymore.

He opened the car door for you and you slid in, head swimming, chest still burning. He didn’t say another word as he joined you, and neither did you.

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin, @primadonnasdream, @spacelatinos4life, @15christyxoxo,@shivispunk, @brinapedroswife, @evysian, @danzer8705

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part VI: The Devil Wears Prada

Summary: Meeting Harry’s mother was as intimidating as expected, with her cool poise and targeted questions. But you hadn’t expected her to reveal something about him that lodged itself in your mind and refused to leave, a quiet revelation that’s been wriggling there ever since. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems || a/n: I literally have like so many chapters lined up and ready to go for this and it's killing me keeping them from you </3 so yesss 2 in one week, baby!! enjoy!!

By the time Margot had finished all her poking and prodding, her tucking and smoothing and stepping back to assess, you were made entirely new, dressed like a diplomatic gesture. A polished little gift box tied up in celadon silk, stepping out of the grand building at half past the hour and headed for Fifth Avenue.

The dress moved like water when the breeze caught it, the hem brushing soft around your calves as you slid into the idling black car. The sheer green gloves were comforting in a strange way. Cool against your skin, whisper-light, embroidered in tiny loops that itched when you settled yourself inside the car. 

Harry’s driver, George, you’d come to learn, closed the door behind you, the soft shutting silencing the city around you. Inside, the car was quiet and dim, the leather cool against your back. You glanced down at your shoes—pale taupe slingbacks, the kitten heel just high enough to be formal. The leather still held a faint gloss from where Margot had wiped them down before you left.

And as the car drove away from the curb, you watched the city go by. Buildings blurred, people hustled and you watched, distantly, wondering what was going on in each of their little lives. You still weren’t entirely sure of the point of all this. Meeting someone’s mother when you weren’t even dating felt a little silly. Besides, family made things complicated, more permanent. This, for all intents and purposes, was only a temporary agreement with an end date already in sight. June twentieth would come and go and things would…go back to normal. You’d return from your home in the Hamptons single and hopefully off the headlines for a while, and Harry would go back to his life with his niece safely tucked away at home. 

Still, you thought, if Harry didn’t think it mattered, he wouldn’t have asked you. That had to mean something. 

And you wondered, briefly, how many girls had made this same trip. How many had stepped out of a car, taken a deep breath, and prayed they’d be the one to impress Evelyn Castillo. Maybe none of them had. Maybe that was the point. Maybe no one was ever good enough for her son.

But before you could spiral further, the car slowed in front of a gray stone building. George came around to open your door. 

“Good luck, Miss Montclair,” he said with a polite smile. You nodded in thanks, but your voice caught in your throat. 

Before you could lift your hand to the buzzer—engraved in discreet serif: Evelyn and Harold Castillo—the door opened on its own. A man in a black tuxedo stepped forward.

“Miss Montclair,” he greeted, tone smooth, practiced. “Please, come in.”

Your kitten heels clicked lightly over polished cream marble as you followed him inside. The entryway was quiet, cathedral-high and filled with soft light. Molding curled across the ceiling like ribbon, and an arched staircase swept upward in graceful stone curves. Everything smelled faintly of peonies and linen and wealth.

You were led into a sitting room just off the entry—smaller, but no less grand. Ivory and pale green walls, antique gold filigree on the mirrors, a vase of white tulips in bloom. A woman sat beneath the window, her legs crossed, a small brown dog curled like a mink laid in her lap.

“Ah, thank you Edward, you may leave us,” she called.

The man who had led you in bowed his head and slipped from the room with the same noiseless grace he'd arrived with, the door sighing closed behind him.

She stood, lifting the dog with one arm, and extended the other toward you, palm down. You stepped forward, sliding your gloved hand into hers. Her grip was dry and faintly cool, like porcelain before the fire.

“Mrs. Castillo,” you said. “It’s lovely to meet you.”

“Evelyn, please,” she replied, smiling without warmth. “And likewise. You look older than your photos.”

Your stomach dropped slightly, but returned the smile anyway, polite and practiced.

“Must’ve been good lighting,” you said. 

She blinked at that, the corner of her mouth twitching. 

“Tea?” she asked, already drifting toward the lacquered table set with bone china and silver spoons.

“Yes,” you replied, smoothing your dress beneath you as you sat in the opposite armchair. “That sounds nice.”

She poured with a practiced hand, not bothering to ask how you took it. A twist of lemon slipped into your cup without fanfare.

“I wasn’t sure you’d come,” she said after a pause. “Most girls would’ve declined. Or sent a polite excuse through my son.”

“Why’s that?” you asked, reaching for your teacup without looking away from her.

She studied you back: your face, the line of your shoulders, the arch of your brow, the way your fingers didn’t tremble as they lifted the cup. She liked puzzles, you could tell. And you were one she was eager to crack. 

“Oh, I suppose I can come off a bit… discerning,” she said, saccharine enough to sour the air as she sipped her tea.

You smiled again, sharper now. “All the times I’ve seen you at events, I wouldn’t say that’s such a bad thing.”

She chuckled a dry, elegant little laugh, like stones tapping against crystal, “You were the one in Givenchy at the Camford Gala last year. I seem to recall you correcting the ambassador’s French?”

Your fingers wrapped tighter around the delicate porcelain, though you kept your posture unchanged. “He misquoted Voltaire if I recall.”

“He did,” she agreed, her lips pursed. “Though most people wouldn’t have noticed. Or dared to mention it.”

You took a sip of your tea. “I suppose I’m not most people.”

Her smile lingered as she glanced out the tall window beside her, where afternoon light began to stretch across the floor in softened bands. The dog yawned in her lap.

“No, I don’t think so.” She set down her tea, her tongue licking the remnants before patting the side of her mouth with a linen napkin, “So tell me about this recent fiasco, this…late night debauchery.” 

Your throat went dry, “I…I, well–”

There was a split-second moment where your heart started hammering against your ribs as you tried to remember what face you were wearing. You did not let your hands tremble, though the tea had suddenly lost its flavor.

You could feel her gaze bearing down on you, not aggressive, but pointed and deliberate, the kind of look that peeled back the silk of your dress and reached straight through to the scaffolding underneath.

And maybe that was what did it.

Your spine straightened, your gaze found hers. Because no, you wouldn’t fall apart like some silly, shaken thing in pearls and heels. You weren’t a girl anymore, and you weren’t stupid, and you sure as hell weren’t going to let this woman see you shrink.

“I hardly think a little partying ever did a girl wrong,” you said finally, the words smooth and evenly paced, your tone pleasant but not pliant, poised but entirely unmoved.

That earned a reaction. She tilted her head with the curiosity of a hound catching a scent. She studied you more closely now, her expression unreadable.

“I’m not sure I know what you mean,” she said, her voice light, but careful.

You looked her directly in the eye, the corners of your mouth lifting into a smile that wasn’t quite pretty and wasn’t quite friendly, but steady and sharp enough to hold its own.

“I mean,” you said slowly, “that I don’t believe I’m the first woman to drink too much champagne on her best friend’s birthday. I don’t think I’m the first person to stay out too late. And I certainly don’t think I’m the first woman to be photographed in an outfit like that, caught in a whirlwind of pervy paparazzi who will do quite literally anything for a high paying photo.”

Evelyn didn’t answer right away. She simply stared, her tea cup still raised, held just before her lips with both hands, her fingers contrasted against the fine porcelain. The dog in her lap shifted, sighing softly, but she did not move. Her eyes narrowed slightly with the quiet consideration of someone who had not expected to be challenged so directly, and perhaps, not so skillfully.

Something passed between you in the quiet that followed. You weren’t sure if it was understanding or maybe just recognition.

“Well,” she said, and though she tried to keep her voice measured, there was the faintest curl of amusement beneath it, like steam rising from the china she set down, “at least I can say you’re not boring like that last girl, the–oh, what was it? The matchmaker.”

“Being called boring might be even worse than being photographed topless on a night out.”

“I worried you might cry,” she said after a pause she poured another cup of tea for herself, her voice quiet, but not quite gentle. “Most girls do, when they are asked hard questions.”

“I’ve cried plenty,” you answered, lifting your tea for a sip, trying to sound casual now, “But not because someone is trying to make me. I cry on my own terms.”

“Good,” she murmured, mostly to herself. “Good.”

She glanced toward the window again, where the light was beginning to move toward the west skyline, casting the mid afternoon light across the trim of the furniture, gilding the edge of her profile. For a moment, she said nothing at all.

A long breath followed, so faint it hardly moved her chest, and then, to your quiet surprise, Evelyn Castillo let out a soft, unmistakable laugh. It was not cruel or theatrical, but something close to genuine. She looked at you again, and this time, the edge had dulled ever so slightly. 

“My son told me not to ask about it,” she said, as if the thought had just drifted in on the breeze. “Which, of course, only made me want to.”

“Understandable.”

Her eyes met yours and held. The laughter faded from them as she took you in again, not just your face but the way you sat, the posture you kept, the stupid little outfit Margot put you in. Something unreadable passed through her gaze, something cooler than her smile, and you felt her studying you harder now, as if remembering herself.

“I want to know what you want from him.”

The words didn’t come out accusatory, but they held you like the edge of a knife to your throat.

“Excuse me?”

“Is it his money? His name?”

You straightened, your fingers tightening slightly on the edge of the teacup as you set it down.

“My family has more than enough of both. I’m not looking for any sort of—”

“Then what is it?” she asked, “Because forgive me, but I find it difficult to believe a woman your age is interested in my son for any reason other than what he can offer.”

“Harry is a good man, Evelyn. There’s more to him than—”

“Yes,” she interrupted, and for once, her voice softened. “I know.”

There was something brewing between the two of you as you stared at each other for a long, long moment. You could see it behind her eyes, something turning over in her thoughts, deciding whether or not to say whatever hovered at the tip of her tongue. Her gaze didn’t waver as she kept looking at you, still scrutinizing every inch of your face, every flicker of expression.

But eventually, her eyes dropped, breaking your stare. Her hands fell to the dog in her lap, manicured fingers grazing over its ears, absent and careful, like touching something familiar might help settle whatever had stirred in her chest.

“Forgive me,” she sighed, “my son is what we’d call a… a hopeless romantic. A mother can't help but want the best."

She returned to her tea, stirring it, and when she spoke, looking up at you again, the softness in her voice was so subtle it almost didn’t register.

“He’s always been, since he was a boy. The first time he ever had a crush, he was seven. He wrote the little girl poems, drew her pictures. She ignored him for days afterward, and he simply stopped eating. Wouldn’t come down for dinner, barely said a word, just sat in his room, thinking he'd done something wrong."

She glanced out the window, adjusting the sleeve of her blouse.

“He doesn’t know how to temper affection. When he falls for someone, it becomes his entire focus. And if it doesn’t work out, he assumes it’s a flaw in himself. That he miscalculated. That he failed.”

Your heart snagged on the image, held fast by it. Of Harry as a boy, tender and foolish and too full of hope.

Evelyn glanced up at you then, catching the way your expression had shifted, the way your fingers had stilled around the stem of your glass.

“You seem surprised.”

You opened your mouth, but no words came. You were, of course you were. You had seen Harry be his usual charming, distant, calculating, flirtatious self, but never…. Never vulnerable. Never wide-eyed and giving. 

Well. Maybe just that one night. He’d given you a glimpse in as you shared cold Chinese food on his leather couch, when it was just the two of you. No gossip columns, no contract. Just the quiet warmth of his presence, the surprising softness in the curve of his smile. He had been real then. Earnest. Gentle in a way that had caught you off guard.

He’s always so quick to forgive. So endlessly patient, so disarmingly kind in ways you hadn’t expected from a man like him. And now…now this.

She gave a slow, careful nod as if watching your wheels turning in your head. “He’s never known how to do it halfway. That’s always been the problem. And when he gets hurt — which he always does — it ruins him.”

The silence that followed wasn’t heavy, but it settled over your shoulders just the same. You looked down at your tea, the pale swirl of lemon tracing lazy circles near the rim.

It felt like something like a little seed was placed in the soil of your brain, digging deep and rooting itself there.

Harry is a hopeless romantic.

And you weren’t sure if it was supposed to be a comfort or a warning.

Evelyn gathered herself and stood in a clear dismissal, her movements precise, her elegance untarnished, though her expression had shifted. There was steel beneath the silk now, cool and commanding.

“And that is why, Miss Montclair,” she said, offering her hand once more, her voice smooth as crystal, “I ask that you only carry this on with my son if you’re serious about him. About all of this.”

The heat rose behind your collar as you reached for her hand and stood. Her grip was light but final, a gesture that felt like it was sealing something invisible between the two of you.

“I understand, Mrs. Castillo.”

And when she dropped your hand, you turned on your heel, and you didn’t just walk — you escaped, your heels echoing against the marble as you pushed out the doors and into the foyer.

“Miss Montclair?”

You turned back, pulse kicking, throat tight. The sunlight slanted through the windows behind her, catching the edge of her cheekbone, the glint in her eye.

“Tell Harry to fire that stylist of his,” she said, already turning away. “She should know by now how much I detest celadon green.”

“Hey, you.”

“Hi,” you breathed, letting him lean in to kiss your cheek, the warmth of his lips brushing against your skin with simple familiarity.

The restaurant shimmered behind you like something out of a dream, all soft amber lighting and the low hum of conversation, the scent of fresh basil and salt and butter drifting in from an open kitchen where chefs moved like dancers behind frosted glass. There were candlelit tables tucked beneath pale archways, orchids floating in slender vases, and the faintest glint of silver catching candlelight like stars twinkling underwater. It was beautiful, inviting and luxurious in the simplicity of it all.

Harry guided you through the door with an easy hand at your back, following the hostess in a silk blouse, past the gold-leaf menus and velvet banquettes, until the two of you were seated in a quiet corner where the lights were low and the linen napkins had been folded into perfect thirds. Everything felt warm, and almost like it was waiting for something.

“So,” Harry said, unfolding the wine list with one hand and exhaling like he already knew the answer would amuse him, “how was tea with my mother yesterday?”

You stared at your menu, though the words blurred slightly.

You thought about how she watched you, how she poked and prodded, waiting for you to show your cracks. How she nearly saw the very edge of you — the place where your poise began to falter and your shame began to bloom, right before your spine built itself back up from the base, vertebrae by vertebrae, until you were sitting upright again with a smile on your face. You thought about the things she said about him. More than he let on, more than you were ready for. And how, by the end of it, you’d come to some sort of quiet truce.

“Fine,” you said, glancing downward as you turned a page in the menu.

Harry tilted his head slightly, peeking up at you from his reading, the corner of his mouth twitching with quiet delight. “Fine?”

You shrugged, still scanning entrées. “Fine.”

He chuckled under his breath and closed the wine list. “Well, she didn’t call to have me disowned, so I’ll take that as a promising sign. For her, I’d say that’s dangerously close to approval. How do you feel about Sauvignon Blanc?”

You lifted the menu to cover your smile. “How’s the lobster here?”

“Perfect,” he said easily, “And before you accuse me of ulterior motives, I do have something for you.”

“Buttering me up after sending me into the lion’s den?” you asked, finally peering over the top edge of the menu to look at him.

“Something like that.”

“No complaints from me,” you replied, setting the menu aside.

He reached into his coat and pulled out a small black box, the kind lined in velvet and weighted just enough to make your pulse flutter. Your eyes widened, and Harry laughed — a full, unguarded sound that lit up his whole face and made the candlelight flicker like it was in on the joke.

“Don’t make such a face,” he said, the grin still tugging at his mouth.

The waitress appeared, her voice soft and practiced. “Do we know what we’re having this evening?”

“Not yet,” he said, not taking his eyes off you, “but we’ll take the bottle of the 2017 Chateau, thank you.”

You reached for the box once she left with a nod, but hesitated.

“Harry Castillo, I swear, if Gossip Girl runs a headline about me being your child bride—”

“You’re in your twenties, Montclair.”

“Still.”

“Just open it.”

You took the box from him, your fingers brushing his for a second longer than necessary. When you opened it, the breath caught in your throat. Nestled inside was a gold Van Cleef bracelet, five delicate motifs gleaming beneath the soft restaurant light, inlaid with small diamonds that shimmered like snow under a winter sun.

“Oh,” you gasped.

“It’s just a thank you,” he told you, his voice softer now. “For not walking away, even though you were well within your rights to do so. For meeting with my mother and.... for still being part of this.”

You looked up at him, searching for something in his face that might explain why the gesture felt heavier than it should. “Put it on for me?”

He smiled at you—not the charming, rehearsed kind, but the one that lifted the corners of his mouth and made his eyes twinkle, the one that felt like it belonged only to these little moments — and reached across the table, carefully taking your wrist and fastening the clasp. His fingers brushed your skin, making your flesh pebble.

You reached for your bag when he let go. “I actually have something for you, too.”

You slid a matching black box across the white tablecloth. His expression flickered with curiosity, and then, as he opened it, shifted into something unreadable.

He frowned, just slightly.

Your stomach dropped. “Too much?”

“How did you—” he began, before shaking his head, pulling the Rolex out of its velvet keep. “How did you even pay for this?”

“I sell my underwear on the black market," you said, and his expression made you bark with laughter, "I'm kidding! My Instagram followers have kinda blown up since this began, thanks to you,” you said, your smile softening as you watched him lay it on his wrist, “It’s just… a thank you. And maybe a small apology. Again.”

“You didn’t need to—”

“I wanted to,” you said quickly, your fingers brushing the base of the empty wine glass. “You’ve been… better than I’ve deserved. A great… business partner. In all of this. Even when I’ve made it difficult.”

Harry reached for your hand, releasing it from the wine glass and lifting it gently to his lips. The warmth of his mouth pressed against your knuckles, his breath soft against your skin, and for a moment the rest of the restaurant seemed to fall away.

“Not difficult,” he said quietly. “We all get our wires crossed sometimes.”

You flushed, not from embarrassment, but from the warmth he left behind when he pulled away. Just as he did, a camera flashed nearby, the sharp sting of light followed by a gasp, the stifling of voices like wind through leaves.

You turned your head instinctively, but Harry just smiled, letting his fingers trail over the back of your hand before releasing it, slow and unhurried.

In the dim light, the bracelet and watch on your wrists caught the glow like twin glimmers, mirror images of gratitude and something quieter, still unnamed.

“So,” he said, picking up the menu again like nothing had happened, “what looks good to you?”

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin, @primadonnasdream, @spacelatinos4life, @15christyxoxo,@shivispunk, @brinapedroswife, @evysian, @danzer8705

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part V: Clause & Effect

Summary: You spend a sunny afternoon with Nate, slipping easily into old habits and laughter that feels too good to question. When you reach out to Harry the next morning, it’s cold and all business—a sharp contrast to the time you’d shared just days before. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, little bit of sugar daddy vibes || a/n: I'm bacckkkk from vacay woo! somehow had the brain power to do some editing today hehe enjoy! another dialogue heavy chapter friends x

Blair hadn’t exactly suggested that you go with Nate when he asked to talk with you. No, she had practically shoved you out of the Saks on Fifth Avenue. And when you’d flashed your eyes over your shoulder at her hard push out the door, you’d seen her smirking as she said she’d call you later for details.

And maybe you should’ve resisted, maybe you’d thought about it, meant to tell him that you couldn’t, shouldn't, but then Nate looked at you with that summer-in-the-Hamptons boyish grin and said “Want to walk?” and your body betrayed your better judgement before your mind could catch up.

Now here you were, two blocks later and a green tea in hand next to a boy from your past. 

The city had softened in the afternoon light, something slower and charming about this pocket of the Upper East Side. The sun filtered gold through the budding sycamores, the street noise reduced to the occasional car horn or distant bark. In the little triangle park you wandered into, the grass had just been cut, releasing the sweet green scent of spring into the warm air. Tulips lined the edge of the lawn, yellow and blush pink, reaching lazily toward the sky.

You stole a glance at him over your coffee lid. His hair was a little shorter now, a little more kept. The sleeves of his white polo were pushed up just enough to show the tan from the early spring boat rides with his mother, a tradition you wondered if they still shared.

“So, tell me, have your ears been ringing?” you asked, turning toward him with a teasing smile.

He blinked, then grinned. “Should they be?”

“I was just telling someone about you last night.”

“You’re making me nervous now,” he said with a smile, sipping his Americano.

You shook your head, licking the remains of tea from your lip, “No, no. Always good things. I couldn’t imagine anyone saying a single negative thing about you, Archibald.”

“Mm. I feel like you’ve got plenty of dirt on me, Montclair.”

You smiled despite yourself. Dammit if that cheeky smile didn’t make your stomach somersault. 

“What have you been up to?” you asked, dragging your eyes away from his.

He ran a hand through his sun-lightened hair, shrugging. “Trying to get my foot in the door with the governor’s office. I’ve been meeting with the current mayor, doing all the typical schmoozy, mayoral handshake things before my name can get anywhere near a ballot. My assistant thinks I should start fundraising.”

“Fundraising?” You raised a brow. His family was one of New York's wealthiest, after all. “You?”

“More like... collecting favors. Gaining support,” he said, giving you a cocky little smirk.

You snorted. “Of course. Good ol’ money politics.”

“I prefer to call it strategic networking.”

“Well, I’ll spread the good word.”

“I’d appreciate it.”

He slowed then, and you felt the shift in his body language, the way he angled toward you, the way his eyes found yours with just a hint too much stillness.

Around you, the breeze tugged at the hem of your skirt. A couple on bicycles passed by with their music blaring. A pigeon fluttered into the low branches overhead. You could feel the city humming around you, and still, it was like the noise dropped away.

“What happened to us?” he asked quietly.

Your breath caught, your hand tightening around the paper cup. “I—what?”

“You and me,” he said, stepping closer. “We were good, weren’t we?”

“Yeah but…Nate, don’t you remember? You were so focused on becoming the next president of the United States one day, and I… well, I was busy partying and... not doing anything at all. Actually, I think your exact words were: You lack the ambition I need in a partner.”

He grimaced like you’d smacked him. “Jesus. See? Told you you’d have some dirt on me.”

“I hardly think honesty counts as dirt. You were right. You probably still are.”

“I don’t think so,” he said, voice low.

Your pulse flickered.

“Okay,” you said, biting your lip. You looked away, pretending to focus on the nearby tulips, but your mind was a minefield. Harry’s face flashed across it — chocolate brown eyes that were like molasses and sugar, his hands, his lips on yours. And the damn lie that held you together, this fake relationship stitched out of spite and image control and damage management.

And now here was Nate, so easy going and kind, looking at you like he meant every word.

His hands came up suddenly, settling at the bends of your elbows, and his touch was warm and all too familiar. A little too tender.

“Can I take you out sometime? Like old times.” he asked.

“I…”

Your chest tightened. Should you tell him the truth? That you were seeing Harry, that it wasn’t anything real, that you’d love to see him again, to try again. Should you tell him you were a wreck in last season’s clothing, pretending not to unravel under the weight of your parents’ disappointment? That maybe you weren’t the girl worth taking out anymore?

But instead, you smiled, soft and unsure. “Yeah. Maybe.”

He smiled like that was all he needed. Like it was everything, and he pulled you into a hug.

You didn’t resist as your arms wrapped around his neck, and his around your waist, and you felt him breathe you in.

“You still wear Chanel?” he murmured against your hair.

You pulled back to look up at him. “You remember?”

“Gave it to you every Christmas, didn’t I?” 

Your heart thudded and you nodded. Your eyes searched his face, the boyish gleam in his expression, the dimple in his left cheek, the thick lashes that framed his too-blue eyes. And in that moment, it almost felt easy again.

A sudden hiss broke the quiet.

You barely had time to register the sound before a fine mist caught your ankle, a cold spatter against your calf. And then, like some cruel twist of fate, a full arc of water burst from the lawn beside you, catching the breeze just enough to spray across your bare legs and your entire skirt.

You yelped, stumbling back with a high-pitched squeal, your hands lifting instinctively. “Oh my god! Not my Valentino—!”

The words were screeching and panicked as you danced out of the sprinkler’s reach, clutching your skirt to keep it from danger. Your shoes were already darkening, delicate satin turning damp in spots.

Nate was doubled over, hands on his knees, howling with laughter like this was the funniest thing he’d seen in weeks. “Oh no,” he gasped through breathless laughter, “the horror! Whatever will you do, princess?”

You glared at him, though you could feel your own laughter threatening to break through — bubbling up in your chest, effervescent and sharp. 

Without thinking, you stepped back toward him, grabbing his wrist and spun him, with surprising force and strength, straight into the sprinkler’s spray.

You woke to warm light spilling through the soft pink curtains and the gauzy canopy above your bed, the morning sun casting delicate patterns across your sheets. For once, it felt like the light belonged there, all gentle and golden— unbothered. You stretched slowly, smiling to yourself, the memory of yesterday still humming somewhere beneath your skin.

Reaching for your phone, you scrolled absently, surprised to find your notifications empty. No missed calls, not even a Gossip Girl ping.

How uncharacteristically quiet.

Maybe it was time to change that.

Harry hadn’t arrived by the time you got to Ladurée later that morning. So you chose a table outside, one perfectly positioned in the sunshine, just enough to warm your bare shoulders and for anyone passing by to notice you and snap their photos.

You ordered two sparkling waters, his espresso, your latte and proceeded to scroll absently through your phone. Time passed in loops, watching the people drift past in pressed trousers and their work attire, dogs and shopping bags and quiet conversations weaving together like a hum. 

You didn’t look up until the light shifted with a shadow casting long across the iron chateau table. You felt the tension in the air, low and tight like an impending storm cloud. 

“Oh,” you said, startled. “Hi. Sit, I think this is a good spot for—”

“We need to sit inside.”

Your brows lifted. Harry didn’t meet your eyes. There was a tick in his jaw and unfamiliar scowl carved deep between his brows, as if it had settled there overnight.

“O-okay…” you said, rising carefully, phone in hand. You signaled the waitress you’d be moving and followed him wordlessly into the quiet interior. The back table he chose was tucked in shadow, far from the sunlight, far from the onlookers you thought you were trying to grab the attention of.

The patisserie inside was tasteful. Mosaic tables, floral wallpaper, soft pinks and ivories in curved crown molding. It was elegant and soft and inviting. But nothing about Harry was soft today.

He dropped into his seat with a heavy sigh.

You sat too, quietly. “Is everything okay?” you asked as the waitress placed your drinks in front of you. “I got you coffee,” you added, almost as an afterthought.

Harry gave a short nod, barely even a grunt passing his lips in thanks. Instead, he set a leather briefcase down beside him and unlatched it with a sharp flick. From it, he drew out a few sheets of paper — and then one thicker object, glossier, heavier. When he laid it on the table, your stomach dropped.

Your expression cracked before you could stop it. “Oh god—”

“What were you thinking?” Harry's voice was low, taut.

“I didn’t know anyone saw us, I—I’m so—”

“Sorry?” he cut in. “You don’t look like it. From the looks of it, you’re having the time of your life with him.”

You looked down, ashamed. Your fingers trembled slightly as you touched the edge of your cup.

“Are you not taking this seriously?” he asked. “Do you understand what this means for my family? For Camilla?”

You opened your mouth but couldn’t find the words. Your throat had closed up. You felt heat rising behind your eyes, something tight and sour pulsing at your temples. He was looking at you with something darker than anger. Something close to disappointment.

“I didn’t see anyone,” you said weakly. “I just…we were catching up, he came out of nowhere, wanted to talk. It wasn’t—”

You took a deep breath and swallowed. “I didn’t mean for Camilla to—”

“If you don’t want to do this anymore,” Harry cut in again, voice like stone, “if you want to run around town with your ex-boyfriend, that’s fine. But I’m not going to be part of it if that’s the case.”

You stared at him, stunned. Your voice rose a notch, defensive and tight. “You’re the one who asked for this, for front page news and–and—”

He didn’t blink. “Don’t misunderstand me, Miss Montclair. I don’t give a damn what they write about me.” He tapped the magazine cover like it disgusted him. “But you’ve made my family look foolish. You’ve given the press another reason to treat Camilla like a punchline. After everything I’ve done to get her out of it.”

He leaned back slowly, crossing his arms. His voice cooled even further, “Do you understand how that feels?”

You blinked at him, the words slicing too close. “What? Do I know how that feels? Harry, all I ever am is center stage. I don’t get the luxury of choosing when people look at me. I can’t escape it.”

His jaw flexed, but he didn’t break his stare.

“Seems to be exactly how you like it.”

You inhaled sharply, fury beginning to rise. “Are you serious? Fine. You don’t want this anymore? Cool, we can end it right here. Have a nice life, Harry.”

You pushed back your chair, the metal legs screeching slightly on the tile. You stood, wanting to walk, to vanish through the gilded doors, to disappear for once in your life without someone following, watching, reporting. You wanted just five minutes where the world didn’t have your name in its mouth.

But before you could take a step past him, his hand was on your arm. It wasn’t demanding or painful, but just a softness, his thick fingers wrapped around your forearm, bare skin on bare skin.

“Sit. Please. I’m sorry.”

You stared down at him, silent. And for a moment, you saw more than the ire beneath his eyes. You saw how tired he was, how melancholic he was underneath it all. It reminded you of just the other night, of the soft spoken words exchanged, when it was only the two of you, just four walls and two people who felt unseen by everyone around them.

You stood like that for a beat longer, torn between the fire still hot in your chest and something else rising up behind it. Then you sighed, lips pressed tight, and slid slowly back into your seat.

Harry exhaled too, but it didn’t ease the tension in his frame. He leaned back in his chair, jaw tight, arms folded as he stared off, away from you, toward some spot on the far wall like it might tell him what to say.

The silence stretched taut and uncomfortable, like the pause before a verdict.

Then finally, his voice, low and quiet: “I don’t want to end this.”

You paused. That wasn’t what you expected. Not after that performance. You tilted your head, still bristling. He finally looked at you again.

“Do you?” he asked, and the question echoed between you. 

But you felt it, that weight of everything. Of Nate, the way his laugh still made something inside you flutter, like a reflex you hadn’t grown out of. You thought of how easy it would be to fall back into that old rhythm with him, comfortable and familiar. He was everything your parents wanted for you — shiny and clean and appropriate. With Nate, you could smooth your edges and no one would question it. They’d call you mature. They’d call you healed.

But it wouldn’t fix this. It wouldn’t undo the photo, or the headline, or the way Harry had looked at you when he dropped that magazine on the table. You’d humiliated him, you’d jeopardized Camilla’s well being by not thinking about the outcome of a simple stroll in the park with an ex boyfriend. 

You owed it to Harry to not walk away when things got hard. And you weren’t about to give your parents the satisfaction of being right. 

“No, I don’t.” you whispered, surrendering.

Harry’s eyes met yours. “Are you certain?”

He wasn’t condescending or sarcastic. He was just… asking. So gentle and soft spoken despite your expression of petulance. And you realized that it wasn’t something you often got. Someone asking what you wanted.

“Yes, I’m certain,” you said, a little more sharply than intended.

He nodded once, calm and settled. Like something in him had been exhaled. He moved the magazine aside, tucking it beneath a stack of printed pages.

“What is that?” you asked, eyeing the pile.

“I had my lawyer draft a contract.”

Your heart jumped. “A contract? Jesus, Harry!”

“This is serious, Miss Montclair. I thought we had an agreement. I can’t keep relying on good faith alone.”

He was revving you up on purpose, he had to be.

“Oh, you asshole.” 

“It’s still entirely up to you,” he said coolly, ignoring your jab.

You stared at him, pulse quickening. “Can you just give me something? I can’t even tell where your head is anymore.”

“I want to protect my niece.”

You looked away, toward the street outside. Cars passed slowly. A woman pushed a stroller past the glass. Life moved on without you.

“I meant about me.” you said quietly.

Harry sighed, “Does it matter how I feel about you?”

You met his eyes again. “Yes.” 

He leaned forward slowly, resting his elbows on the table between you, fingers clasped together, “I think we have great potential to change this around. But only if we’re on the same page about things.”

You ignored the fact that that was not, in fact, what you meant at all by your question.

“…Okay,” you murmured. “What does the contract say?”

He shuffled papers around before handing it to you. 

“It outlines the rest of the time we have together. Up through the Hamptons trip. No other relationships, no going on other dates. And then logistical things, mostly. Lodging, transportation, your allowance.”

Your eyes snapped to his. “My what?”

He sighed. “There’s a credit card I opened for you. You’ll need it if you agree to continue.”

“This is insane. I don’t need your money.”

“On the contrary, you do.” he nodded, “Isn’t that partially why you’re doing this with me? Besides, there is…there’s one other clause.”

“Oh god. What now?”

“My mother wants to meet you.”

Your face froze. “Excuse me?”

“It’s your decision. But if you do sign, I’ve already arranged a stylist to help you prepare. Margot. I’ll give you her address, of course. She’ll take care of everything.”

“My clothes are fine,” you snapped, arms crossed.

“I don’t doubt that,” Harry said, voice gentler. “But my mother is… particular. Margot knows what she likes. Please. Just trust me.”

You looked at him then. Long and hard. He wasn’t smirking or playing. There was something tired in his eyes. Something cautious.

You sighed, then picked up your latte, sipping as you read through a few lines of the contract.

Both parties agree to maintain the appearance of a committed, exclusive relationship for the duration of the agreement. Neither Montclair nor Castillo shall engage in any romantic or sexual relationships with outside parties, nor participate in public behavior that would suggest otherwise.

Montclair agrees to meet with Mrs. Evelyn Castillo at her residence, located at 834 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY, on MAY 10TH at 12:00PM, for the purpose of establishing social rapport and satisfying familial expectations.

Montclair is granted access to a Castillo Holdings credit account for incidental and appearance-related expenses, not to exceed a total of $50,000 USD without prior written approval. Said funds shall be used solely in service of upholding the visual and social standards of the arrangement.

This agreement shall remain in effect through JUNE 20TH, concluding with the final appearance at the Montclair family’s summer estate in East Hampton during the WHITE PARTY FUNDRAISER FOR HENLEY’S YOUTH CENTER, unless terminated earlier by mutual consent or in response to a material breach.

You held the papers in your lap, scanning them with narrowed eyes. “So…what do you want from me?”

Harry frowned. “Excuse me?”

“When I meet your mother. How do you want me to act? Do we go full spoiled brat, or do I tone it down? Act like a proper young lady?”

He tilted his head slightly. “I… just be yourself, I suppose.”

You groaned. “Myself? You must not want to impress her much.”

“You’re being impossible.”

“I’m just asking a question, Harry.”

He sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose.

You stared at him for a beat. At the curve of his shoulders, drawn tight beneath that button-down. The dark smudge beneath his eyes from lack of sleep. Whatever this had cost you, it was clearly costing him, too.

You looked back down at the contract. The words blurred a little from how long you’d been staring at them. Your name printed in legal font. The terms of your worth itemized and assigned deadlines.

It should have made you feel small.

Instead, it made you feel… necessary. Like this was something only you could do.

You flipped the packet slowly, thumb pressed to the crease as you found the dotted line at the bottom.

“Do you have a pen?” you asked.

He looked up, blinking a few times. Instead of answering, he just reached into his blazer pocket and handed you a silver pen that was heavy and engraved with Castillo Investments. Probably custom. Of course it was.

You uncapped it, signed your name at the bottom without a flourish, and slid the papers back across the table toward him.

He took them with a nod, signing his own name.

Then, without saying anything, he pulled a sleek black card from his wallet — a Castillo Holdings AMEX — and set it gently beside your latte. A second later, he was pulling out two business cards to sit next to it.

“Here,” he said. “That’s Margot’s number. And my driver’s. He’ll be outside at eleven tomorrow for you.”

You took the card and pocketed the phone numbers, sliding them all into your purse.

The both of you sat in silence for a long moment.

“I… I really am sorry, Harry,” you said finally, your voice low. Honest.

He nodded mournfully, “I know.”

You looked down, fingers brushing the edge of your now-cold latte. “So when I meet your mother…” you hesitated, glancing up at him, “do you think she’ll like me?”

It was quiet for another long moment, then, for the first time all morning, Harry smiled. Just a small one, but it softened the edges of his face.

“You’ll know when you see her,” he said gently.

You gave a faint nod, lips twitching despite yourself.

“Thank you,” he added, voice quieter now. “For… continuing with the agreement.”

You looked over at him, held his gaze for a moment, and nodded.

Another pause settled between you, more comfortable this time.

“Well,” he exhaled, collecting his things, “I don't see a reason not to use this whole outing to our advantage, right?” he said finally, a slight lilt returning to his tone.

You raised an eyebrow, eager to lighten the mood again. “What exactly are you proposing?”

His mouth twitched. “A kiss goodbye?”

You gave him a look. “I’m starting to think you liked kissing me, Castillo.”

He chuckled a little, standing and tossing cash on the table. His hand found the small of your back as you moved to the door, firm and steady, guiding you outside.

“Don’t get so ahead of yourself, it’s only our second kiss,” he murmured, lips brushing close to your ear, and you had to force the blush away from your cheeks.

Outside, the city was buzzing again. A black car already idled at the curb, sleek and imposing with tinted windows. Harry opened the door and turned to you.

“For you,” he said, like it was nothing.

You blinked. “I—I wasn’t expecting—”

“You agreed,” he said, that subtle firmness shutting your mouth. But there was a glint in his eye now, something amused and warm. 

Right, the newly signed contract. The terms, the conditions, the performance. The job you’d already nearly blown. You’d agreed to this, afterall. 

You sighed, stepping between him and the open door. “Well… thank you.”

His voice dropped, suddenly all business, and his eyes flickered behind you and back to you. “We have an audience, Miss Montclair.”

You willed yourself not to look, but you could feel the invisible weight of a hundred eyes, phones angled, pretending not to watch. Gossip Girl working in real time.

This was why you came, anyway. The reason for meeting at the patisserie to begin with, wasn’t it? The photo op. The performance. You looked up at him, heart beating a little louder than you meant it to. You took a big breath before smiling up at him.

“I’m going to kiss you now, Harry,” you said softly.

His mouth twitched. “Why do you make it sound like a threat?”

Stepping in, you slid your hands beneath his blazer, grazing the fabric of his shirt, fingers brushing the buttons at the center of his chest. His arm came up, caging you gently to the ajar car door, and the city faded at the edges.

You leaned in, catching his lips with yours, soft, steady, practiced. You let your mouths meld together, long and slow and deep. You tilted your head a little, pushing up into him more.

But underneath the choreography, you were trying to say something else. That you were sorry. That you weren’t trying to humiliate him. That it must have felt like such a blindside, to wake up with his niece on the cover of the magazine, his own face, his own…what were you? Fake girlfriend? Making a fool of all of you. 

You kissed him harder, bringing your hand up to his neck, pulling him in for more. His lips slanted to yours, his free hand going around your waist.

Look at me.

Look at us.

See how much I like him?

I’m sorry, Harry.

When you pulled away, it was only because you had to. Because if you didn’t, something might give. His hand lingered at your waist for half a second longer than necessary. His gaze found yours, steady and searching.

“Goodbye, Miss Montclair,” he said finally, voice low, rough around the edges, something unreadable curling beneath it.

“Bye,” you breathed, softer than you meant to, your body still humming with the contact, your mouth tingling from where he’d kissed you.

You slid into the car, the door closing behind you with a final, padded thud. The sudden quiet felt jarring, making your ears ring, like the air pressure had shifted. The tinted glass turned the world outside to shadow, and the cold leather pressed into your thighs, clashing against the warmth still blooming in your chest, your neck, the flushed skin below your collarbones.

Your phone was buzzing, and when you looked down, it felt like everything was falling back into place as it should.

THE CONTRACT

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[miseducatedmelanicmuse]

Like a new friend!

[wardenparker]

The Secret of My Success, ch 1

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Summary: Harry attends his best friend's engagement party, only to find that Percy's old childhood partner in crime is quite charming in her own right. Notes: In this first chapter, we have references to Tamara's friend the fashion designer whose husband is from Mallorca. Wave hi to Javi G and his amor as you read!

The ringing telephones and buzz of activity from even down the hall doesn’t reach the plush, insulated capsule of this office. The windows are encompassing, giving a sweeping view of the city that would stun visitors and impress investors. The power harness from floor to ceiling views of the most powerful financial district in the world. His back is to that view, phone pressed to his ear as he talks. “I think that with that kind of margin, we would be stupid to invest.” He says bluntly, aware that the news won’t be well received but that’s not his problem. “No, they’ve significantly overstated their assets and at this point, it’s looking more like fraud than idiocracy.”

The knock at the door draws Harry Castillo’s attention, making him look up and frown as his best friend motions for him to wrap up the call. Shaking his wrist and looking at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist makes him wince. “No, I understand.” He murmurs. “Tom, we will have to discuss this later. Think about what I’ve said.” He tells the man on the other end of the line, rolling his eyes with annoyance when the entire point seems to fly right over that man’s head. “Uh huh, uh huh.” He stands. “Yes. Well, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He shakes his head, nodding towards Percy Stokes, rushing him along. “Okay, well, I have a meeting that I’m walking into, so I’ll get back to you on that.” He says abruptly, finally managing to break through the endless monologue before saying a hurried goodbye and pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Come on.” Percy huffs. “We’re gonna be late.” He shakes his head. “And Tamara will kill me.”

Harry grins, sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling down the edge of his jacket to straighten it out. Luckily his tie was still straight and he hadn’t run a hand through his hair. “She would if you were late to your own engagement party.” He agrees.

“Which is why we’re not gonna be late.” Percy says with absolute certainty. He’s waving Harry toward the door with enthusiasm, checking his own appearance in one of the mirrors build into the walls of the office. Harry is technically his boss but he’s far more of a friend. He’d become that along the way, as they both came up through the financial game together. The Castillo family’s connections were pure gold and Harry hadn’t minded being a sort of big brother figure to the new guy in the family firm when Percy had started years ago. Now they’re each other’s number one fan and best supporter in work and out of it.

“Do you have her gift?” He asks, knowing that it’s customary to give your fiancée a gift before the wedding. He had voted on the Tiffany earrings, but he didn’t know what Percy had chosen.

Percy pats the breast pocket of his suit jacket and beams. “The earrings were perfect,” he tells Harry as they dash for the elevator. “I went with the platinum setting. Matches her engagement ring that way.”

“Nice.” He holds the door open for Percy and steps in after he’s in the car, pressing the button for the lobby. “The car is outside; we should be there with time to spare.” He promises.

"Only because your guy finds like...pocket dimensions to drive through." Percy jokes. Harry's driver, an older man named Stanley with a sharp tongue and a hell of a sense of humor, is a goddamn treasure and everybody knows it.

“He’s driven in Manhattan.” Harry snorts. “That qualifies as a combat tour.”

"You're not wrong." Percy snorts. He leans back in the elevator car as it drops swiftly down the controlled track from the thirtieth floor down to the ground. He's jittery and excited and can't stop grinning. Tonight is going to be perfect.

“So who all is Tamara gonna invite from her end?” He asks. “I know that you’re moving to L.A., but we’ve planned all the wedding activities here.”

“She’s got some family coming down, and a few people in from LA.” His Canadian-born fiancée seems to have friends and family everywhere, and he fiddle with the cuff of his shirt sleeve where it lays over the white ink maple leaf tattoo he has from her. “Basically her family and her bridesmaids. If I read the guest list correctly for tonight, the husbands are all home with their kids and the girls are making a weekend of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry chuckles. “Seems like I’ll never get to meet the famous Javi Gutierrez.” He jokes. “People say we look like we are related.”

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Percy assures him as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. “His wife is one of Tam’s bridesmaids and apparently he loves weddings, which doesn’t surprise me after having met a bunch of their friends.”

Harry hums as the doors open. “Good, I’ve been wanting to talk about property in Mallorca.”

The two men stride out the glass doors of their office building and slide into a car, but Percy scoffs even before they get settled. “So that’s the travel obsession this month? Mallorca?” Harry itches to travel but never makes the time for himself and everyone knows it. Last month he had been pouring over travel itineraries for New Zealand.

“Yeah, I was thinking that it could be a good investment.” He admits. “Maybe a diversity into a resort style property.”

“You’re going to buy a hotel?” Percy’s eyebrow ticks up skeptically.

“Why not?” He shrugs slightly. “No different than owning the apartment buildings in SoHo.”

“From finance heir to real estate mogul.” The younger man laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Hey man, if that’s what you want to do? Enjoy it. Make sure they keep an owner’s suite ready for you to drop by whenever.”

“Exactly.” He grins as Stanley guides the car out into traffic and away from the skyscraper. ‘Castillo Holdings’ is proudly proclaimed in large gold letters at the top of the building and on the plaque mortared into the stone pillar beside the doors. “Name it ‘Harry’s Place’ or some whimsical kind of thing.”

Percy snorts. “This from the man who gets a giggle out of taking business dinners to Harry’s instead of Delmonico’s. Of course you would call it Harry’s Place.”

He smirks slightly, tapping his fingers on his knee. Forcing himself not to trace the scars on the side of his thigh like he would do if he was alone. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” He huffs back playfully.

“Percy’s Palace,” he answers without hesitation, smirking right back at his friend. “Gotta have that alliteration.”

“Palace, huh?” He chuckles softly, nodding in agreement. “I like it. It would be a place that people would talk about.”

“Hell yeah they would.” Taking the approval as a compliment, he grins. “Build it right on the Vegas strip. Blow Caesar’s out of the water.”

“Now you’re talking serious investment.” It’s almost immediately that his mind starts turning over that information. Running the numbers.

"Tam loves Vegas." Percy reveals, his smirk slipping into something much more besotted. After meeting at that fateful Met Gala a month ago, he and Tamara had flown to Las Vegas for a week and spent time wrapped up in each other learning everything they could about the soulmate they had been searching for, for so long.

“You’re lucky.” Harry will admit that easily, not a hint of jealousy, even though he knows that he hides really well. “Honestly, she’s perfect for you.”

"You're next." Percy insists. He leans back in his seat and watches Manhattan roll past the windows, contended as a house cat. "I know you're bummed about not having marks, but I know we can find you the right girl."

“Yeah.” Harry nods, not willing to bring down Percy with his own depressive thoughts. He had tried that route, went logical. Lucy had ended up breaking up with him. “She’s out there.”

"Who knows?" He's trying to be encouraging, but Percy is in that giddy, dreamy place of a new relationship where everything is love-centric. And more than that, his love-centric. "Maybe it's one of Tam's friends?"

“It’s possible.” He chuckles, doubting it. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s meant for love. Maybe he doesn’t have marks because he’s not suitable for that kind of relationship. It happens. It’s just convincing his mother than it’s not the universes fault.

They're a little bit quieter by the time they arrive at the party. The Clover Club is a favorite bar with excellent crafted cocktails, unique beers, and gourmet bar food that is a perfect choice for the intimate engagement party of two people who grew up casual but like to indulge in the finer things now that it's not out of budget.

Tamara, radiant in a white dress with pink flowers, squeaks with delight when she sees the sleek, black Maserati pull up to the curb. She is getting out of an Uber with her parents and little sister but her focus has immediately shifted.

“There she is.” Percy barely waits for the car to stop before he is jumping out. Harry chuckles as he follows behind him a moment later after the car actually stops rolling. “See? We arrived at the perfect time.” He calls out to Percy, waving to Tamara politely even though she only has eyes for her soulmate at the moment.

The couple murmur to each of quietly for a moment, savoring a few sweet kisses after three impossibly long days apart. When Tamara can finally do something other than gaze adoringly into Percy's eyes, she sighs happily and looks back to the people around them. She introduces her mother, father, and her sister to her newly-minted fiancé and Percy introduces Harry in turn.

They seem like nice people, although it’s clear that they are a little out of their depths. He doesn’t miss the speculative looks as they try to take everything in all at once.

"It's our first time in New York City," Tamara's sister Renee explains. "It's...a lot."

"It's beautiful," her mother sighs happily.

"We can't wait to show you the sights." Percy ushers everyone inside. They're the first arrivals, and others will be coming momentarily, but he wants to have everyone settled. "Harry's going to come look at venues with us this weekend but I promise we won't overwhelm you with it. We'll have fun while you're here."

“Yes.” Harry nods, motioning everyone towards the doors. “Honestly it should be quick to pick the venue.”

"Mack is coming too, right?" Tamara asks, glancing over her parents' heads at her soulmate as he holds open the door for everyone.

"Absolutely." Percy nods emphatically. "She's going to be our best ally."

“Mack?” Harry frowns slightly as he looks towards Percy. “The roommate I’ve never managed to actually meet?”

"She works nights a lot," Percy reminds him, waving it off. When Tamara's parents look curious, he goes on. "My best friend growing up became a wedding planner. The event business that she works for offered her a transfer from a smaller office so she took it. She only got to the city a few weeks ago, so there hasn't been a lot of chance to get everyone together yet."

Harry rolls his eyes at the slightly protective tone to his friend’s voice. He had asked about this friend, only to be stonewalled. It had made him a little apathetic about meeting “Mack”.

"You're gonna like her." Percy predicts, pointing one knowing finger at Harry. He'd been cautious about the introduction because he's protective of his friends, not because he thought they would butt heads.

There is no more chance to talk about it though, as they step into the club and Percy turns his attention to the staff. They've booked the event space for the night and paid premium for plenty of the gourmet food and drink options for all of their guests, and he wants the night to be perfect. As perfect as Tamara is. As perfect as their wedding and their future will be.

The warm lights reflect off the brick walls. Gleam against the tap that line the wall, but Harry is more interested in the whiskey. He slides up to the polished bar and taps his fingers lightly, eager for a drink.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" The bartender assigned to the private event space is a beautiful young woman with a bright smile and platinum blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She slides over to him with ease, measuring him up at a glance just the way everyone does in this city.

He shoots her a small smile. “Double Highland Park.” He orders. “Straight up.”

"Coming right up." Her interest at least momentarily piqued, she takes another glance before sauntering away to pour the whiskey that was so very rarely ordered. That's a hell of an expensive glass. Maybe this won't be just another average party after all.

“Thank you.” Harry watches her pour, admiring the way she makes it look elegant. The smooth amber colored liquor in the heavy crystal cut glass is slid across the bar to him and he nods. “Thanks.” The twenty in his palm is left in the lacquered top as he takes the glass to lift it for a quick sip.

There is a commotion at the door as more friends pour in. This seems to be a particularly punctual group of friends and Harry tucks that information away appreciatively.

Music starts to pour in through the speakers, a little more festive than most parties, but it’s fun.

Jovial chattering fills the space as more and more people arrive, and people come and go from the bar around him as guests truly join the party. About ten minutes into the stream of arrivals, a tall woman in silk walks through the door to be greeted by raucous shouts from Percy.

Turning towards the commotion, Harry watches as Percy grabs Tamara’s arm and rushes forward to wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze hard enough to make her squeal. Intrigued by the display and wondering if this is the Mack Percy had been talking about.

They're almost of a height, Harry notes with interest — Tamara being fairly tall for a woman he doesn't suppose that she often meets others her size. But the new arrival is decidedly curvier than the willowy actress.

"Let me breathe, Perce!" The woman is laughing, shoving Percy with an air of sibling playfulness. "And let me say hi to Tam Tam, for crying out loud!"

Harry finishes his drink, watching the entire time as the statuesque woman pulls away from Percy and gives Tamara an equally enthusiastic greeting. Whoever she is, she is confident. Many women might be intimidated by the radiating beauty and obvious size difference between her and a famous actress, but not her.

"My mother Bernadette, my father Joe, and my little sister Renee." Tamara introduces her family in turn. "This is Mack. She's been Percy's best friend since they were kids."

So it is Mack. Harry hums, trying to figure out how he is feeling about this development. Percy had never mentioned that his roommate was positively beautiful, confident and voluptuous.

"Next door neighbors," he hears her explain to Tamara's family with ease. "Our mothers served together and we ended up in the same class at school. We were pretty much connected at the hip for a long time."

"I thought you moved a lot when you were a kid?" Renee asks, trying to place all of the story's ducks into a neat row.

"Oh, I did," Percy nods. "We both did. We ended up in Fayetteville when we were...twelve?" Mack nods and he goes on. "I had been in Florida before that, and Korea. But I was born in Illinois."

Harry moves back over to the bar, asking for another refill as he continues to watch the introductions and the way that this friend interacts with the people closest to Tamara and Percy. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too detached, but he also likes to people watch. He learns things about people that way. Reading them.

"We're not doing official business tonight." He hears Mack insist. "We're here to celebrate, not split hairs. I'm gonna go get a drink before you start quizzing me on vendors."

The sharp click of heals announces the approach and he has the new glass of whiskey in his hand right as the figure draped in black silk approaches.

"Hi honey." You smile when the bartender comes over and it's a bright, confident dazzle of white teeth and red-painted lips. "What's the best thing on your menu for a rum drinker?"

"Do you like mint?" The bartender asks. When the woman identified as Mack say yes, the bartender smiles back. "I've got just the thing. Give me one second."

Harry studies you up close as you turn to appraise him. Noting the carefully crafted makeup, professional but bold with the red lipstick. Like you had come from work and dressed up the look with a quick trip into your cosmetic bag. “Rum is best on a desert beach.” He jokes. “Burned to signal a ship to rescue you.”

"Only if you're a snob," you counter, leaning against the bar and noting his simple, straight glass of brown liquor. A subtle whiff reveals it's whiskey. "Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy things because they're fun."

Okay, not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan. “And rum is fun?” He asks curiously, tilting his head as he watches you judge his drink. He lifts his brows and offers it to you to try.

"Oh fuck, that was from a movie?" You snort, laughing at your own self for being the actual asshole in this scenario. "Sorry, no, I clearly haven't seen it. Them? I'm more of a Star Wars girl." When he motions to his glass you raise your own eyebrow in turn. "What is it?"

“Expensive, snobbish, whiskey.” He smirks, wiggling the glass enticingly. Playfully. Something that is a little surprising to him, normally very serious in life. “Highland Park.”

"Sounds like something I can't afford to breathe near," you joke, but since it's just a sip being offered to you by a ridiculously handsome man at a private party being thrown by your best friend, you figure it's safe enough and also too intriguing to pass up. "Cheers." You raise his glass to him and tip it back, taking just a sip but immediately shutting your eyes and practically sighing over the deep, complex flavors.

The smirk turns to a genuine smile as he watches you appreciate the whiskey. The bartender brings back a drink and announces the name “Queen’s Park Swizzle.” She grins and Harry nods. “Another glass of Highland Park.” He orders with a wink and nod towards you. “I think she’s stolen mine.”

"Well I do drink pirate liquor," you joke, and have another sip since he's offered. Once you put the glass down again, you hold out your hand. "I'm Mack." The nickname is more than a decade old now, something that you've absorbed into who you are and made a part of you. So much so that it's obvious who knows you intimately versus who knows you through business based on what they call you. Friends and family? They've all called you Mack since you were fifteen.

“Harry.” He takes your hand and instead of shaking it, he bends down and presses a kiss to the back of it. Smelling the fruity, spicy fragrance of whatever lotion you have used.

Motherfucker. He's charming, too? Your stomach twists, but only because you're not used to this kind of thing. Gentlemanly behavior, most people call it. The men you spend your days around are usually either very in love grooms or very out of love grooms. The former can look right at you and still not see you, which is somewhat sweet. And the later are decidedly not gentlemen. It's such a distracting moment that it actually takes you another few seconds to process who he is. "Wait, Harry Harry? Like Percy's boss? Apparently the only competition I've ever had for the position of that weirdo's best friend?" You motion over your shoulder with one thumb and make a mental note to smack Percy soundly for not telling you his other best friend was so hot. "It's really nice to finally meet you."

“I was starting to wonder if you were real.” He admits as he smirks, standing tall but not letting go of your hand just yet. “Percy has been frustratingly tight lipped about you.” Now he wonders if it was because you were not built like supermodel, but he would hate to believe that Percy thought he was that snobbish.

"A lot of people..." Finance bros "find it weird that we're still friends after so long. They expect one of us to be gay, or for there to be some secret romantic history or something. And there's none of that. We're kind of...extra siblings." Maybe that's why he hasn't said much. It is certainly why you tend to be tight lipped about him to people you aren't sure of. But then...Percy is sure of Harry. He talks about him all the time. "Well, here I am. And here you are. Maybe he didn't introduce us before because he thinks we'll get along too well."

He contemplates that and shrugs. “Who knows?” He snorts after a moment, “maybe it’s because he thinks we wouldn’t get along.”

"Maybe." That has you smirking as you tip back another sip of the whiskey that you're sure costs more than your car payment. "You are a snob."

He chuckles, tilting his head as he picks up his new drink after it’s been delivered. “Tend to be.” He can admit that. “Only about certain things.”

"Like whiskey." Which, you have to admit, he's right about.

“I have been known to drink Jack Daniels.” He admits. “At gunpoint.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. The last sip of the pricey whiskey is gone a moment later, and you set the empty glass aside. "You would not like my liquor cabinet."

“Let me guess…..” he narrows his eyes playfully and looks up and down at you. “Tito’s vodka, a bottle of Whipped Smirnoff, Sailor Jerry, Captain Morgan Original…” he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Annnnnd a bottle of Malibu.” He grins. “The original coconut one.” He points a finger at you from the hand holding his glass. “How did I do?”

"I was just going to say there's no whiskey there, but damn!" Clutching your proverbial pearls, you are doubled over laughing on the bar as you try to recall what is actually on your bar cart at home at the moment. "The vodka is definitely Tito's, but the rum is Kraken. Yes to the Malibu, but you missed the tequila. El Jimador Silver. Which is so much better than anyone gives it credit for."

“It actually is a good tequila.” Harry admits with a grin. “But I prefer Tapatio 110.” He doesn’t have anything against any of the alcohol you’ve listed, if he’s honest.

"That's an excellent choice." He has good taste, you'll give him that without hesitation. The cut of his suit is another, much larger, indicator of that. "So what do you do, Work Friend Harry, other than judge other people's liquor habits and quote movies to strangers?"

He chuckles. “I work.” He admits, shrugging slightly.

"I think we've solved the mystery of how we've never met." You pick up your cocktail now, enjoying the feeling of the cold glass and the sweet, sharp, sour scent. "We're both workaholics."

“Wedding planning, right?” He asks, even though he knows that what you do. “I bet you do a lot of business around Valentine’s Day and oddly enough, Christmas, right?”

"New Years Eve is popular these days, too. And all summer long is pretty constantly busy." You've also been seeing a rash of people lately getting married on their birthdays, which is kind of fun as long as the marriage is a happy one.

“I don’t understand that trend.” He admits, shaking his head. “It smacks of selfishness. Making all of your guests give up their holiday, plus all the staff.” He huffs, watching you switch to your swizzle. “Making them give up their holiday to work a wedding is just wrong.”

"I get wanting to make your event memorable." After all, wasn't that the goal for pretty much everyone? To remember their event forever? "I just think it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes people forget the staff that work these things are actual people with their own families and lives."

Harry nods, thinking about Lucy’s John. It’s strange to think about her again so often lately. Maybe it’s because he met her at his brother’s wedding. “Just promise me you won’t put me at the single’s table?” He snorts. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

"I promise." Not that there's even been any discussion of how tables will be set up at all, but you'll find a way to make it work. Something about Harry is very endearing despite being so easy to tease. He's a likable guy. "No bribe necessary."

He chuckles. “So how will it work being both the planner and a part of the wedding?” Other guests are mingling and talking but his focus has stayed on you since you’ve joined him at the bar.

"One of the junior girls from my firm is going to help out during the ceremony. It will help her get her footing on a big wedding with a safety net in place, because I'll still be there." The whole thing was already worked out, of course. You weren't the first planner at Sparkling Nights to ever plan a wedding they were in.

“Do you ever work with Adore?” He asks.

Your nose wrinkles, but you nod. “The matchmakers? Yeah. Our firms have a contact but I don’t like to work those events if I can help it.”

He lifts a brow again, noticing the judgement in your voice and expression. “What, you don’t like them?”

“Those girls are…deeply judgmental, at best.” Have you done some judging tonight too? Sure. But nothing like what they do. “Not in the every day way like we’ve done. Drinks or taste in movies or whatever. The ones I’ve met are all shallow to the bone and turn people into math equations. They talk shit about their clients behind their backs all the time, which is just horrifically unprofessional.”

He hums as he finishes his drink. Seeing how it could be seen as judgmental when you job is to literally assign value to someone as if they were an asset. He had stopped his subscription over a year ago, because it seemed like the women just kept getting younger and more obvious in their want of being a trophy wife without having any substantive value beyond their looks. “Well,” he says after he swallows the last burn of his drink. “Worked for my brother.” He tells you. “Married two years.”

Well shit. You glance down at the glass in your hand and remember all over again that there were multiple reasons why you got made fun of in school. Not being able to keep your mouth shut was a pretty old problem. “Good for him,” you manage, feeling very much like you’ve put your foot in your mouth.

“Um hmm.” Harry sees Scott Bledsoe behind you, motioning to him to capture his attention and call him over. “Excuse me.” He murmurs politely, setting his drink down and pulling another twenty out of his pocket to put on the bar. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

"Fuck..." you mutter under your breath, groaning at your own idiocy as he walks away.

******

The party has been going on for hours. Harry has spoken to, or greeted every person in this room and it’s sad to say that his thoughts still drift back to the conversation at the bar. He shouldn’t have walked away like that, it was rude, but it had kind of cut him when she was insulting a service that hadn’t even been successful in finding him a partner. He’s had a few more drinks, probably more than he should have, so he’s outside to clear his head and secretly craving a cigarette.

The scent of smoke is distinct, he knows there is someone out here enjoying the thing he is craving — but it’s to his dismay when that person happens to be a tall, curvaceous woman in black silk.

Harry assumes that you don’t see him, standing farther down the railing and looking over the surprisingly nice view from the roof deck. Groaning quietly when the fresh puff of nicotine wafts his way.

“Would you…like one?” That particular groan is the sound of an ex-smoker who misses it, but there’s definitely a risk that he might be offended by the offer because he’s quit. At this point you’re well aware this man doesn’t like you, but that’s your own fault. You just don’t want it to be too difficult for Percy during the wedding planning.

“I shouldn’t.” His answer is automatic, but he’s moving towards you. Towards the rich and sweet smell of burning tobacco. “My mother always scolds me, but I can’t help it.” He tells you as he pulls an ornate zippo out of his pants pocket.

"I won't tell on you." The antique cigarette case you found at an estate sale ten years ago is still with you, and you click it open to offer him one of the ill-advised treasures inside.

The case is beautiful, sterling silver and trimmed in gold. He plucks a slender cigarette out the case and nods as he puts it up to his lips.

"I'm sorry I put my foot in my mouth earlier." It's the adult thing to do, to apologize, and you'll do it even if it's only to keep things smooth for Percy. I had just come from a meeting at the Adore offices and I was still all riled up about them. I have nothing against the people who use the service, I just think it's shitty the way some of those girls talk about their clients."

He chuckles and shrugs after taking a long drag off the cigarette. Groaning slightly at the taste and approving of the flavor. He glances over at you. “You never talked back about a client before?”

“Not to another professional in any kind of connected field,” you insist. He looks good smoking. A little more rugged. Less like he’s been sculpted from marble. “Usually only to Percy, if I’m honest.”

“So the problem is that they are analytical.” He hums. “And you are emotional.” It makes sense. You probably have an emotional connection to every client you work with by the end.

"The problem is that they treat analysis like the only answer and demean anyone who believes in emotion." You have to qualify it, since you feel like he's barreling toward being upset with you again, and you're trying to prevent that. "Again, I'm only talking about the half a dozen or so women from that office that I've met."

He’s relaxed a little not that he’s figured out that you are malicious. He shrugs slightly. “It’s a numbers game to them. Basic addition and subtraction.” Dating Lucy had given him some insight into that world. It hadn’t been too far from his own, surprisingly.

"How do you figure that?" If his brother had used Adore then he might have some perspective on the whole thing that is different from your own.

“It’s simple.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Some men want a 5’6” woman who weighs less than 130 lbs, preferably with natural blonde hair and reasonably well educated.” He watches as your eyes narrow and wonders if you think he’s listing off his own preferences. “If 47% of their female clients don’t meet that specific criteria, then they have to narrow it down to what fits in that remaining 53%.” He chuckles. “It’s a numbers game. What adds up and what can be overlooked to get to that match that you could possibly tolerate grinding teeth or leaving the towel on the floor for the next 25 years.”

"I guess I don't understand why people care about the height and weight of their partner , or even the hair color, instead of their joys and hobbies and passions." Although, from his estimation? It certainly does hit home how you're still single. It stings like a burning welt but you don't flinch, just cast you eyes down at your cigarette and swallow a sigh.

“Not everyone is blessed to carry scars from their soulmate.” Harry hums with a shrug of one shoulder. Hating how he doesn’t carry them.

"And some of us have them but still haven't made that match." You just shrug, pretending — or pretending to pretend — that it doesn't matter. "It is what it is. I don't believe you have to find your soulmate to be happy. It's just one way of many."

“I can understand what you mean.” He admits. “You don’t have to like those ladies. They are just providing a luxury service to a lot of assholes.” He jokes.

"I guess I just don't like that the ones I've met act like they're the only right answer and still don't respect the people who use their service." A dry, low chuckle escapes you and you shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a bitter, single, fat girl. Who knows?"

He huffs slightly. “You aren’t fat.” He counters, frowning as he looks you up and down. “Not a part of you is disproportionate.” Yes, are you thicker than most women hoping to bag a rich husband in New York? Maybe, but your confidence is refreshing and it doesn’t seem to be steeped in arrogance.

"I don't think I am, either. But to most of New York, it's a sin for women to enjoy food." Either way, you wave it off and take a last drag from your cigarette.

He chuckles. “But they love to go out and be seen.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

"I've only been in the city a few weeks." You smile at the question, taking it to mean that he isn't one of the people who thinks eating is a sin. "So far I really like the sandwiches from the bodega at the end of my block."

“You should go to Keen’s.” He suggests. “Real old world vibes and the steak is good.”

"Should I?" A smile curls your lips up, red lipstick unbothered and un-smudged by smoking, and when faced with an abundance of Fuck it energy and the hottest man you've ever spoken to in real life, you sort of throw up your proverbial hands. "Is that where you take your dates to impress them?"

He tilts his head as a curious look enters his eyes. “Only if she’s a steak woman.” He admits. “If it’s sushi, I take her to Sushi Noz.” He arches a brow as he waits.

"I sincerely hope you're not too attached to the sushi idea now that you've said it. I'm definitely a steak kind of girl." The mischievousness of your smile hides the uncertainty there, because you don't necessarily have a lot of experience with guys like this. And even less success. But why not try? "What time should I pick you up?"

You’re bold. His curiosity turns into near amusement, lips smirking slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his last. He grinds out the coal and blows out the smoke. “8.” He decides, chuckling.

"Eight." You echo it, tucking away the disbelief, and nod. You'll have just enough time after the appointments tomorrow to go home and change into something far more flattering and less practical. "Sounds good."

He nods, “sounds good.”

Wandering back into the party so you don't ruin the beautiful (and slightly unexpected) tension of the moment, you find Percy and Tamara by the bar when you slide up to get another drink.

“Sooooooo.” Tamara grins, still riding the high of actually celebrating being engaged this man, as she clings to his arm. “Tell me what you think about our choices for venues?” She asks.

“It will depend on the size of your guest list and how faithful to Manhattan you want to be,” you remind them, but extract a small notebook from your purse anyway. You know they want to stay in the heart of the city and they’re both fairly traditional. “Places like the Central Park Boathouse, Sony Hall, or the Foundry all have very different vibes but still give the traditional elegance you’re looking for.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have the Met.” Tamara sighs dreamily. “Since we met there.”

“You can,” you remind her. They have the budget, after all. “It’s just booked two years out.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head before turning those big, expressive eyes up to Percy. “I don’t want to wait that long to marry you.” She admits softly.

“Me either.” He leans down, kissing her twice and then a third time for good measure. “Wouldn’t it be easiest to book a hotel ballroom?” He looks back at you. “We’re going to have guests flying in from all over.”

“We can certainly do that,” you nod and glance back at your list. “And book a block of rooms for your guests in the process.”

She hums and looks over at Percy. “Where did Harry’s brother get married?” She asks softly. “Maybe we can book there.”

“Lotte?” Percy looks to you and you nod. “It was beautiful. And they were pretty easy to work with, I think.” Expensive, obviously, but he doesn’t care about that. He can afford it and Tamara is worth it.

“Exactly.” He had struggled with the idea of moving himself, but he knew that Tamara needed to live in LA.

“Buck up, soldier,” you tease, nudging his arm. “This is another adventure. You’ll love LA.”

“I know.” He tilts his head and shoots you an apologetic sigh. “I just wish that the timing was better.”

"That's sweet of you," you promise him. He really is your best friend for a reason. "But who are we if we can't handle a curveball here and there?"

“Have you had any luck?” He asks. “You know I can just keep paying rent.” He reminds you.

"You don't need to do that." The little two bedroom in Washington Heights that he welcomed you into when you arrived in the city had been more than enough for him alone and it was just enough for two. Without him, your savings will stretch a few months before you start to struggle, but you just can't let him pay rent on a place that he isn't living in anymore. It doesn't sit well with you. "I have a couple of interviews next week, we'll see if any of them pan out."

“This is my fault though.” He insists. “At least let me pay until you find someone.”

“We’re not talking about rent at your engagement party,” you scold. Truth be told you’ve been looking at moving out to Brooklyn or Queens as soon as his lease is up and there’s not too terrible options that way. Nothing fancy, but you don’t need fancy.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He points at you playfully. “For real.” You had a nasty habit of changing the subject if you were uncomfortable with the subject, and your finances were one of those touchy things for you.

“Sure.” An off-hand dismissal of the topic is pretty on point for you, but you squeeze his arm before turning back to the bar to order another drink. You’re not trying to be flippant, but this is a celebration.

Harry rejoins the party and mingles with the other guests. Laughing and trading jokes, telling stories about when Tamara and Percy met, proud that he had facilitated the entire thing. He chews on his lip as he considers getting another drink and decides that it’s a little too soon for another so he wanders over to the buffet spread.

“Have you tried any of the food yet?” Percy comes up on his side and picks up a small plate with an artfully styled piece of fried chicken with some kind of slaw on it. “It’s incredible here.”

“No,” he admits with a small grin. “I’ve been drinking my dinner so far.” He glances over towards you and then back to the artfully arranged appetizers.

“Any reason for that?” He isn’t going to pretend he didn’t see Harry talking to you earlier. Or that he doesn’t smell like your cigarettes now. You’re the only person he knows who still smokes Camel Turkish Royals and Harry always buys American Spirits when he stress smokes.

“Annoyance.” Harry snorts. “Intrigue.” He admits a moment later. “Ever met someone you shouldn’t like, but you do?”

“Plenty of times.” The two men stand in bespoke, expensive suits and eat gourmet finger food, surveying the pastry around them. “But I assume we’re talking about something a little more striking than a professor or coworker?”

“I’m apparently going on a date tomorrow night.” He snorts softly and picks up a plate with two teriyaki meatballs on it. “I guess I should call and make a reservation.”

“You sound…” Percy frowns. “Less than excited?”

“Given my history with dating?” Harry asks, lifting a brow. “I guess I’m not exactly hopeful.” He admits.

“So you’re not grumpy about it because of the girl, but because you don’t think it’ll go anywhere?” He’s itching to ask who. To find out if the glances he saw amounted to anything. But he doesn’t want to spook Harry too early.

“It never does.” Harry taps the plate and looks around the room. The very symbol of love existing is right here, but it always eludes him.

“It only has to be different once,” Percy reminds him.

He huffs slightly, unable to argue with that, but it’s so vague. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to bring his best friend down, tonight of all nights. “There’s plenty to look forward to, after all.”

“Not to be nosy,” Percy smirks. “But I’m gonna be nosy. Why did you ask if you weren’t excited about her?”

“I didn’t ask.” Harry admits, although his lips twist up slightly in amusement. “She did.”

“Oh shit.” That promotes the younger man to burst out in a fit of surprised laughter, though Percy quickly smothers the sound and peaks it down to an amused giggle. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“I’m sure we are.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend as he picks up a meatball on the slender toothpick and takes a bite.

“Well shit.” Percy repeats, grinning at Harry like he’s just gotten the best gossip ever. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. I that makes you the third guy that she’s asked out ever.”

“Bullshit.” Harry pulls a disbelieving face because he isn’t swallowing that load of garbage for all the money in Manhattan. “That woman has only asked out three men?” He huffs, nodding towards where you are clearly chatting happily and smiling almost flirtatiously with an older man. He’s old enough to be your grandfather, but still.

"Don't let the extrovert exterior fool you." Lowering his voice, Percy glances over at you and then back to Harry. "That's a girl who lives on romance novels and period dramas, dreaming about her soulmate sweeping her off her feet." He huffs softly under his breath. "But kids are mean. She when through a hell of a lot of shit in school and got bullied pretty mercilessly. The big, brassy, bad ass thing is...it's a defense mechanism. If she asked you? She went out on a pretty big limb."

“I think she felt bad about insulting me.” Harry chuckles quietly. “She was talking shit about the women at Adore.”

"She...kinda hates them." Percy laughs along with him, but he meets Harry's eyes meaningfully. "She was telling me about the meetings she's been having and how shitty they are to her. Personal attacks. She said one of the women in the office had done a statistics sheet on her and it was awful."

“That’s because she doesn’t fit the assumed vision of what a valuable woman in this city is.” Harry agrees, knowing exactly who would have done that statistic sheet on her. “It doesn’t really mean it’s personal to them.”

"No," Percy agrees. "But it's personal to her."

“Believe me, I can understand that.” He had been encouraged to not discontinue his engagement of Adore but he hadn’t seen the point when no one had been compatible.

"All I'm saying is that if she asked, it's not out of guilt. It's genuine interest." Percy does take a moment though, letting that sink in to Harry's mind. "But if you're not really interested in return? I'm gonna ask, as both of your friend, that you tell her up front."

Harry frowns slightly. “So you don’t think this is a good idea?” He asks.

"I want you to accept because you want to," Percy says. "Not because I want you to."

“I would have said no if I didn’t want to go.” Percy should know him better than that. He sighs softly. “I guess I’m just worried that it will turn out badly.”

"No one is saying you have to marry her. But you both deserve a good date." Eternally honest Percy shrugs again. "You've both had a string of bad luck lately, that's all I'm saying."

“We are going to Keen’s.” He tells his friend, knowing that he can count on the other man’s opinion. “She’s gonna pick me up.”

Percy smirks, this time because he knows the restaurant vice was Harry’s. You would have picked Italian. “Her favorite flowers are zinnias. Just…in case you were wondering.”

“Zinnias.” Even though he hadn’t thought about getting flowers just yet he tucks that bit of information away. “Any particular color?”

“Reds. Oranges. Pinks. Yellows. Anything that reminds you of sunrise.” Patting his shoulder twice, Percy is still smiling when he steps away. “Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.”

Harry stares down at his plate. “Yes it will be.” He murmurs softly.

******

The morning is a complicated and energetic affair. A large, black rental car arrives in the heart of Washington Heights to pick you up with your best friend and his fiancée inside, then it’s off to get Tamara’s family from their hotel and finally Harry from his place in Tribeca. You’re in business mode this morning, dressed professionally and carrying your necessary resources. Today you’re more than the groom’s best friend. You’re the wedding planner.

Today is casually business. He dresses down, if he’s honest. Jeans, a sweater and a sports coat. Formal enough for some places but casual enough to not scream uptight. Tonight, he’ll change into something else before taking you dinner.

You go over the list of appointments for the day with everyone in the car, because everyone had (of course) had an opinion in where the wedding should be held. Even Percy’s parents had called you to give their opinion, despite currently being deployed overseas. Thankfully, the hotel that Percy and Tamara had mentioned to you last night had actually had availability today to be seen. They’ll be setting up for another wedding while you’re there, but that isn’t a bad thing.

“The hotel is fine.” Harry assures them. “Peter and Charlotte loved it. It held everyone and the staff there is very discreet.” He chuckles. “Uncle Phil got too drunk and they escorted him up to his room without any issues.”

“Everybody has an Uncle Phil of sorts,” Tamara chuckles, thinking specifically of an aunt of hers. “When in the day are we going to the hotel?” She asks, keenly interested in that particular location.

“Second,” you assure her. The earliest appointment of the day is the venue that her parents were most interested in, though you think there’s very little chance of Percy or Tamara falling in love with it. Neither of them cares much for rowing. “The Central Park Boathouse is first. It’s a beautiful venue that will hold your whole guest list with a little room to spare. And it’s perfect for some lovely photos so you wouldn’t have to leave the property for them.”

“I still wish we could book the Met.” Tamara sighs fondly as she snuggles into Percy’s side. “But I don’t want to wait two to three years.”

“I did it in a call this morning,” you let them know, but qualify it carefully. “If they have a cancellation, we’re on the waiting list.”

“Ohhhhhh you’re the best.” She beams and is a hopeful gleam to her eyes. “Whenever.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, but I have a good feeling we’ll find something we love today.” If you’re honest, you don’t hold out hope for the Met. But for Percy you’d try just about anything that would make him and his soulmate happy.

“I think you have to align your expectations with reality.” Harry hums quietly. “It would be nice, but it’s a lofty goal.”

“It’s a dream,” Tamara admits. “But there are no shortage of beautiful places in Manhattan to get married.”

“That is very true.” He agrees. “You just need to find the venue that matches what you two have dreamed about together.”

It doesn't surprise you when the Central Park Boathouse isn't to their taste. You can tell almost instantly that they aren't going to take to it, and while Tamara's parents ooh and ahh and encourage them, everyone ultimately agrees that it isn't right. Focusing on professionalism means you are doing your best not to be distracted by how good Harry looks dressed down for the daytime.

You are dressed very professionally, although he can tell that the carefully crafted outfit has been one that is well used. Still, he admires that your outfit is tailored to your body, fitting it perfectly and enhancing your curves rather than detracting from them.

On the ride over to the hotel, you review numbers with Percy and Tamara. Their guest list stands at just about 150 people and all the places they’re looking at can accommodate that easily. It will feel luxurious and intimate, rather than bustling or crowded.

“Here we are.” Percy pulls the rental car into the hotel’s parking lot and smiled up at the building. He’d been a guest at Peter Castillo’s wedding and thought it was nice, but hadn’t been thinking about his own wedding at the time. The girl he had been dating at the time was…not exactly long term relationship material. By her own admission.

“The bridal suite and groomsman suites are very nice.” Harry assures them. “Separated by a floor but there is a stairwell between them in case you need to access either party.”

“Your brother got married here?” Tamara’s mother asks, remembering that had been mentioned the night before.

“Yes madam.” He tells her with a proud smile. Charlotte and Peter aren’t soulmates, neither one of them has marks either, but they have created a strong and meaningful bond. “Very wonderful societal event.”

“But did you enjoy it?” That is the important part to her. Their family isn’t a part of anyone’s society. They’re not looking to climb into it, either.

“I enjoyed it.” It wasn’t to his taste. It wasn’t even to Peter’s taste, but it was what his bride wanted so he had happily conceded. Peter had always talked about a wedding on a beach. Harry had no idea what he would want.

His tone is soothing. Smooth and reassuring, and she smiles happily, momentarily mollified. The girl is large and grand, more imposing than welcoming, but Tamara has hearts in her eyes. “Even if we don’t have it here,” she hums excitedly. “This is where everyone should stay. We can book a block of rooms.”

“The hotel is a great place to host a large group.” Percy agrees. “The room service is amazing.” Even though he had not been a part of the wedding party, he had booked a hotel room, making a little weekend of it.

“Well let’s get inside and see what you think of the event spaces,” you urge, bringing them into the lobby with you. They can Oo and Ah while you check in at the desk.

This is a space that Harry is quite familiar with. There is a charity function held here every year, so he doesn’t walk with the others. Instead, he hangs back as you talk with a sharp dressed concierge.

The woman in all black with nearly done hair and sharp make up speaks with you for a few seconds before nodding and stepping away. “You’re not going to have a look around?” You ask Harry, surprised to find him wandering toward you as the others inspect the lobby with interest.

“I’ve been here enough.” He shrugs, taking note of the way your back straightens slightly and the toe of your heels is scuffed. “How about you?”

“Never.” You shake your head, suddenly far more focused on the man in front of you than the hotel. “I haven’t had much time to explore since I got to New York.”

“Well then we should change that.” He huffs. “You have to be able to be completely blasé about every venue.” He jokes.

“Is that what’s required out here?” You let out a soft chuckle. “Raleigh has a…we’ll call it a slightly different vibe, but that’s an understatement.”

“Absolutely. New Yorkers aren’t impressed with anything.” He tells you. “They’ve seen it all, done it all and will complain the entire time.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I’ve lived in plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But I don’t mind enthusiasm.”

He chuckles. “Give it time.” He jokes. “You’ll be just a sullen as everyone else.”

“I hope not.” But rather than judgmental, your smile is beaming. Like you’re daring the city to take away your joy. “Or at least I hope it takes a long, long time.”

“You just have to find the beauty in the small things.” He suggests. “Or sarcasm.”

“Or both.” Why does he make you smile like this? It’s like your stomach is doing flip flops.

“Now you’re thinking like a New Yorker.” He jokes. “‘Why not both’ should be etched onto the Statue of Liberty.”

“That would sort of change the tone of the thing,” you joke with a grin.

“Maybe.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “Never actually seen her up close.”

"But..." you startle, actually taken aback by that. "You live here!"

“And how many times do the locals avoid the tourist traps like the plague?” He asks, arching a brow.

That makes you huff, albeit playfully. "If I find out you've never been to the Met, I'm changing our date tonight."

He chuckles and tilts his head. “No, I’ve been to the Met.” He hums in amusement. Apparently Percy had never shared how he had met Tamara.

"Right..." you realize it just a second later and flinch, hating that you've said something stupid. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Thankfully, like an answer to your awkward prayers, the event coordinator for the hotel appears in the lobby in the same instant and you don't have to see the realization dawn on Harry's face that his date tonight is with someone who speaks before they think.

Harry watches as you hurry away, embarrassment bloomed on your face and it finds it fascinating. You don’t weigh or measure your words around him. ‘No filter’ his mother would say. He likes it. Makes him wonder what you will say next.

The tour is fairly standard. The ballroom is available for you to tour while it is being set up for tonight’s wedding but the bridal suites are not — for precisely the same reason.

“It’s got enough space for everyone plus dancing.” Harry reminds Percy. “And we can honestly use the penthouse for the after party if you want.”

"The best man?" The event planner asks you with a knowing half-smile. The extra guy in the group who is talking about the after party? At this stage in the game, that is absolutely the best man.

"Of course." Your return smile falters a little, just in the second afterward when you catch her give Harry an appraising sweep of her eyes. Do you have any right to be jealous of someone else checking him out? Absolutely not. Yet? You can't help it.

Percy has already gone off on a tangent about the after party vibe, Harry encouraging him with an arm around his shoulder. The wedding would be for family, for memories. The after party was gonna be for getting wild.

"What do you have as far as available dates?" While Percy, Harry, Tamara, and her parents are all watching the ballroom be set up, you are going to get a little business done. Maybe it will help distract you from that touch of irrational jealousy, while you're at it.

“The first date we have is in nine months.” She rattles off a date with a smile. “There are weddings booked every weekend until then.”

Making note of the date for yourself, you know that's a little longer than Percy and Tamara are eager to wait but they seem to really like this place. "And if the couple were interested in booking a block of rooms here for there guests as well?"

“Of course.” She clicks her tablet and looks at the bookings for that date. “The bridal suite is available as well as a large block of rooms we can hold in reserve for the guests.” She clicks through pages. “We can reserve floors 5,7,9,10,11 and 14.”

"And your team is prepared to work with extra security for the night of the wedding?" Percy isn't willing to take any chances with Tamara's safety and you don't blame him. Being a Hollywood star has its benefits, but also some distinct drawbacks.

“We are equipped to handle all manner of security.” She assures you. “Though some do decide to hire independent advisors as well.”

“Of course. One can never be too careful.” She’s given you a packet of information — printed statistics and suggested floor plans along with contact information for preferred vendors — which will best going over with Percy and Tamara. You’re about to open your mouth for the next of many questions when your work phone rings.

Normally it would be on silent while you’re in a client meeting. Your personal cell phone certainly is, but the cell given to you by your company buzzes insistently in your pocket. And since there is a minimal chance of hearing from some vendors today, it’s good that you left it on. “Excuse me,” you offer the woman a polite smile. “I’ve got to take this.” The number looks familiar but you can’t remember which of the twenty calls you’ve made in the last twenty-four hours it could be returning, so you just excuse yourself to the lobby to take it.

“Hello, this is—” You use your legal name for business, and answer accordingly, “from Dragonfly Events, how can I help you today?”

“Good morning, this is Charlotte Evans, event coordinator for the Met.” She speaks clearly, albeit, a bit rushed. “I believe you had spoken with one of our assistants about being placed on the cancellation list?” The only reason she is calling is because of the name you dropped. Tamara Wilson is one of her niece’s favorite actresses and she had been given so much grief when she had learned that Auntie Charlie had breathed the same air as Tamara the night she met her soulmate.

“Yes, good morning. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.” If this is a polite refusal, as you expect, the call should be over with quickly.

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “The notes say that your clients are Tarama Wilson and Percy Stokes?” She asks. “Would that be the actress, Tamara Wilson?”

“Yes, that is correct.” And you absolutely left their names of purpose. “My clients met at the Met Gala this past May and are quite keen to be married in the same place they met.”

“I see.” Her voice doesn’t betray the wide, excited grin on her face. Auntie Charlie is gonna be the favorite for years to come. She doesn’t add that she had literally been there that night, but hadn’t realized it until the People article came out revealing the announcement about the soulmate pairing. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for your clients, we have just had a cancellation this morning.”

“Oh?” Tamara is going to lose her mind with excitement. “And what would the date be for that?”

She gives the date and pauses. “That is sixty-two days from today. I do understand if that is not plausible for your clients.”

“Are there any constraints with that date?” You ask, not wanting to blurt out that they’ll be thrilled to have a date so soon. “Vendors with contracts that must be honored, or anything to that effect?” Your own pauses, Mid note taking. “And could you tell me please, what portion of the museum the cancellation is for?” Met bookings for different areas accommodate different numbers of guests. You want to have all the information before you go talk to Percy and Tamara.

“That is actually why I contacted you first.” She says, saying without saying, that she thought famous clients would appreciate this more than anyone else. “The previous contract had booked the entire venue.” She tells you. “Although the catering contract was booked with the venue, So that would also have to be absorbed into the new contract.”

“That is perfectly fine with us, as my clients have not booked a caterer yet. Can I have their name?” The entirety of the Met? That is hundreds upon hundreds of guests, or a different location for every single part of the wedding. They’re going to scream when you tell them.

Charlotte gives you the name and telephone number of the catering service. “They are quite good, and luckily the menu has not been contracted, so there is that.”

“Wonderful.” Looking down at the notes in your book, you know this is going to work. This is going to be perfect. “I’ll speak to my clients, of course, but I’m prepared to say that we will accept the cancellation slot and the reservations that have already been made. May I call you back in about five minutes to confirm?”

“Please do.” She hopes that you will. “If not, I will have to contact others who have been requesting to be informed about cancellations.

“Five minutes,” you promise her, before politely saying goodbye and pocketing your work phone again. There’s no way it will take that long for them to decide, but you want to be sensitive to the woman here at the hotel who has taken time from her day for a last minute appointment.

Zipping back into the ballroom, you catch Percy’s eye and shoot him a grin. “Pardon me,” you reinsert yourself into the conversation politely but definitely. “If I could check in with my clients for a moment?”

Harry had drifted away but he catches your grin and knows that something is up. He quickly walks over to the very nice coordinator. “While they are talking, would you tell me about hosting cooperate events?” He asks.

It doesn’t take much effort for Harry Castillo to utterly charm just about anyone into conversation, and as he lures her away you make a note to thank him profusely tonight if the date goes well.

“So…” you wave Percy and Tamara over to you and lower your voice so it won’t echo. “The Met called.”

Percy cocks up, attuned to your mannerisms and he knows it had to be something good. “Please don’t tell me the wait time is five years now.” Tamara groans.

“They had a cancellation,” you tell them, barely containing your grin. “It’s fast, but I think we can make it happen.”

“How fast is fast?” Percy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sixty-two days.” An amount of time that seems fleeting, but your first wedding planner job had been at a soulmate agency. You can do fast and you can do it well.

“Sixty-two days?” her eyes widen and her heart sinks. There is no way that a wedding could be pulled off in sixty-two days. Not the way that they had dreamed of. “Oh god. No. I don’t—”

"Tam." Reaching out, you set one hand on Tamara's arm and smile reassuringly. "I promise you, I can do this if you want to say yes. The previous client had rented out the entire museum, and the caterer comes with the reservation. I've got a florist that owes me a favor and a photographer who will move mountains to be able to take your wedding photos."

Her eyes widen and she tries to let the panic subside. Pushing aside the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Her gaze darts to Percy, but he’s already nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, clutching his hand. “Yes!”

"How do we feel about booking that block of rooms while we're here, and even the penthouse if you want that after party?" You know Percy will want it, and it was Harry's idea, so this is going to be a good bridge. It will help the hotel here feel a touch less slighted after pulling out this appointment for you, and it will still get Percy and Tamara the wedding of their dreams.

“I think that is best.” Percy nods and looks towards his bride for her input. “It’s central to all the attractions and just a half dozen blocks down from the Met.”

Tamara hesitates for just a second, but looks to you with pleading eyes. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"I do." A little nod to wedding vows is cheeky, but you mean it. You do think you can do this for them. "I really do, and I think it will be great."

“I really want the Met.” Tamara admits. Grinning at Percy and batting her eyes playfully. “Are you okay with two months? Or should we wait longer?”

"Tam..." Percy takes both of her hands in his and faces her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I would marry you at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal with nothing but mutant fish for witnesses." They both giggle — the weirdos. But they're cute weirdos. "Two months in the place we met sounds perfect."

“Are you sure?” Despite wanting this more than anything else in the world, she wants to make sure it’s what he wants too.

"I love you," he reminds her, with a sort of bashful, gleeful expression. "That's all that matters."

“I love you too.” She promises. “If you told me you wanted to get married in the subway, I’d question your sanity….” That makes him laugh and she giggles. “But I would do it. But it seems like the universe wants us to have this.”

"So we're going to do it?" You ask, letting them have their moment and a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. When they excitedly say yes, you pull your phone back out. "Let me call Ms. Evans back and get this settled. And then we can get the rooms and the penthouse booked here, as well."

“Not the bridal suites though.” Tamara tells you. “I don’t want another couple to have to book that somewhere else because I was selfish.”

"That sounds more than reasonable." This place probably has a dozen rooms gorgeous enough to host a newlywed couple, so you aren't worried about them having a nice place to crash that night. Not at all. "Let me make this call so we can really dig our fingers into planning."

“Okay.” She is immediately turning and pressing close to Percy. Both of them whispering in excitement. Harry glances over several time as he listens to the many amenities the hotel can offer for a conference or corporate event. He normally just holds any events at the penthouse, but he’s seriously considering this for the year end party.

It takes only a few minutes to step away and make the call, but when you come back to your friends they have their dream wedding venue booked and ready. All you have to do is drop off the deposit check before the museum closes tonight.

The next half hour is spent with the very nice woman who took the time to meet with you today, and she seems more than happy to be able to book the penthouse for a private party along with two full floors of rooms for wedding guests. It may not be the full night, but it is certainly a large check and damn good business for the hotel.

Harry is pulled aside by Percy, hearing the good news and smiling happily. Congratulating the couple and agreeing that it feels like the stars have aligned for their wedding.

By the time the six of you are leaving the hotel not too long after, it seems silly to think anything else could be more productive today. "Well," you tell them, grinning as you mark of Friday, August 6 on your phone with Percy and Tamara's initials. "I know we made a big decision but we have a lot to do now in not a huge amount of time."

“I already have my dress.” Tamara tells you with a happy sigh.

"And we did agree on colors already," Percy reminds you. A clean palate of white and silver with small accents of blue will be doable with any caterer, and blue bridesmaids dresses will be easy enough to achieve. His groomsman probably all own blue ties in the right shade.

“And the caterer has already been decided, right?” Tamara asks. “What’s the meal?”

"They booked the company but they hadn't picked their menu yet." Which was an incredible boon, and feels like it's a little too lucky. "I'm going to give them a call and see how fast we can set up a tasting."

Harry hums. “What’s the name of the company?”

"It is called..." Double checking your notes, you find it scrawled under the guest count for the museum. "Stand & Deliver."

Inside, Harry is groaning quietly but he nods. "They have good food." He assures them. "They catered Peter's wedding." He tells Percy, immediately making his best friend nod and grin.

“Perfect.” Tamara is grinning so widely that her face is threatening to split in two. “So what do we do now?” She asks you, bright with excitement and anticipation.

“Today? Go and enjoy having your parents in town,” you tell her, holding in your private sigh of relief. “I’m going to spend my afternoon setting up appointments for you to meet with your vendors as soon as possible so we can get everything squared away.” Looking at the group of them, you see a hell of a lot of work in those joyful faces, but it will be worth every second. “Why not take your Mom shopping for her mother of the bride dress, or even visit the Met?”

Harry watches you manage the nerves, the expectations with an aplomb that leaves him impressed. “Why don’t you take them to lunch?” He suggests. “I can help her with anything that she needs.”

“There’s a sit down restaurant in the museum,” Tamara remembers, perking up brightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” On the sidewalk, Percy gives you a squeezing hug. “Text me appointment info when you have it?”

“I promise.” There is even a pinky swear involved. A long held tradition from childhood that is an unbreakable promise. “You guys go have fun. Harry and I will take care of some business and I’ll talk to you later.” It’s sweet of him to offer, and you won’t say no, but you also don’t really expect him to want to sit around while you made phone calls and scribble notes to yourself for a few hours. Especially not when you’re supposed to be taking him to dinner tonight.

“I’m assuming the Met needs a signed contract and a payment to reserve the space?” Harry asks when you’re alone for the first time since landing their dream venue. He checks his watch as he estimates how long it would take to get there.

“We have an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow.” You had made sure that was acceptable, otherwise you would have rushed over today. “I’ll have to drop off the physical deposit check today but we’ll give them the rest tomorrow.”

“What do you need to do today besides that?” He asks.

“Phone calls. Lots of phone calls.” His expression is so earnest that you soften a little, feeling your cheeks burn. “And I was going to change before I picked you up tonight,” you admit.

“Do you have an office or do you normally work from home?” He asks, unsure of your business model.

“I do have an office.” You were going to go hang out on your couch with some leftover pizza for lunch, but something nagging in your stomach doesn’t want to separate so quickly. “Are you asking to see my cubicle?” You ask, tone teasing like he has asked to see you naked or something equally as scandalous.

He snorts and shakes his head, amused by the way you are asking. “I actually was going to offer you my conference room if you needed a space to work.”

“That sounds fancy.” There’s still teasing in your voice, but it’s softened.

“Espresso machine.” He ticks off with a small smirk. “There’s a vendor that caters lunch in the breakroom.” He shrugs. “Changes every day. Not sure what today is.”

“You have enough people working on a Saturday to warrant a catered lunch?” In your office, your company was just part of one floor. Staff are in and out all the time because of the nature of what you do. You hadn’t figured his family’s financial empire had anything but a 9-5 existence.

“It’s for the people who come in to work on the weekends.” He tilts his head. “Sometimes normal working hours don’t fit our business. We try to treat everyone like we care.”

“That is…” Your head tilts a little, considering him as much as the offer. “Both unexpected and very nice to hear.” He has a warmth to him that makes you want to believe he knows every employee by name and every birthday, anniversary, joy, and hardship. It’s easy to picture Harry giving a shit about his staff. So easy that you catch yourself smiling again — maybe even a little dreamily. “Alright, sure. Let’s go to yours.”

He nods and he finds himself smiling back at you. You have this way of slipping past his defenses. Making him go on instinct and try to figure you out like some kind of puzzle. “Good, because I’m hungry.”

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part III: KissCam

Summary: An argument over breakfast lights a new fire under you before another staged date with Harry. But you’re not as good at this as you thought. Feelings creep in, an interview falls apart, and Gossip Girl is always there to twist the knife. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, argument with family, panic attack, paparazzi ||

It was almost like deja u, sitting at the long, stretching lacquered table at the center of the dining room. Morning light spilled through the large windows as always, hitting the marble floors with soft golden rays. It was a nice change compared to the last time you were sitting here, being blinded by sun rays and vodka twisting in your stomach. That was progress at least.

Or, so you thought. 

“Why do I have a feeling this is becoming a pattern?” your father’s voice sounded with a sigh as he sat at the head of the table beside you, dropping the newspaper beside his coffee. 

There was a grainy photo there, pulled straight from Gossip Girl’s Met Gala afterparty tip. It was the same one that you received in a video: you and Harry curled into each other in a dark corner booth, his mouth close to your ear as you giggled like he’d said something wicked, your smile warm and flirty. You really looked the part.

FROM SPECULATION TO SPOTLIGHT: CASTILLO AND MONTCLAIR CONFIRM RELATIONSHIP

Your mother entered the room shortly after your father, her eyes pointedly kept away from you as she sat, pouring her tea silently in her bright green Lululemon. You sent another grateful prayer that you weren’t hungover this morning, knowing the migraine you would’ve gotten just by simply looking at her. 

“And why,” she began, her eyes finally falling on you in a narrowed gaze, “in god’s name is it with Harry Castillo of all people?”

You didn’t look up as you stirred your coffee, the spoon clinking delicately on the rim. “He’s nice, I thought you’d approve.”

“Approve?” she parroted, “He’s almost twice your age.”

“Harry’s a great guy,” you said simply, “He’s successful and kind, he understands me.”

“That’s very sweet, pumpkin,” your father added, “but we asked you to stay out of the headlines, not make the news every morning.”

“He’s bored,” your mother went on, and you wondered if it was more to herself than you. “That’s what this is. A midlife crisis with press coverage.”

You let out a short, tight breath. You knew this argument was coming, knew how you wanted to play it, too. “I try to make you happy by getting out there, dating and seeing someone. And he’s respectful, established, everything you said you wanted and still, it’s not enough. It’s never enough.”

And then—and maybe it was petty, maybe you’d just had enough—you said: “No wonder Chuck never comes around anymore.”

The room went deadly still for about half a second.

And then the violent scrape of your mother’s chair rented the silence. She stood abruptly, her perfectly manicured finger pointing at you across the table, “Don’t you dare bring your brother into this!”

“Alright,” your father said quickly, palms flattening against the table in that weary peacemaker gesture he always pulled out when she got loud. “Sit down, darling. Please.”

She didn’t listen.

“End it.” she said forcefully. 

You blinked up at her, “Excuse me?”

“End it with him.” she said, cold and sharp, “Before this gets worse.”

You tilted your head. “Worse for who?”

Your father shifted in his seat, eyes glancing between the two of you. “Let’s all take a breath—”

“No,” your mother cut in. “I won’t have her parading around with that man like this family is a tabloid punchline.” she pointed her finger at you again, “You think you’re being clever? You think this is some kind of game?”

“I'm giving you exactly what you wanted,” you said calmly. “Isn’t that the deal? Eight weeks, someone respectable, a cleaned-up image—”

“I will take away everything,” your mother said, her voice trembling with fury, her palms laying flat on the table now, leaning in. “Your cards. Your trust, you won’t have a cent to your name.”

You stared at her, something in you sparking. “Then do it. I’m already almost cut off from everything, what else is there to take?”

Your mother barked a harsh laugh, “Oh, please, you have no—”

Your father’s hand came down flat against the table, “Enough.”

She rounded on him. “You said—”

“I know what I said,” he interrupted. “And I also said we’d give her eight weeks. That’s what we agreed on.”

You looked at him, only slightly surprised. You knew he wasn’t defending you so much as just trying to keep the house from catching fire.

He exhaled slowly as your mother began to sit back down in her chair, her fingers slightly trembling with adrenaline as she picked up her tea to take a grounding sip.

“If this is real,” he went on, looking at you now, “and it’s not some ploy to get back at me and your mother, then fine. But show us. All of it, not just cozying up in a dark booth playing girlfriend over cocktails. I need to see real effort here, pumpkin. Make something of your life. I’d be happy to get you a position at the firm, to help you find a place of your own. But I need to see you trying. Because right now, this just feels like you’re throwing a tantrum in our faces.”

You swallowed dryly, the room going quiet except for the clinking of mugs on porcelain. Your mother’s eyes narrowed but she remained silent now, seething behind her teacup.

You smoothed your napkin across your lap, heart pounding, but your voice was steady. “Fine. I will.”

You and Harry had a scheduled appearance in Central Park that afternoon, and you met him at the East entrance just past the stone archway. Your flared jeans and a soft white knit sleeveless vest were perfect for the warm spring afternoon. The sweater, fastened neatly down the front with just enough left undone to feel fresh—not scandalous, but far from plain. Classy, but tailored. You’d never risk a Gossip Girl photo op without looking intentional.

Harry arrived in a tan button up with the sleeves pushed to his elbows. Casual and easy, and for a moment, you simply took in the way his hair curled a little looser today, less product, a little disheveled. His watch gleamed darkly at his wrist, something polished but understated. In his crisp jeans with brown loafers, he looked like someone to be admired without reaching for it.

“Hello,” you said, smiling as you approached.

“Hi,” he returned, leaning in to press a kiss to your cheek, light and warm in its curated intention.

When he pulled back, he paused just slightly. “That okay?”

“More than okay,” you replied, your voice even but bright. “Shall we?”

You offered him your hand, and he took it with an easy nod, gesturing for you to lead.

The walk was… surprisingly nice. You moved slowly down the paved paths, fingers laced as the wind stirred through the trees and the late afternoon sun filtered through the canopy in long, shifting lines. For a while, the performance faded into the background.

Harry was so easy to talk to with his low-voiced, observant, quick wit, always seemingly able to listen intentionally while adding a dry remark here and there that made you laugh. You found yourself telling him about your mother’s meltdown that morning, how she'd threatened to cut you off, how your father wanted proof you could be a functioning adult.

“And what did you say?” he asked, tilting his head as you passed a group of people walking dogs in matching coats.

You glanced at him, a smile tugging at the corner of your mouth. “I said fine. I’ll do it.”

He raised a brow. “Just like that?”

“There’s something exhilarating about being able to prove them wrong,” you said with a mischievous smile. He chuckled a little at that, but seemed to know there was more you wanted to say, so he waited.

You sighed, “I don’t know, though. Part of me wonders…if they have a point. I mean, I’ve never worked a day in my life other than brand deals on Instagram or showing up to events in a designer’s clothes. It would be nice to not be under their nose twenty four seven as well, to have my own place. To call it mine. Oh, and I even have an interview tomorrow.” 

“That’s great,” he said genuinely, “Where?”

“The Times,” you replied, trying not to sound too proud.

He glanced over, impressed. “That’s very impressive.”

You smiled as you looked at the profile of his face. There was something about the way he said it so simply and so…sincerely that settled in you. You weren’t used to that. Usually, praise came with a caveat, a backhanded comment, a reminder that you should’ve done more. You squeezed his hand without thinking, and your finger brushed the gold band of his ring.

“You know,” you said, glancing down at it, “Serena recognized you. From the photo I posted. Our ‘soft launch’. I was surprised it took Gossip Girl so long, but she… she knew. Right after I posted it, at her bridal shower.”

You slowed a little, still looking at the ring, bringing up your clasped hands to look at it closer, “How would she know you by a ring?”

You felt him tense before looking back at him. His posture changed, and you saw how his shoulders tightened up, how the careful smile that usually touched his lips was gone.

Harry suddenly looked quite…uncomfortable. And you weren’t sure why, but that suddenly made your pulse spike.

“What is it?” you asked.

“Serena Van Der Woodsen…” he said quietly, biting his top lip, looking down at his feet, his free hand scratching at the five o clock shadow at his jaw. Your heart began to flutter into your throat, nerves lighting up. You pushed down the nerves, the thoughts of…what, you weren’t entirely sure. 

“We went on a date or two,” he finally said.

You stopped short, “What?”

He looked a little sheepish, “It wasn’t anything serious,” he said, shaking his head. “A couple of dinners. Nothing meaningful came of it.”

You weren’t entirely sure what to say.

“Through Adore.” he added, “You know the matchmaking service?”

You nodded, stiffly. You knew of it, knew your friends that had tried it. The owner was one of your mom’s college friends, so you regularly heard the updates of marriages they’d tailored together, how your mom often begged you to add you to their roster.

“I told them I wasn’t looking to date anyone that young,” Harry said carefully. “This was years ago, and… a friend was persistent. Said Serena had just come out of a long-term relationship.”

You could still vaguely remember the times before Serena and Dan were engaged when their relationship was all sharp turns and slow recoveries. They were endlessly tangled in Gossip Girl posts and whispered rumors that always seemed timed to hit just when things were starting to feel stable. It had been dramatic, sure, sometimes exhausting to witness, but in hindsight, it was almost admirable. No matter how messy things got, they always found their way back to each other. Even through high school, through university, through making a life for themselves back in the city.

"Still, I agreed to a couple dates. She’s very nice, very charming."

“Much like you,” you said, and you didn’t realize how sad you sounded until it was already out of your mouth.

Harry offered a small, tired smile. “It became clear quickly we were looking for different things. We agreed to part ways, and I stepped back from the service after that. But yes — she would have recognized the ring. I believe she asked about it on our first date.”

You stopped, turning toward him, studying his face in the soft light. “I was wondering why I had never seen you dating anyone before. I mean…you’re so nice, so put together and not hard to look at, by the way—”

“Are you hitting on me?” he said with a sudden mischievous twinkle in his eye, his loose smile back on his face as he turned to you.

You rolled your eyes, giving his hand a playful tug as you smiled back. “Stop. I’m just saying… you’re a catch, Harry. Any girl would be lucky to have you. So why haven’t I seen you in anything serious?”

He looked away briefly, the smile lingering before it faded into something quieter. “Just never found the right person, I guess.”

“You’ve never been in love?” you asked, tilting your head.

His eyes found yours again—those warm, watchful eyes that always seemed so sure of themselves suddenly looked so unsure. Sad, almost, like the question had tugged on something old and partially buried.

“I—”

The flash of cameras cut him off with the sound of your name ranging out like a warning bell.

You turned fast, hand coming up instinctively to shield your face. Harry mirrored you, stepping in closer, his hand dropping yours to find your lower back, guiding you both away from the cluster of photographers.

“Crap,” you muttered under your breath.

“Shouldn’t we be happy to see them?” he asked, glancing at you beneath his hand.

“Under no circumstances could I ever be happy to see these assholes.”

Gossip Girl tips were one thing. They came from passersby, people sipping their coffee on a park bench or walking their dog and just happened to catch a glimpse of you. But people who made a living off invading your privacy with flashing lights, shouted names, and cameras always at the ready were something else entirely.

But when you looked back at Harry, he was smiling. Something sly and boyish tugging at the corner of his mouth.

“We could give them something to talk about,” he said with a teasing lilt.

You slowed, blinking at him through the slats of your fingers. “Are you serious?”

“I wouldn’t suggest it if I weren’t,” he said. “But only if you're okay with it.”

“Harry!” one of the photographers shouted over him, “Give her a kiss! C’mon, kiss her!”

You gaped at him, slowing down your gait. “You’re actually considering it.”

He dropped the hand from his face and stepped a little closer, his expression calm. “I’m game if you are.”

When you didn’t answer with words and only smiled at him, his own lips widened, the lines in his face deepening with a knowing kind of joy. He reached for your jaw, and you let out a surprised laugh as he pulled you in, his palm warm where it cradled your cheek.

God, his lips were so soft.

Softer that you’d expected, and warmer too. His mustache tickled your upper lip and nose, and he smelled like pine and something fresh, clean in a way that surprised you, so different from the oud wood of the night before. It was like catching him in a different season, a different light.

It was meant to be for the cameras, you knew that. Knew it in the way his hand held the side of your face that wasn’t facing the flash of bulbs, angled and calculated and strategic in every way. But still…

As his hand stayed cupped gently along your jaw, thumb resting just under your ear, something wriggled in your stomach. And he kissed you harder, longer, like he was playing a role with more conviction than expected. You refused to name the feeling fluttering through your nerves, reminded yourself that even has your fingers curled slightly around his bicep where you help him, that this was for show, for cameras. It wasn’t real.

But you couldn’t help but find yourself smiling through it, and when Harry pulled back, he was smiling too, your lip gloss faintly smudged on his mouth.

You reached up and brushed it away with your thumb, and he chuckled, fingers wrapping around yours again as he led you away down the path, flashes still popping behind you.

You absolutely were not thinking about the kiss from Harry as you stepped into the sleek, silver elevator on your way to the interview the following day. You were not remembering his crisp, forest-y cologne, or the way his mustache tickled your upper lip, or how his hand cupped your face as you pressed the button for the 30th floor.

And you were certainly not, under any circumstance, thinking about how badly you wanted to do it again as the elevator dinged for your stop.

Because, for the love of God, you needed to focus. You had answers to Top Questions Asked At Interviews rattling around your brain, half-memorized. You needed to remind yourself that this was a real opportunity and not a staged date or photo op for the next headline. It was nerve wracking, yes, but manageable. Especially since you technically knew the interviewer from a yacht party in Palm Beach last summer.

So when you stepped into the main reception of The New York Times, you were absolutely, unequivocally, without question not thinking about kissing Harry Castillo.

The receptionist greeted you and soon motioned you toward a set of double glass doors, and you followed her through a quiet corridor lined with framed Pulitzer winners, your heels clicking sharply on the tile. At the end of the hall, she held a small office door open for you.

You stepped inside, expecting to see Chloe—tan, fake boobs, and wildly overqualified for her position thanks to nepotism and generational wealth. The girl who once told you, barefoot on said yacht in Florida, that journalism was just a vibe, like, totally a vibe, don’t let anyone tell you you need experience.

Instead, you were greeted by someone else entirely. An older woman, maybe in her late sixties, sitting behind a stark black desk. Her hair was silver and pulled back in a low twist, her reading glasses perched halfway down her nose and a navy silk scarf was knotted at her throat. She reminded you a bit of your mother if she traded in the Lululemon for department store sale racks.

“Miss Montclair,” the woman said, standing only halfway as she extended a hand. Her voice was cool and clipped as she introduced herself. “I’m Margaret Lang. I’ll be conducting your interview today.”

You took her extended hand despite your confusion, “Hi, I thought I was meeting with—”

“Miss Hargrove was pulled into a meeting earlier than expected,” she replied briskly, already sitting down and gesturing to the chair opposite her desk. “Please.”

You sat, your black skirt covered ass hitting the seat harder than you intended. You smoothed it out and tried to smile. This was fine. After all, you’d prepped, at least a little. You had notes, you’d watched a couple videos. You had answers to things like where do you see yourself in five years? and what would your past coworkers say about you? She didn’t need to know you’d never even had coworkers before in your entire life.

“So, Miss Montclair,” Margaret began, lacing her fingers together over a thick, leather portfolio. “Tell me: what drew you to this role?”

You opened your mouth, then closed it again.

What drew you to the role?

You swallowed. The truth was... nothing did. Only that you knew people who worked here, that the household name The New York Times would keep your parents off your back, give you back your Amex Black Card, and potentially give you the freedom to get back to your regular life. 

You cleared your throat. “Well, I… I’ve always had a deep appreciation for the written word.”

Margaret didn’t blink. “Mmhmm.”

“And journalism,” you added, like that somehow clarified anything.

Another pause.

You panicked. “I love words. And…and the paper.”

Jesus Christ.

Margaret made a small note on her pad.

You tried again. “I read The Times growing up. My family reads it every morning too.”

She looked at you over her glasses. “The digital edition or print?”

You froze. “What?”

“Print or digital?”

“Oh. Um. Both?”

Another note scribbled on her notepad. 

“Let’s move on,” she said, mercifully. “Tell me about a time you overcame a professional challenge.”

Professional challenge. Okay, you could do this. You had something, had made sure to have this answer ready—you just had to dig for it in the archives of your brain.

The problem was, the only thing surfacing was that stupid kiss with Harry in the park. The way his hand had cupped your jaw, the flashbulbs, the sound of your name being shouted. Your nerves were fraying as you sat in this stuffy little office, with the whole of New York outside her window, and you could actually see Central Park from here. It didn’t help as you tried to push the memory away, trying to keep your nerves intact. But you could feel them coming apart at the edges, thin threads snapping inside your chest.

You tried anyway, forcing your brain to just think of something as you said, “There was a… a summer in Saint-Tropez. We lost WiFi on the yacht, and I had to send—”

“Let’s try another one,” Margaret cut in, voice still cool. “How would your peers describe your work ethic?”

You stared at her.

“Miss Montclair?”

“I… think they would say I show up.”

Margaret didn’t move, waiting for you to continue. You felt your hands going clammy as you wiped them on your thighs.

But still, you pressed on. “I always show up. I mean—I’m punctual. Not always, like, early. But… present. In a meaningful way. Emotionally.”

Another pause.

You were going down, you knew it. For the love of god, the Titanic had more grace than you did right now.

Margaret adjusted her glasses. “I see.”

You weren’t sure if she did. Or if she’d already decided to blacklist you from the entire building. She made another note, her pen barely scratching the paper.

She looked up again, perfectly composed. “One final thing, Miss Montclair.”

You straightened in your seat, hands clasped in your lap.

“I’ll admit, when your application first came across my desk, I had my doubts,” she said, her tone somehow both warm and cold. “Given the… recent visibility surrounding your name.”

You froze. Here it was, moment of truth. 

She offered a thin, polite smile. ““Given the recent attention you’ve garnered—however unintentional—I had reason to wonder whether someone with your background would be the right fit for The Times. We take our values seriously here. But as I understand it, your family has a long standing connection to Mr. Lancaster.”

You blinked, slowly, recognizing the name, vaguely. Publisher, maybe? Owner? Someone old and powerful and usually in golf photos with your dad.

“And I must say,” she continued, flipping a page in her folder with clinical grace, “you do seem to have a talent for remaining culturally relevant.”

You couldn’t tell if she meant it with judgment or pity. It surely wasn’t a compliment.

“So here’s my question,” Margaret said, peering over her glasses. “If we were to bring you on, in what ways do you believe you could elevate our brand?”

You swallowed, forcing yourself to not bend under her serious, hawk-like stare. “I… I think I understand attention.” you began, maybe a little shakily, but you pushed through it, through the nerves and uncertainty, “Not in a performative way, but in the sense that I know how quickly a narrative can spread. What people respond to, what makes them stop and look.”

Her brow raised, fingers finally stopping, fully listening to what you had to say.

“I don’t mean that I want the attention,” you clarified. “I just… I’ve been at the center of it enough to recognize its power. And I think maybe, if I learn the right way to use that, I could channel it into something worthwhile. Something better.”

Margaret stared at you for a long time before nodding once. “Thank you, Miss Montclair. We’ll be in touch.”

Back in the elevator, the sleek, chrome-trimmed doors closed around you with a whisper, sealing you in a silver capsule that smelled faintly of eucalyptus and cold metal. You leaned against the mirrored wall, exhaling slowly as you tried to go over the interview in your mind, but the thoughts floated uselessly now, weightless and out of reach, as if once you stepped out of the office it was blacked out of your memory. She hadn’t cared about your goals or your education. She’d just wanted to see if the tabloid girl could sit still long enough not to embarrass her paper.

The elevator began its descent, and when you finally glanced down at your phone, the screen was already lit with notifications.

The ding of the doors rang again for your arrival to the ground floor, and you straightened reflexively, shoving the phone back into your bag, trying to collect yourself, to focus, to fix your expression into something less readable. But the moment the doors parted, the lobby lit up like a runway.

Flashes burst through the glass windows. Shouts echoed off the marble.

You blinked, half-frozen as the wall of cameras snapped toward you from outside. Faces you didn’t recognize, lenses trained like weapons, their voices merging into an unintelligible roar as they pressed against the building's glass front. They shouted your name, Harry’s name, asking about your date with him, about the kiss, if the wedding was next, if you were moving in, if you’d left your family behind.

The air thinned around you in an instant. It felt like being trapped, the walls getting closer and closer, their voices echoing through the glass as security tried to keep them back. Why were they flocking here? God forbid you showed up to an interview where Harry happened to work, was nothing sacred? Nothing for you to do without wondering if it was about a man? You wanted to scream, to throw your phone, your bag, your claws at them. But you felt frozen, you couldn’t breathe or think or move.

But finally you seemed to be able to feel your feet as another security guard approached, and you turned sharply, heels clacking loud against the tile, darting past the lobby desk without meeting anyone’s eyes. The hallway narrowed behind the steel elevators, leading toward a corridor, and you made for the farthest door marked for restrooms, not pausing until you were inside and the heavy door shut behind you with a thud.

Fluorescent lighting buzzed overhead, far too loud and sharp. The tile floor was cold beneath your heels, the walls a sterile pale gray that made everything feel more clinical than private. You locked the door behind you and made it to the sink, grateful for the single stall bathroom. You finally let yourself slump forward, palms braced against the porcelain as the room pressed in around you.

The air in the bathroom felt hot, even though the building’s AC was blasting. Your hands were shaking as you pressed them to your face, trying to block out the noise, the headlines, the questions. You’d thought the interview was the low point of it all, feeling like you would never be good enough for any of it, feeling so small and useless across from that old hag. But this, now, made it all feel worse. Like you were some creature on display, circling the same glass walls over and over, no way out.

You gasped for air but didn’t cry. You wouldn’t cry, you wouldn’t let them see the tear tracks through your foundation when you finally had the courage to leave. Your breath came sharp and shallow, the sound of it echoing too loud against the marble walls of the restroom. You pushed off the sink and sat on the closed toilet lid. You didn’t know how to move your limbs, arms curling around yourself, body stiff with humiliation and dread. Your phone vibrated in your bag—another text, maybe another photo, another reminder that your life belonged more to strangers than to yourself. 

You fumbled for it anyway, nearly dropping it on the tile, barely glancing at the flood of notifications lighting up the screen. The first number you called was Blair’s.

It rang and rang and rang. And just when you thought she might pick up, her familiar voicemail started—“You’ve reached Blair, I–” and you hung up before she could finish, the sound suddenly unbearable.

You could call Serena, maybe. But she was knee-deep in wedding planning and you couldn’t stomach the idea of being that kind of friend. You could call your parents but…God, no. They’d only make it worse. Chuck? He was probably wasted somewhere on the West End with his buddies in an underground poker scene he loved so much.

Looking down at the screen, thumb hesitating just above Blair’s name, thinking maybe if you called again…but then moved on through your contacts. Past the ones who’d only make it worse, ones who never answered or only called when they needed something. That’s how it always was, so transactional, so superficial. You landed on the only name that felt equal parts safe and humiliating. You tapped it anyway.

It only rang once.

“Hello?” His voice came warm and low, casual like he’d just stepped out of a meeting.

You opened your mouth, but your voice didn’t come. You had to swallow down a sob, had to force your tongue to move.

“I—I’m in your building apparently,” you said, rushing the words out.

“You are? Why?” A pause. “The Times interview?”

“Yeah, but—” you couldn’t stop the wobble in your voice, the way your throat closed up. “I’m in the bathroom. I—I didn’t know what else to do. They’re out there.”

“Who is, sweetheart?”

You pressed your hand to your forehead, trying to settle your pulse because somehow the pet name managed to both make your heart dance and swell all at once as you gasped for breath, “The photographers. I saw the flashes through the windows, and I just—I can’t breathe, I can’t—”

“Hey, hey,” he cut in gently, all the casual charm draining from his voice. “You’re okay. Just tell me where you are.”

Your hands were shaking as you wiped your nose on the back of your sleeve, mascara smudging under your eyes. “It’s the first floor. Women’s bathroom, just past the elevators.”

“I’m coming to get you,” he said, firm but kind. You could hear papers shuffling around in the background. “Stay right there, okay? Lock the door, I’ll be there.”

You nodded, even though he couldn’t see it. “Okay,” you whispered.

The line went quiet. You stared at the screen for a moment after the call ended, the silence in the room pressing in again.

By the time you heard the knock, your breathing had evened out, though your hands still trembled faintly in your lap. You blinked at the handle, fingers curled against the hem of your skirt, heart still lurching in your chest. Another knock, so soft and careful, and you stood on legs that didn’t quite feel like yours.

You cracked the door open, and Harry stood there, suit jacket left behind, hair perfectly styled but tie loosened like he’d come in a rush. His expression was all concern, brow furrowed, lips parted like he was about to say something. But instead of speaking, he just opened his arms.

And you stepped into them.

He smelled like cedar and something warmer—amber, maybe, or vetiver—something expensive and clean. How many different colognes did this man own? His arms wrapped securely around you, pulling you in with that careful kind of pressure that told you he wasn’t going to ask you to talk, or apologize, or explain anything just yet. You let your head fall against his chest, the thrum of his heart steady beneath your cheek, and let out a shaky breath.

“I think I had a panic attack,” you whispered.

“Yeah,” he said gently, brushing a hand across the back of your hair. “I’m glad you called me.”

You swallowed, pulling back, stepping away from him and swiping under your eyes again with the pads of your fingers. “Sorry. I didn’t know who else—” You bit your lip, shook your head. “I just couldn’t go out there again. I saw all the flashing and…I just couldn’t.”

Harry’s voice was calm, reassuring. “Come on, I'll get you home. We don’t have to go out the front.”

You blinked up at him.

“I know a way out the back,” he said, giving you a quiet, coaxing smile. “Come on.”

“But don’t you have to get back to work?” you asked, voice still scratchy from the tears.

He gave a little shrug, the corner of his mouth quirking with something light and easy. “I’m the boss. I do what I want.”

You let out the faintest laugh, breath catching in a hiccup, and nodded. Then his hand found yours, and you let him lead you.

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin, @primadonnasdream, @spacelatinos4life, @15christyxoxo,

[pastelnap]

This is the perfect blend of my two loves, Gossip Girl and Pedro

[mysterious-musings-writes]

Closed Position: Week 10 (Lambada)

Closed Position Masterlist ||| Main Masterlist Dieter Bravo x OFC (Katarina)

Series Summary: Dieter Bravo, now sober, was looking to change his bad boy image after hitting rock bottom. His team hoped that having him join the nationally televised family friendly dance competition, Dancing with the Stars, would be a good first step, if they can keep him out of trouble. 

Katarina Stamos expected her last season as a professional dancer on the show to go the same as it had for the past thirteen seasons. That all changed when she was partnered with the infamous Dieter Bravo. 

Dieter and Katarina are reluctantly thrown into their partnership and must learn to work together to succeed in the competition. In the process they form a deeper connection beyond the dance floor that neither anticipated.

Chapter Word Count: 10.6k

👉 Warnings: Themes dealing with intimate partner violence (not from Dieter), past alcohol abuse, and past drug abuse. There will be fluff, tears, spicy language, and smut. This will be a slow burn. Read at your own risk. Dieter Bravo comes with his own warnings.

Chapter Quote: "Did you…climb over the fucking fence?”

Kat’s POV

I burst through the building exit, dragging fresh air into my lungs as I struggled to breathe. Standing on stage with Dieter and being placed in the bottom three had really messed me up. We could have been voted off after that abhorrently shitty performance without any reason to see each other beyond this night. It would have been the end of everything. The dancing. Us. Except, there was no us because I had royally fucked it all up. I knew that now. I also knew what I felt for him was real. I wouldn’t have had such a visceral reaction to the possibility of never seeing him again if it wasn’t. 

I leaned against the rough brick of the building, taking deep breaths and exhaling slowly to get my emotions under control as I thought through what to do next. I needed to fix this, but I didn’t know where to start. I didn’t know how to make him understand the crippling fear that had taken over every cell of my body, causing me to behave the way I had toward him. 

My phone vibrated in my hand, pulling me from my thoughts. It was my sister calling. I wasn’t shocked, figuring she had just watched the live show. With trembling hands, I swiped to answer. 

“Lyd, I was just about to…”

“What the hell did you do, Kat?” she interrupted. 

I sighed. She knew. Of course she knew. “What do you mean?” I asked.

“Last time I talked to you, you were spazzing out about him and talking about putting on the breaks. So, what did you do?”

I rubbed at the throbbing pain between my brows, “I fucked up, Lyd. I really did. I’ve gotta fix it. I asked for a pause, just so I could untangle the thoughts in my head. He didn’t take it well at all. The day he had that outburst in the studio…I followed him outside. He told me he was in love with me, and I just stood there. I fucking stood there and didn’t say anything back even though I wanted to. I’ve broken him twice in the last two weeks…in the worst ways possible…and I don’t know how to fix it.” 

Lydia let out a controlled breath, “Oh, Kat. I don’t even know what to say. Why didn’t you call me? I could have talked you off the ledge.”

I shook my head, “I-I dunno. I was spiraling hard. I let it go too far. I’ve hurt him badly.”

She sighed, “You need to talk to him. Tell him everything you’re feeling. He may understand better than you think.”

I scoffed, “I’ve tried explaining it to him and all I managed to do was make things worse. I dunno how to do this.” 

“Well, you need to figure it out. Fast. You two won’t make it through another week like that. It was obvious something was wrong tonight.”

I groaned, “You’re right. I’m just…” I shook my head to clear it, “I’m gonna do it. I’m gonna go in there and tell him that I’m in love with him too. I just need him to be patient with me. That’s it.” 

“It’s a start. Just…don’t hold back anymore. OK? He deserves everything because he’s giving you everything. Meet him where he’s at and it’ll all work out.” 

I puffed air out of my cheeks, “Yeah. You’re right. I’m gonna go talk to him now. I’ll call you later this week.” 

“Good. And Kat?”

“Yeah?”

“Don’t forget to breathe. I’m sure he’s just as nervous about this as you are. Remember that. Good luck.”

“Thanks, Lyd.”

I ended the call, taking one last calming breath before turning to go back inside the building. I walked with trepidation down the hallway, rehearsing in my head what I wanted to say but still fearing he wouldn’t want to speak to me. When I reached the open doorway to his dressing room, the sight I found stopped me in my tracks. He was smiling down at Anika as she leaned in and planted a kiss right on his mouth. 

A mixture of hurt and rage fizzled in my chest as I turned on my heel and made a beeline for my dressing room, slamming the door shut behind me and locking it. I sank to the floor, sobbing into the tops of my knees. How could I have been so stupid? Of course he hadn’t changed. He was already moving on and back to his playboy ways. At least I saw it with my own eyes before giving myself over to him completely.

The following morning, I awoke with my stomach in knots. I wasn’t sure if I could face him. Not after seeing him with Anika and definitely not with Stacia and Joe in the room. I was trying to think about anything but Dieter as I gathered my things to leave. My phone pinged in my hand, just as I grabbed my keys on the way toward the car. 

Dieter: I’m not gonna make it to the production meeting. My therapist is threatening to call in a wellness check if I don’t come see her first thing this morning. Sorry to leave you to deal with Stacia and Joe alone.

I sighed, half in relief and half in disgust. The reprieve was nice, but I couldn’t help questioning if he was being honest in his reasoning. For all I knew, he was shacked up somewhere with Anika giving her the best sex of her life. The thought caused me to cringe as I pulled the door shut behind me and got in the car. Once I was buckled in, I inhaled deeply and replied.

Me: It’s fine. That’s more important. Maybe we should just take the day to regroup anyway? Start fresh tomorrow?

Now it seemed the roles were reversed. The thought of seeing him after last night hurt too much. I knew I wouldn’t be able to do it. Truth be told, the thought of dropping out crossed my mind a couple of times as I tossed and turned in bed this morning. 

I watched the little bubbles bounce, then stop. That happened several times before his reply finally came through. 

Dieter: I was hoping we could talk today. 

I scoffed, “OH. Now you wanna talk?” 

Did he know that I saw him with Anika? Is that why he wanted to talk? Or maybe he wanted to tell me before I found out from someone else. My mind was racing, a million thoughts in a matter of seconds. I didn’t know how to handle this. The betrayal felt much worse than anything Alec ever did to me. I chewed on the inside of my cheek, typing.

Me: We can talk tomorrow. I need a day. 

Dieter: Ok. Tomorrow then. Please. 

I huffed in frustration. Please. He definitely wanted to talk to me about Anika. That one little word seemed to be pissing me off more than I already was. I didn’t really have any right to be mad at him though. Technically, we weren’t together. But fucking Anika? Of all people? It made me sick. 

It took every ounce of strength I had to compose myself for the meeting with Stacia and Joe. Luckily, Lenny called ahead to let them know Dieter had an appointment that he couldn’t miss, so it took some of the heat off. Things started off well enough, breezing through the details regarding our performance for this week. They had us doing the fucking Lambada. If they thought the Jazz performance was bad, then the Lambada was going to be nothing short of a train wreck. I had to work double time to control my facial reaction to that news. 

I had hoped that would be the end of it, but they couldn’t help interrogating me about the obvious tension this past week. “Can you fill us in on what was going on with Dieter? Why did he have an outburst like that?” Stacia asked. 

I shrugged, “Like I said, we’re old. We’re tired. Everyone has good and bad days when we rehearse this much. You should know that above anyone.” 

“You’re sure there’s nothing going on with you two? Because that seemed like more than just being tired. If there is, we need to nip it now. Another performance like that and you two are out.” 

I sighed, “And so what if we are? Why are you so worried about it? Aren’t you supposed to be unbiased about the contestants?”

Stacia’s nostrils flared, “We are. However, we do have to take ratings and promotion into consideration, as well. You two are a major draw. Especially when it comes to social media attention.” 

I huffed out a laugh, shaking my head. “Well, if they like us so fucking much, maybe they’ll have pity and vote to keep us around. Are we done here?” 

Joe rubbed at his temples, “Kat, we’re actually on your side here. We’re not the bad guys. We do wanna help.” 

My jaw clenched, “There’s nothing to help. We had an off week. That’s it. Now, I’d appreciate it if you would stop prying and meddling.”

He pursed his lips before nodding. Surrendering, for now. I stood, giving them a forced smile as I turned to exit the conference room, feeling hot from the adrenaline brought on by the experience. When I entered the lobby, I stepped into the small alcove where the vending machines were tucked away, in search of something to drink. I found myself suddenly missing my usual morning cup of Dieter provided coffee, causing my heart to clench in my chest. Everything reminded me of him now. 

I stood, taking in the selection when the sound of hushed voices carried through the wall of ferns separating the seating area from the alcove. 

“So, I heard Dieter blew you off last night?” one voice asked. 

A scoff, “How the hell did you find out about that?” It was Anika. 

An amused reply, “A little birdy told me.” I couldn’t make out who this voice belonged to, but it sounded familiar. 

“Fucking hell. Nobody can keep their mouths shut around here.”

A chuckle, “So. What happened?”

“Ugh, fine. I’d rather you know the truth than hear whatever people are saying. So, after the show was over, I noticed Dieter’s dressing room door was open. After that performance, it was obvious he and Kat were on the outs, so I thought I’d take advantage of the situation. Anyway, I went in and asked him out. He said he was waiting for Kat. I had seen Kat leave, so I told him that. He looked…I dunno, like, annoyed about it? So, I offered to…let him come back to my place. I really thought he was considering it. He seemed receptive, so I kissed him. He turned into the biggest asshole after that. Basically, told me to fuck off and said he wasn’t interested. He wasn’t nice about it. It was very hurtful the way he said it. Like I was the asshole or something.”

A sense of relief washed over me. He hadn’t done anything wrong. It was all her. 

The other voice snorted out a laugh, “You know Dieter isn’t the same person anymore, right? He’s changed. He’s not into partying and one-night stands. He’s in love with Kat.”

Ankia scoffed, “Dieter Bravo doesn’t fall in love. He’s Hollywood’s biggest fuck boy.” 

“He used to be. He’s sober now. That’s not his life anymore and the fact that you can’t see or respect that does make you the asshole. You need to lay off him. It's disrespectful to Kat.”

Anika gasped, taken aback by that statement. “Why are you so worried about Kat all of a sudden? You feeling guilty for fucking her fiancé now?”

My mouth dropped open in shock. The other voice was Lana. This whole conversation had my heart racing out of my chest. A nervous sweat was now dripping down my back as I stood staring at the vending machine, unmoving. 

Lana chuckled, “No. No guilt at all. I did Kat a favor. Alec is an asshole. She deserved better. Besides, you know how this show works. I’m only doing what I’ve been paid to do. That’s why I’m here alone. Stacia and Joe want an update on what I know. I’m happy to say that Alec Balaska will be nothing but an afterthought as soon as the season is over.” 

It took everything in me to hold in the maniacal laughter that was bubbling in my chest. I couldn’t believe what I was hearing. Lana fucking Thompson, of all people, had just made my day and saved my relationship with Dieter. 

Before I even registered what I was doing, my feet carried me around the wall of ferns. I paused, staring at Lana with wide eyes, mouth still agape from the news. I vaguely registered Anika jumping slightly from my appearance, mumbling out an, “oh shit,” under her breath. My focus, however, was solely on Lana. She sat confidently with her legs crossed and a shit-eating grin on her face. She knew I was there the entire time. 

She stood, approaching me with a friendly smile. “I need you to know that everything I just said was true…and I’m sorry. Even if my intentions were good, I know it was still hard on you. I’ve known guys like Alec my entire life and I know the kind of power they can have over you. I needed you to see who he really was. Regardless of what happens with Dieter, you needed to be freed from Alec.”

I could feel tears prickling behind my eyes. She wasn’t wrong. It was going to take something major to wake me up to who he really was. She gave me that.

I nodded, “Thank you. I mean it. I do need to ask you for one more favor though.”

Her brows arched, “Name it.” 

I smirked, “Fuck him up good. Please?” 

She gave me a toothy grin, “Already planned on it.” 

My smile matched hers as she pulled me in for a tight hug. She held it for a beat, then pulled away. 

“Now, go get your man. I can’t handle you two fighting anymore.” 

I chuckled, “I’ll try.” 

I went home after that. I needed to clear my head and process the events of the day. I also needed to figure out what I was going to do about Dieter. The fear was still there scratching at the door that I was frantically trying to shut in that part of my brain. I wanted to believe that what he felt was real. Everyone else seemed to think it was. They could all see it, so why couldn’t I? 

I took a page out of Dieter’s book, moving through the house to tend to my plants in the way he had taught me. Pruning. Dusting. Misting. I could see why he enjoyed it. There was a certain mindless numbness that went along with the process. It was a good mental reset. Almost like meditation. Hours passed before I realized it. As I finished up, I considered what Lydia said about watching our videos on YouTube. I had just settled on the idea of doing it when my phone started blowing up with notifications. They were from Lydia. I didn’t even get a chance to read the text because she started calling. Concerned, I answered immediately.

“Lyd? Everything OK?”

She was breathless with excitement, “Please tell me your fucking watching this?”

I huffed out a nervous laugh, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Instagram live! Dieter! I swear to God Kat, if you don’t marry that man, I will.” 

I snorted, “And how does your husband feel about that?”

“He’d probably officiate it... HOLY. SHIT. Kat! He has…you just need to watch it. He just ended it. Fuck. You need to see it. I might cry.” 

I didn’t know how to respond. She sounded like she was having a meltdown on the other end of the line. 

I sighed, “What the hell are you going on about?”

She let out the most ridiculous squeal, prompting me to pull the phone away from my ear. 

“It’s on his story. GO WATCH IT. NOW. Call me when you’re done.”

I sighed, “Ok. Ok. Just stop screeching. Please.” 

“Ok. Bye.” 

The line went dead. 

I looked at my phone, “What the actual fuck?”

Butterflies formed in the pit of my stomach. I could not comprehend what he could’ve done to have her acting like this. It actually freaked me out a little. When I opened Instagram, I had hundreds of notifications from where I had been tagged in the comments of his video. 

I groaned, “Oh god. Dieter what did you do?”  

I was hesitant to click on his story, inhaling a deep breath before taking the plunge. When the video began to play, Dieter was fiddling with the camera angle. He finally settled it where he wanted, then picked up his acoustic guitar. His sad eyes scanned the screen as he nervously chewed on his lip. Once the viewer numbers began to rise, he smiled and welcomed them. The smile didn’t reach his eyes. It hurt to see him like that. 

As he tuned the guitar, I took in the rest of him. He looked tired. His hair was a mess of fluffy curls, hanging down over his forehead. I ached to run my fingers through them. He was wearing one of his favorite threadbare t-shirts, covering tense shoulders. I wanted to hug the tension away. When he looked back up at the camera, his bottom lip appeared swollen from his teeth. I wanted to kiss away his pain. Fuck. I missed him. 

Once he had the guitar tuned to his liking, he smiled into the camera. “I promised you all I’d do more of these, so here we are. I feel like I need it today. I’ve got some things that I…I dunno…wanna get off my chest. I guess.” 

He plucked a few chords, finding his rhythm. As he did this, my eyes were drawn to several new paintings leaning against the wall in the background. I couldn’t make out what they were since they partially covered each other, but the colors were different. Brighter. It wasn’t his usual style.

He paused, staring into my soul through the screen before taking a centering breath. Then he began to play, strumming a sad melody that I wasn’t familiar with. His eyes were distant, almost melancholy as his mind drifted to another place. He began to sing the lyrics in his low raspy voice, making my skin break out in goosebumps almost immediately. 

🎶Listen HERE.

Hey, can you show me how to make it back cause I’m still tryin to find my way home Hey, can you take my hand keep me on track make sure I never ever ever let it go I would let the stars fade to nothing, nothing If I knew that I’d always have your lovin, lovin You're my gravity, you're holding me down You're the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold onto you

I gasped quietly, eyes prickling with tears as I took in the meaning of the words he was putting out for the world to hear. I knew Dieter. He always chose songs with intention. He was holding nothing back, laying his soul bare to get through to me. I could see it in his eyes; he meant every syllable of what he was saying. Seeing him like this, putting every emotion into his words was melting the thin protective barrier that had formed around my heart. 

The voice in my head my thoughts before bed You’re the reason that my heart beat slows To keep pace with my mind and the rhythm of time that never seems to grow old I would let the stars fade to nothing, nothing If I knew that I’d always have your lovin, lovin You're my gravity, you're holding me down You're the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold on

The tears streamed down my face. There was no holding them back as his voice wrapped my body in heat, warming me to my core. I had never seen or heard anything so beautiful in my life, and he was mine. If I opened myself up the way he was for me. I could feel my resolve crumbling. 

His voice rose in volume for the next verse, emphasizing the emotion behind the words. It was gravelly and rough, sending shivers down my spine and making me want him more than I had ever wanted anything in my life. 

Oh I’d break my heart a million times just so I could spend my nights with you No need for us to rush I’d find every reason to make it through

He paused the strumming of his guitar, voice quieting to a velvety tone to finish it out. 

Cause you're my gravity, you're holding me down You’re the reason that my life’s turned around And in the moments that I’m hopeless I’m just hoping I can hold on to you, hold on to you. 

He played the last few notes, allowing them to quietly fade. His voice was gone, but the warmth in my body continued as a fire smoldered inside my heart. It was burning with everything that had been holding me back. He had finally broken through, and it was quickly turning into a blaze. 

His eyes were glassy as he looked into the camera, biting the inside of his cheek. Then Zee appeared, jumping up onto his shoulder in that way she does - curling her body around him as she bumped her head against his. He turned, giving her a sad smile and scratched under her chin as he mumbled, “Hey, babygirl.” 

He sighed, turning back to the camera. His brows pinched together as he spoke, “We miss you.” 

As if on cue, Zee turned to the camera and meowed loudly, like she was agreeing. Dieter chuckled quietly, giving her another scratch on the chin before reaching to shut off the stream. As he did so, the camera tilted upward. It was only the briefest glimpse before it disconnected, but it was long enough for me to pause it to see a new painting hanging on the wall. 

The painting showed the bare backside of a woman from the waist up. Her hands sat on her head, holding her dark hair in a pile and exposing her neck. The background was mostly bright red, with swirls of black, white, and a deep green color. Her spine curved slightly, posed mid movement. Defined contours of muscles showed in the shadows. My breath caught in my throat when my attention was drawn to the obvious DB scrawled in the bottom corner. It was his painting. Is that a painting of…me?

My tears quickly turned to sobs. This man had somehow managed to make me feel every emotion imaginable in the last twenty-four hours and I couldn’t even be mad about it. If anything, I wanted more. I wanted him. And I wanted him to have all of me. I was ready to take the risk. To fall for him completely. I trusted him with my fragile heart because this was real. For both of us. I knew that now.

A text came through from my sister, interrupting my emotional breakdown. 

Lydia: Did you watch it yet?

I chuckled, then typed out my response with trembling fingers.

Me: Yes. I’ve been so stupid.

Lydia: No. You just needed time. Go to him. Tell him. Or else I’m gonna come kick your ass. 

I snorted, sending her a thumbs up. I took a moment to gather myself, then opened his story again. This time, watching the comments fly by.

“This is for @dancerkatstamos, right?” “OMG, is Kat watching? @dancerkatstamos look!” “This has to be for @dancerkatstamos. I won’t accept any other explanation!” “He’s breaking my heart! @dancerkatstamos give him another chance!”

And on and on it went. Everyone seemed to know the truth before I did. It made me feel ridiculous that I had been so up my ass about this whole thing and that I had hurt Dieter so terribly in the process. I wouldn’t blame him if he refused to forgive me. 

It took me a few minutes to pull myself together. Then, I got in the car and drove to Dieter’s house. I had mixed emotions the whole way, alternating between being so nervous I felt sick and giddy at the thought of reconciling. I wanted this to be over ASAP.

When I got there, I marched up to the door and knocked. The lights were on, but I saw no movement inside. I tried the handle, but it was locked. I sighed, pulling out my phone to call. It went to voicemail. Three times. I was feeling beyond impatient to get this over with before I lost my nerve.

I groaned, “Damnit Dieter. Figures you would be unreachable right now…”

I moved to peek through the side window, allowing me to look through the kitchen into the backyard where the firepit was burning. Assuming he was there, I made my way around to the gate only to find that it too was locked. The sound of muffled classical music drifted over from the other side of the privacy fence. I puffed air out of my cheeks, now feeling frustrated. And determined. I looked around, finding the trash can sitting next to the house. 

“Ah, fuck it.” 

I knew it was a bad idea as soon as I thought of it, but that didn’t stop me from dragging the full trash can over and climbing on top of it. It allowed me to see over the top of the fence. I spotted Dieter immediately, lying in a lounger toward the far end of the yard. He was facing the ocean, watching the sunset. I tried yelling for him, but he didn’t hear me. 

I hoisted myself up on top of the stone wall and threw my legs over, “Ugh, this seems a lot higher than I realized…”

After a centering breath, I twisted to carefully lower myself down. Not that it did any good because I lost my grip and fell into the shrubbery below with a loud, “Ooof.”

I couldn’t help snorting out a laugh as I stood, pulling leaves from my hair and brushing dirt from my clothes. I glanced up, Dieter hadn’t moved. He obviously couldn’t hear anything over the music. I stumbled toward him, still brushing dirt away. I must have startled him, because he jumped as I walked around to stand in front of him. He sat up straighter, taking his sunglasses off before reaching to turn down the Bluetooth speaker next to him. 

“What the fuck, Kat?” 

He turned toward me, eyes scanning from head to toe. “How did you…Why do you have leaves in your hair?” He looked toward the house, then back to me. “Did you…climb over the fucking fence?”

I grimaced, “Yes. I tried calling. I’m sorry, I couldn’t wait. We need to talk.”

He snorted, “I do have a doorbell, ya know? I can hear it out here on the speaker.”

My face heated, “Uhhh, I didn’t think about that.”

His face softened, “Are you OK? Did you fall?”

I nodded, feeling embarrassed. “The only thing injured is my dignity.”

He chuckled, letting it trail off to a few seconds of silence. His face shifted, his brows furrowing as his body tensed. “I thought you wanted to wait until tomorrow? What changed?”

I chewed on my lip, searching for the right words. “I can’t let another day go by like this. We need to talk.”

He nodded, “Look, about last night. It’s not what you think. I didn’t…”

I held up my hand to stop him, “I know. I know it was Anika. I’m not mad about that.”

His shoulders relaxed, “How do you know?”

I huffed out a laugh, “The craziest thing happened after the production meeting this morning. I overheard Lana asking Anika about it. Anika admitted that she pursued you and you blew her off.”

A wide grin spread across Dieter’s face, “I think I need to send Lana a fruit basket or something. She’s two for two.” 

My brows pinched together, “What does that mean?”

He relaxed in the lounger, “She talked some sense into me last night, helped me understand things from your point of view. It seems she's been working behind the scenes to do Stacia and Joe’s bidding, but she’s also a closet Dieterina supporter.” 

I was shocked to hear they had talked, but I couldn’t be upset about it. She had brought us together. Twice. I smiled, “So, you must be the little birdy that told her about Anika?”

He nodded, “Yeah, we discussed it.” 

I closed the distance between us, sitting on the edge of his seat - angling my body so I could look at him. The mood shifted to something more serious as the air thickened around us.

“I saw your Instagram Live.”

He stared out toward the water with a pensive look on his face, “I meant every word I said.”

He paused, finally turning to meet my gaze.

“I’m afraid too, ya know. I’m afraid that you’re finally gonna wake up and realize I’m not worthy of you. Afraid of fucking up because that’s all I know how to do. And…I’m afraid of how strong my feelings are for you. You’re entangled in my soul now. No one has ever had this kind of hold on me. I am in love with you. I’ve never said those words to anyone, not even my parents. So, it does mean something when I say it. I wasn’t even sure I was capable of it until the second you bumped into me.”

He reached for my hand, squeezing it gently before continuing. 

“All of that scares the hell out of me, but I’m willing to push through it. You’re my world now, Kat. And I swear I’ll do everything in my power to make you happy. I may have some fuck ups, but I can guarantee my past problems are in the past. I’m done with all that. Whatever was broken inside of me…you’ve fixed it. I’m a better person because of you.” 

I was crying again, holding back a sob as I nodded. “I believe you.”

He held his arms open, motioning for me to come to him. I didn’t hesitate, shifting to straddle his hips so I could hug him tightly against me. I buried my nose in his hair, deeply inhaling his scent. It was like a balm on my soul, slowly washing away all my fear and doubt. 

I sighed into his curls, “I’m sorry I hurt you. It wasn’t my intention. I should’ve talked to you instead of getting in my head about it. I’m willing to try. I want you to have all of me. I promise I won’t hold back anymore. I trust you and…I feel safe with you. All I ask is that you be patient with me. I’m there with you, OK? Know that.” 

He pulled away, cupping my cheeks as he peered up at me with tears in his eyes and a smile. “I’ll let you lead. I don’t plan to ever dance with anyone else. You’re it for me. If that’s what it takes, then you lead… and I’ll follow.” 

I smiled, getting emotional all over again. More tears spilled out, but these were happy tears. Relief flooded my system after he closed the distance between us and pressed his lips to mine. It was tentative and soft as he hugged me closer to him. I had missed this, missed him so much. 

We broke apart, our eyes roaming each other’s faces and taking in the moment. He spoke first. “Can we never fight like this again? Please? It was torture.”

I smirked, “I agree, I don't like it either. However, there may be one positive thing to come from it…”

He reached to pull a leaf from my hair, flicking it away with a small smile. Then his brows furrowed, “Like what?” 

My lips curled upward, running my hands up his chest then around to rest at the back of his neck. “Like make up sex…”

His eyes widened, “Oh…” 

I felt him harden under me almost instantly. He snorted out a laugh against my neck as he pulled me against him.

“Well, that definitely escalated quickly. It seems little Dieter has missed you too.” 

I giggled against the top of his head, “Don’t worry, he’ll get taken care of. But…there is something I wanna do first. Can we go inside?” 

He pulled away, giving me an uneasy smile. “Should I be concerned?” 

I laughed, shaking my head. “No. Definitely not.” 

I led him inside, up the stairs to his Sanctuary. He stopped in the doorway, leaning against the frame to watch me. I picked up the acoustic guitar he had been playing earlier and took a seat in his leather chair, making a point not to look at his new painting. Because if I did, I wouldn’t be able to keep it together for this. 

He walked into the room, grabbed a throw pillow, and threw it on the floor. He sat down on the cushion, pulling his knees to his chest as he peered up at me with questioning eyes. 

“Since you did a song for me earlier, it’s only fair. I think this might help you understand what sent me on a spiral…because it’s really what started it all.” 

Dieter’s POV

I sat on the floor, watching Kat intently - intrigued as to what this was about. All the while my heart pounded out of my chest from the excitement of having her back home. For once, everything was working out in my favor, and I couldn’t have been happier about it. It was taking everything in me to sit still so Kat could have the moment she needed. 

Kat nervously chewed on her bottom lip, adjusting the strings to her liking. Or possibly stalling, I couldn’t tell which. Either way, I sat patiently waiting. She rolled her lips together, inhaling deeply as she glanced at me one last time before her fingers began to pluck the chords. Her eyes shifted, focusing on something in the distance just over my shoulder. 

The notes sounded familiar. However, I couldn’t place the song right away. But then she began to sing in a breathy raspy lower register that I had never heard from her before, making my skin tingle from head to toe. I knew the song instantly. It was the same song we had danced the Viennese Waltz to, right before everything fell apart. I stared at her in awe as she performed her version of the song, pouring emotion into every word.  🎶Listen HERE.

Sweet love, sweet love trapped in your love I've opened up, unsure I can trust My heart and I were buried in dust Free me, free us You're all I need when I'm holding you tight If you walk away, I will suffer tonight I found a man I can trust And boy, I believe in us I am terrified to love for the first time Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? I've finally found my way I am bound to you I am bound to you 

I knew I had to look like a fool, sitting there with my mouth gaping open, but I couldn’t help it. She was literally taking my breath away. I hugged my knees closer to my chest, resting my chin on them as I watched her. At some point, my eyes began to overflow with tears without me realizing it. There was a fluttering feeling in my chest unlike anything I had ever felt. She was connecting with me in a way she never had. After a brief instrumental bit, her eyes locked with mine as she went into the second verse. 

So much, so young, I've faced on my own Walls I built up became my home  I'm strong, and I'm sure there's a fire in us Sweet love, so pure  I catch my breath with just one beating heart And I brace myself, please don't tear this apart 

If I hadn't been sitting down already, I would’ve needed to. The expressiveness in her voice and eyes were making me lightheaded. I could feel every word as they left her lips. Every perfect word that she was willingly giving to me to show me how she really felt.

Suddenly the moment's here I embrace my fears All that I have been carrying all these years Do I risk it all? Come this far just to fall? Fall I can trust and boy, I believe in us I am terrified to love for the first time Can't you see that I'm bound in chains? And finally found my way I am bound to you I am, ooh, I am, I’m bound to you

By the time she hit the last verse, tears began to stream down her face. Her volume rose as the raw emotion poured out of her. Then her voice faded, finishing the song with a heavy sigh and sniffle. She huffed out a nervous laugh, wiping her cheeks. The only response I could muster was to crawl over to her, taking the guitar to lay on the floor before standing up on my knees and hugging her tightly against me. 

She sobbed quietly against my shoulder, releasing whatever hurt it was she had been holding onto. My breathing was heavy as I worked to control my own emotions, but no matter how hard I tried, I couldn’t stop my tears as I soothed her. 

“I’m sorry I hurt you before, but I’m sure now. I’m sure,” she mumbled through a stuttered breath. 

I sighed, “You don’t have to apologize. It’s OK. We’re OK now, and I’m still here. I always will be.” 

She pulled back, her glossy red eyes dancing over my face for a beat before cupping my cheeks and pulling me in for a gentle kiss, pausing to murmur against my lips.

“I love you.” Another kiss. Then another, “I love you.” 

I smiled, returning the kiss and the sentiment before shifting to stand. I pulled her upright with me, bending to wrap my arms around her waist. I lifted her, walking toward the bedroom while continuing to kiss her deeply as I went.

There wasn’t a second that our bodies were not touching as we undressed each other. We broke apart only briefly so that she could settle into the center of the bed. I trailed closely behind her, worshiping any bit of skin I could reach. She pulled me to hover above her, framing my hips with her thighs as we took each other in. Her amber colored eyes looked like honey flecked with melted gold in the warm glow of the setting sun coming in through the open windows. I wanted to drown in them. Her fingers scratched at the patchy stubble on my cheek before her thumb brushed across my lower lip. I dipped my chin slightly, gently kissing her palm. 

She smiled, closing the distance between us. I lined myself up with her entrance, sinking in slowly. A low whimper bubbled up from my chest as her heat surrounded me. She gasped against my mouth as I filled her. Any remaining tension that lingered between us vanished as we found home in each other’s embrace. 

We took it slowly, getting reacquainted. This time felt different. We were connecting on a much deeper level. Every touch. Every caress. Now expressing a new emotion that we openly shared with one another. I could feel it in the way she kissed me. I could see it in her eyes. There were no walls between us now. It was the most amazing feeling that I couldn’t begin to describe. 

We moved as one, in a slow rhythm that was damn near maddening as we got lost in each other. It felt like time ceased to exist as the rest of the world faded away to nothing. All I could see and feel was her. It was transcendent, almost seeming too perfect to be real as we fell over the edge together - both of us professing our love in quiet whispers against the other's lips as we let the emotions swallow us whole. Our salty tears mingled as our lips continued to move against each other, riding out our high as long as we could. 

When we finally broke apart, I pressed my forehead against hers as we tried to catch our breath. My body was trembling, making it hard for me to continue to hold myself up. I reluctantly pulled away with a grunt, moving to lay beside her. I gathered her in my arms as she wrapped herself around me. 

I sighed, “I feel like I’m dreaming. I wasn’t expecting my day to end like this.”

She chuckled, “Yeah, me either to be honest. I’m not complaining though.” 

She kissed me again, deeply. Her leg hooked around my hip as my hand drifted down her side, moving to gently squeeze her ass. She groaned, but it wasn’t a pleasurable sound. My brows furrowed as I sat up to look at her backside, finding a bruise the size of my palm on her cheek. 

I couldn’t help chuckling as I shook my head at her, “How hard did you fall?”

She shrugged, “Hard enough to regret it later I suppose.”

“I can’t believe you did that. You’ve been around me too long. That’s some stupid shit I would’ve done.” 

She smiled, “What can I say, I learned from the best.” 

“I’m gonna go get you an ice pack. Don’t move.” 

She squirmed, rubbing her thighs together. I arched a brow as she smiled mischievously. 

“You’re insatiable, ya know that? Don’t worry Kitten, the night’s still young. I’m not done with you yet.”

That evening, we took turns making each other fall apart until neither of us could go any longer. After a soak in the tub, we collapsed in a heap on the bed. We were on the verge of nodding off when Zee started her loud caterwauling wail outside the bedroom door. 

I sighed, “Fuck. I forgot to feed the kid.” 

Kat snickered as I rolled out of the bed to open the door. Zee didn't’ waste any time, sprinting into the room and jumping on the bed to snuggle up to Kat - bumping her head against Kat’s chin while letting out low growls to show her displeasure of Kat’s absence. 

I chuckled, “I get it Zee, I had the urge to rub all up on her, too.” 

Kat snorted out a laugh into Zee’s fur. 

“I’m gonna go make her dinner. I’ll be back.” 

Just as I sat Zee’s plate down on her mat, Kat appeared in the kitchen. She gave Zee one last nuzzle before sitting her down next to her bowl. 

“I couldn’t get her to leave. I was thirsty anyway.”

I chuckled, “I think she missed you almost as much as I did.”

I moved to the fridge, “You want water? Or something else?”

“Water’s fine.” 

After handing her a cold bottle, I leaned against the counter watching her. She stood there in nothing but a T-shirt. My T-shirt. Guzzling the water down like she had just run a marathon. When she finished, she offered me the bottle but I shook my head, getting lost in my thoughts. I wanted to tell her more about my meeting with Lana.

“I should probably tell you where I ran into Lana last night…I don’t want you to think I’m keeping anything from you.” 

Her brows furrowed, her jaw flexing as she nodded for me to continue. 

“I was…at a bar.”

Her eyes widened, but she didn’t say anything. 

I inhaled a centering breath, “I was alone. I didn’t order any alcohol, but I thought about it. I had just talked myself out of it when Lana sat down next to me. She came over to talk me out of a bad decision.” 

Kat nodded, “Thank you for telling me…” She sat the bottle of water down, coming to stand at my side. “What made you wanna go?”

I pursed my lips, considering my answer. “I think…it was the thing with Anika. I felt like I fucked up. Badly. I saw you walking away after she kissed me. I knew it hurt you to see that. So, I let my self-hatred and negative thinking run away with me for a minute, but I pulled back. I didn’t wanna ruin everything that I’ve worked toward. And not just with you, but my career…and my life. I can never go back to what I was before, no matter what happens. No matter how bad things get…I just can’t.”   

She surprised me with a small smile. “I’m proud of you for telling me and admitting that you had a weak moment. I know it takes a certain amount of growth to be able to do that. I mean, it’s part of recovery. Weak moments are gonna happen.”

I huffed out a sigh of relief as she grabbed my arm and pulled me into a tight embrace. 

“I was worried you would be upset over it.” 

She pulled back, “I’m sad you felt the urge for it, but I know it happens. That’s why it’s important for you to have support and to feel like you can reach out when you need to. You need people you feel safe with during those vulnerable moments, and you have them now. And you’re being completely open and honest about it all. That’s why I know I don’t need to worry. You’re doing everything right. And we’re gonna do this together. Never be afraid to tell me if you’re struggling. I can only fault you if you lie about it.”

I felt like bursting into tears, “I really don’t deserve you.”

She scoffed, “Yes you do. You deserve to be happy just like everyone else.”

I smiled, cupping her cheeks and giving her a soft kiss on the lips.

“Let’s go get some rest. We’re gonna have a busy day tomorrow.” 

I took her hand and led her upstairs. Halfway up, Zee ran past us, beating us to bed. 

Then I snuggled up with both my ladies and had the best night of sleep I had had in nearly two weeks. Everything was finally right in the world again.

The next morning, Kat and I were at the dance studio before the doors were unlocked. Having already lost a day of rehearsal, we were worried but determined to be back in the top scores. The competition was down to five couples this week. If we wanted to win, we had zero room for error from this point on. 

As we went through our stretching routine, Kat got me up to speed on this week’s performance.

“I’ll be honest, I’m nervous about this one. The Lambada is not one that I have a lot of experience with. It’s not been done on the show since 2009 and there’s only been three couples to do it.”

My brows furrowed, “Why?”

She shrugged, “I have no idea. Something about the format of the show. I’m not sure the judges were huge fans either. This dance though…we're either gonna knock it out of the park with your loose hips or we’re going down with an epic failure.” 

I cringed, “That sounds encouraging.”

She stood, then pulled me up with her. “We may have an advantage though.” 

I huffed out a laugh, “Oh yeah? What’s that?”

She smiled mischievously, “We don’t have a problem getting up close and personal with each other. We also already have a lot of practice with the hip thrusting.” 

I couldn’t help it. I cackled. 

She laughed, “I’m just calling it as I see it.” 

I moved to stand in front of her, awaiting instruction.

“We also have a very strong connection, which is to our benefit too. This is a Latin dance with a lot of movement. It has elements of the Salsa, Samba, and Merengue. You did well with the Salsa, so I think you can handle it. The steps are slow, quick, quick, slow while our entire bodies are undulating.”

I smirked, “Sounds like a piece of cake.”

She held up her finger to silence me, “The Lambada is often called the forbidden dance. It’s meant to be sensual and erotic with close embraces and two bodies moving as one. And not in the same way as the Rumba or the Tango. This is faster, more upbeat.”

I chuckled, “I still see no problem here.”

She rolled her eyes, “The problem is we’re old and it’s gonna wear us out. And well…”

She moved in closer, wrapping my arms around her middle and threw hers around my neck. There were only a few inches between us. 

“You know the beginning of Dirty Dancing when it shows all the staff dancing? Grinding up on each other?” 

I raised a brow and nodded, “Yeah, why?”

She arched her back toward me, our stomachs touching as she began moving her hips against me. Like, really grinding against me.

I sucked in a sharp breath, getting hard instantly. I stepped away with a tight smile, “Oh. Fuck. Ooook. So, imma have to learn to control my boner. Got it.” 

She snickered, “Yeah, that.” 

I sighed, “Well, the safest bet would be to have sex right before we go on stage. That should keep him down through the performance at least.”

Kat burst into giggles, “Thank God we talked yesterday, or this would have ended so badly…or not. Who knows?”

“Ugh, I don’t even wanna think about it. That would have been terrible.” 

She cleared her throat, “Ok, let’s get serious. How erotic do you wanna get?”

I shrugged, “Don’t hold back. You know me, if they want a show…Imma give em one.” 

And with that, we began building our routine. We worked it out quickly, damn near reading each other’s mind in the process. We were back and more in sync than we’d ever been. We may have lost a day of rehearsal, but we more than made up for it. By the end of the session, we had a solid plan. It only needed practicing and tweaking. 

By the time behind the scenes filming rolled around on Thursday, we had the routine down. With both of us being in a significantly better mood this week and on the same page with everything, we took the opportunity to relax and have fun. We were full of jokes, teasing each other and breaking into giggling fits over the tiniest things. The camera crew seemed surprised, most likely expecting more angry outbursts and bickering given how things had been going. Overall, it was a good day. The best part was that the day ended with Kat at home with me and Zee. 

The rest of the week went by in a blur of rehearsals, self-care to make sure our bodies didn’t give out on us, and just being together. Our bond felt stronger than ever. Kat seemed happy, completely at ease. Whatever had been plaguing her thoughts was now long gone. She no longer held back, sharing her thoughts and feelings whenever it struck her to do so. Every time she told me that she loved me, my heart danced a little in my chest. I never realized how much I needed to hear someone say that to me until her. And now, I crave it constantly. 

It was show day before we knew it. Kat and I were there bright and early, the first to go through camera blocking as always. We performed flawlessly each time, both of us all smiles. Things felt different on and off the dance floor this time. Kat was more relaxed in her interactions with me, not hesitating to touch me in any way. There was a flirtiness to her that others were definitely picking up on. The whispers and stares did not go unnoticed by us. None of it seemed to bother or deter her. Given that we only had two weeks left, I figured she was ready to throw caution to the wind. 

Since I had missed the production meeting, I had no idea what our costumes looked like. I was surprised to find the color of the week was much brighter than normal. They had Kat in a bright yellow fringe dress that left very little to the imagination. It emphasized her thighs and hips in a way that had me absolutely salivating. I knew it would be a miracle if I made it through the performance without little Bravo making a special guest appearance. I made sure to take a moment to snap a few pictures for social media, and a few other sexier ones for myself.

They had me in a matching yellow shirt with navy trousers. The look was topped off with a navy blazer with light blue and yellow stripes. I didn’t hate it. It was something fun and different, but I doubted the blazer was going to stay. I was sweating bullets before I even put it on. Between nerves and Kat looking fucking amazing, my blood was boiling. 

Kat and I were back to our usual antics during hair and makeup, causing a scene of boisterous laughter with our favorite crew as they worked to beautify us. They ended up going with the normal slicked back hair for me. They left Kat’s hair down, styling it into soft bouncy waves that I was dying to run my fingers through. It really was going to be a battle of willpower to behave myself today. 

We had dress rehearsal after that. We sailed through without issue, aside from the semi I was sporting from Kat rubbing up on me with all her exposed skin. It had her giggling against my neck as I pulled her in for a hug when the routine concluded. We stayed like that for what was probably too long before pulling apart as I tried to think about anything but her up against me. 

We were given leave to entertain ourselves until the show started. So, we went back to my dressing room. Evan was kind enough to drop off some lunch for us because whatever it was catering had wasn’t it. He didn’t stick around for long, giving us a sly smile and a wink as he slinked out the door while being sure to lock it behind him. He must have been picking up on the vibe. 

Kat chuckled, “I don’t know why he feels the need to lock the door. Like we’re gonna be getting up to mischief or something.”

I arched a brow at her, “Aren’t we? I was only half joking about the sex before performing thing the other day…”

She smirked, “Oh really?”

I grinned, “Yeah, I mean we’re performing first, right? I say we let fucking be our hype song this week. It’s a good way to get the adrenaline pumping.”

She snorted out a laugh, standing from where she was perched on the vanity. 

“All right Bravo, you win.” 

She turned her back to me, undoing the skinny strap across her back and the one around her neck. The barely there fabric in the front slipped downward to where she caught it just before it revealed anything. 

“How do you want me?” she asked with a seductive tone. 

My mouth fell open, “Umm, one moment.”

I stood from my seat, stripping out of my costume - having enough sense to put it on a hanger rather than wadding it up on the floor for once. Kat waited, unmoving, as she watched me in the mirror. I approached her, pulling her hair to the side to kiss down her neck and back as I slid her costume down her thighs. I laid it across one of the empty chairs before taking my usual seat. 

I motioned for her to come to me. Once she was standing between my open thighs, I turned her to face away from me. I left a wet path of kisses along her side, working my way down to give her a little nip on her ass cheek, eliciting a giggle that she tried to muffle with her hand. I gently rubbed at the bruise on the other side, shaking my head at her ridiculous behavior. 

Then my hand traveled lower, rubbing between her already soaking wet folds. I worked to open her up and get her ready for me. Just when her body began to tremble, I stopped. My leg wedged between her knees as my hands found her hips, pulling her to sit right where I wanted her. She let out a throaty groan, taking me in deep. I guided her movements, keeping it slow and teasing. She tucked her chin against her chest, biting back her breathy moans as she tried to keep it together. I leaned back in the chair, pulling her to lay against my chest - making sure to gather her hair to the side and drape it over my shoulder. 

As I wrapped my arms around her torso, she spread her legs wide, allowing me the space to move. I buried my face in the curve of her neck, thrusting slowly. Her hand moved to reach for my hair, but I grabbed it mid-way and tutted at her as I continued to hold on to it. I knew there would be no time to fix that mess if I let her get hold of it. 

Within minutes she was on the edge again, all it took was for me to reach down to the apex of her thighs and rub tight circles in just the right spot. She worked to free one of her hands from my grip, biting into the plushy spot just under her thumb to hold back the moans as she trembled on top of me. I moved faster, in almost a relentless pace following behind her soon after. I had to resist the urge to bite onto her shoulder to muffle the sounds of my own pleasure just as one of the production assistants gave the twenty-minute warning outside my door. Kat leaned her head against mine, both of us holding in a laugh as I shifted to sit us upright in the seat. 

I chuckled against her shoulder, giving it one last kiss. “That was perfect timing. Guess we better get dressed. Hop up, I’ve got some towels in my bag.”

She huffed out a laugh as she stood, “Came prepared, did ya?”

I pulled said towels from the bag and shrugged, “I gotta be with you around. But also, it was either this or my hand. Something had to happen.” 

I gave her one of the towels, both of us smiling like a couple of fools as we wiped away the sweat and wetness. I helped Kat with her costume, fastening the straps and making sure everything was secure. She hadn’t even bothered to go to her dressing room this morning, leaving her bag in mine instead. That turned out to be a good thing so she could touch up her makeup and hair while I got dressed. 

By the time we made it to the staging area, we had seven minutes to spare before performing. It was just enough time for the hair and makeup crew to give us one last look over before we were taking our spots on the dance floor. The burst of adrenaline and everything else pumping through my body made the moment seem hazy. It was almost dreamlike as we eyed each other in the dim lighting. 

The spotlights dropped down on us as the opening trumpet sounds of 🎶Ain’t it Funny began to play from the band. Kat was in her zone, her eyes blazing with that fire I loved so much. Our energy was off the charts. We were perfectly synchronized as we did our twists and spins, managing to keep our frame compact with full control of our movements. Our bodies rolled in tandem, transitioning to dips and sensual hip action that had the audience going insane. 

While we’d had some steamy performances in the past, this one took it to a whole new level. There was a different vibe. It was sexy in a teasing sort of way. We held nothing back, showcasing the connection between us as we moved through the intricate step combos. We could feel it before the dance was over, we knew it was one of our best performances to date. 

We tried to play it cool while we waited for our scores, but the glances passing between the two of us said it all. We knew we were not going home tonight, and we were right. Kat and I held on to each other as each score of ten was read off by the judges. They praised us for our comeback after last week, noting that we were only the fourth couple to have ever performed that dance and were the best. None of the other three couples had received a perfect score. We were the first and only ones to make it happen. 

Kat and I were on cloud nine for the rest of the evening, both of us giving toothy grins every time the cast or crew complimented us. Marc and Stefanie were still our biggest cheerleaders, acting just as excited about our performance as we were. We returned the favor of course, even if they did score one point lower than us. 

The scowls from Alec were obvious. He made no attempt to hide his disdain for us. That did nothing to dampen our mood, especially when we caught a glimpse of Lana shooting a small smile our way when Alec had his back turned. If anything, it only made the entire situation more entertaining. 

Once the show was over, we joined Marc and Stefanie at a nearby burger joint to celebrate making it to the final four. It was nice to spend time with new friends and discuss our feelings about the show. We also tried to strategize and make guesses about what they were going to have us do for the finale. In a way, it gave me a better idea of what to expect and helped calm some of the nerves that were brewing in the pit of my stomach.

As of tonight, it was down to us, Marc and Stefanie, Alec and Lana, and Anika and her partner. The finale was shaping up to be full of tension and intense competition. Our main goal was to keep Alec and Anika from winning, but deep-down Kat and I really wanted that fucking trophy. She deserved to end her time on the show with a bang, and I wanted to prove everyone who doubted me wrong. There was no stopping us now.

Next: Week 11

✨FUN FACT: What Kat said about no one doing the Lambada on the show since 2009 is true! There have only been 3 couples out of 33 seasons (so far) to have performed this dance. None of which received perfect scores. I have linked them below if you're interested. Video 1 Video 2 Video 3

A/N: Hello my lovelies! Fucking finally! Right? Our babies are back together! And look at Dieter being all sappy and soft. I love him. Are we shocked Lana is still on her redemption tour? I don't think we can hate her anymore, can we? Then of course we have Lydia and Evan doing their good deeds as well. How about that Instagram Live? Doesn't that song just tear your heart out? And Zee getting in on the action? I think I'd climb over a fence after that too. And what about Kat pouring her little heart out as well? That girl is laying it all out there now. So, we have 2 chapters and the epilogue left after this. Can you believe it? The next chapter is going to be drama filled. All of this dancing is finally going to take it's toll on Kat. Dieter is going to be in a tizzy, taking care of his lady. On top of that, it's Samba week. Yay for more Latin dancing...or not? Alec will be up to his shady shit (yeah, he's not done yet). I will say, the last two chapters will probably be much shorter since things are wrapping up. I mean, I say that, but I may shock myself. You never know with me.

And finally, some housekeeping. I'm sure you've noticed by now that I have struck the "Moonstruck" part of my name. There was a reason for that (aside form it being too fucking long). Expansion! As you can see, I am posting this chapter from a new sideblog. This blog will be solely dedicated to my writing. No nonsense posts. I will eventually be migrating everything over here. Why you ask? I did a poll a while back about this. While most preferred to be tagged, a decent number would rather follow and subscribe to notifications. So, you now have the option to do that without all the clutter. I will still be tagging folks though.

I also added something else new, the Chaos Corner! It will be dedicated to all things Dieter (fics, media, memes, fan art, etc). Fics will be linked by categories and tropes. So go have a look and find some new content. I welcome you to send me some goods to share with the chaos crew. Our trashy friends need all the Dieter content. Lastly, I want to do a quick shutout to my first loves, Dieter and Talia. It is the two year anniversary of Destiny & Deliverance this week. If I can get my shit together, I'm going to try to do a little something for them.

That's it. That's all I've got. Until next time, 💜Mysty

CP Taglist:

@titlee78 @legendary-pink-dot  @survivingandenduring @wannab-urs  @harriedandharassed

@hisandsnakes  @misstokyo7love @readingiskeepingmegoing  @runningmom94  @sin-djarin

@cakipy-blog  @missladym1981  @guelyury  @weho2kcmo  @alokaerza  

@girlofchaos  @trulybetty  @bitchwitch1981  @madnessofadaydreamer

@darkheartgatita  @jazzloveslatte  @timpletance  @musings-of-a-rose  @samiamproductions

@myloveistoolittle  @for-a-longlongtime   @copperhalfcent  @auteurdelabre @itsdrewharrison

@burntheedges  @stevie75  @bunniboo0015  @quicax3  @jackie923

@sherala007  @pastelnap  @angelofsmalldeath-codeine  @jessthebaker  @rebel-held

@gwendibleywrites  @senorabond  @annalovesflorida  @sandaltoesocks  @katw474

@txlady37 @inkmonster21 @sunnytuliptime @jeewrites @fifitheragertot

[pastelnap]

Badly need to catch up with this, but very excited to read

[pastelnap]

Ok so I actually finally did it and posted a Fic to AO3, it's probably crappy, but I did it so woo

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part II: RingGate Summary: After a carefully crafted meeting over coffee, your public debut with Harry unfolds better than you ever expected. Each event slides effortlessly into the next as the plan is executed, performance convincing, and everything seems to fall into place exactly as you intended. And yet, you never could’ve predicted the effect it would have on you. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, kinda bratty!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, reader has a last name for storytelling purposes, no y/n, alcohol consumption, implied drug use ||

You weren’t entirely sure why you’d called Harry back. 

Well, no, that was probably a lie. You knew exactly why. 

Harry Castillo made sense in a way no one else did. He was everything your parents meant when they spoke about a ‘good man’ to ‘settle you down’. He was sophisticated and predictably traditional, he came from a wealthy family, understood reputations and legacies, and didn’t have a scrap of dirt on him being seen at coke fueled yacht parties. Just nice tailored suits, understated luxury watches, and generous golf outings with potential investors.

But there was something else, too. Something that made him even better than all of that combined.

Harry was old enough to make anyone seeing you on his arm do a double take. Old enough to raise eyebrows. And you liked that. Hell, you loved it. Because while your mother would probably sing the praises of dating a nice, rich man with so much generational wealth he could bury you in it, the second she would see it was him, you could almost picture her face falling. 

The Castillo name always earned a reaction in your family. Some long standing rivalry between your father and his, some sort of stock market tension or power play. Your mother always made a face as if the name sounded spoiled on her tongue and your father always got a set in his jaw at the briefest mention of Castillo Investments. And though your families orbited each other for decades, running in the same circles and sharing the same tables, they never managed to sit comfortably side by side. 

So yes, Harry was perfect. 

Because if you had to play by their rules, you’d make sure it still felt like your own game.

He looked the part now, sitting across from you in his crisp button down and open tailored blazer, the espresso cup held delicately between two fingers. The drink had long gone cold, but he swirled what remained, mulling over something in his mind. You were halfway through your latte, bringing it to your lips for another slow sip. 

“So,” he said, voice low and thoughtful, “we’re agreed on hand holding?”

You nodded, watching him over the rim.

His eyes didn’t leave yours. “And…kissing?”

You set the mug down with a soft clink. “It’s supposed to look real, isn’t it?”

“Of course.”

“Real relationships don’t shy away from touch. I think a few public kisses are okay.”

He nodded back to you, “Just…you’ll have to let me know when you feel uncomfortable. If it gets to be too much.”

“Same to you. I don’t want to look like we’re in some rom-com soap opera.”

He leaned back in his chair, finally setting down the espresso cup with care. “I think you’ll find I’m quite good at moderation. But for clarity’s sake… what is off-limits?”

You considered for a moment, brushing a crumb from your napkin. “I mean… I guess the only rule I really care about is not humiliating each other. I seem to do that to myself enough as it is. So no divulging about us in interviews, no winks or jokes about the bedroom. If people ask, they can assume what they want. But we don’t talk about it.”

Harry nodded, his gaze steady. “Agreed. No innuendo, no details. Private things stay private.”

“Yes,” you agreed, your stomach doing a little flip at the thought.

“How long do you see us doing this for?” he asked.

You took a beat, thinking. “I only need eight weeks. By then, my family and I will be in the Hamptons hosting the annual Midsummer White Party—you know, everyone in white, garden tea, obligatory polo matches, and networking paraded around as philanthropy.”

Harry smiled, knowing. “Ah, yes. The crown jewel of performative generosity.”

You lifted your cup in mock salute. “Exactly. So if that works for you, we can bow out gracefully then.”

Harry nodded, “That should work. Camilla should be back by then and will most likely be attending. So the timing lines up.”

“Perfect,” you said, setting your cup down with a soft clink. “She can blend in with the party, and we can quietly let the news of a breakup make its rounds and...go on with our lives as if none of it happened.”

"Sounds very civil," he murmured, and then, eyes finding yours again as he sipped his espresso, “And when questions get asked about when we started dating?” he added.

You perked up. “Actually, I was thinking about that. I might have an idea.”

“Oh?”

You grinned. “The Met Gala. I’m already on the list, and so are you. I’m thinking, what if we made our public debut at the afterparty?”

“You and after parties, huh?”

You rolled your eyes, “It would be a good place to be seen together, and then if some civilian takes a photo of us cuddling in a booth, I think that would sell the thing perfectly. Rather than playing it up on the red carpet which might look more forced.”

“That’s next week, is that too soon for you?”

“Not at all. In fact–”

You reached across the table, gently taking his hand and adjusting the way he held his coffee cup. You tilted his fingers slightly, so that the emerald ring on his finger caught the light just right, gleaming against the white ceramic.

He gave you a curious look. “What are you doing?”

You brought your own latte closer, arranging your hand just so, both of you touching the handles of your mugs, your nails freshly painted and perfectly visible. You snapped a photo.

“This,” you said, opening Instagram, “is called a ‘soft launch,’ Harry,” 

“Soft launch?” he asked with an amused grin.

You didn’t look up. “It’s where you show just enough to make people wonder who you’re with, but not enough to confirm anything. You post it to stories and let the speculation do the work.”

He huffed a quiet laugh, clearly entertained. “You really have this down to a science.”

You tapped through the filters without much care. “You said you wanted a distraction, right? This is how you make a splash without stepping outside.”

He leaned forward slightly, studying the image on your screen. “No one will know that’s me.”

“That’s the point,” you said. “Gotta keep it mysterious at first.”

He watched you with something that might’ve been admiration, or at the very least amusement. “You’re not what I expected.”

You smiled, “Would’ve been quite boring if I was predictable. Besides, you don’t want calm. You need chaos, and it just so happens the chaos you’re looking for is dressed in Chanel.”

That earned a real laugh — not the polite kind, but a rich, unguarded one that curled warmly at the edges. His eyes crinkled when he smiled, and for a second it made your chest pull in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Alright then,” he said, lifting the last of his espresso in a little toast. “To soft launches.”

You touched your mug to his and took a sip, the two of you smiling at each other over the rims.

You were rather pleased with yourself as you sat down at the table marked with your family name. The tablescape was decadent with pink and white flowers, crisp linen pressed to perfection beneath the gleaming gold flatware and bone white china. Tiny menus rested at each place setting and were printed on thick, textured cardstock with  blush borders and embossed initials. Mimosas floated past in crystal clutches, delivered by white-gloved staff as the bridal shower brunch officially began beneath a silk-draped pergola on the Van der Woodsen terrace.

A harpist played delicately in the background, drowned only by the clinking of glasses and happy conversation around Serena. She was absolutely glowing in her white floor length gown and long white gloves, the essence of bridal straight from a magazine. 

But it wasn’t the atmosphere that had you feeling so content. No, the smile tugging at the corner of your lips was from the fact that you’d sent the bait and people were flocking to it. Your soft launch with Harry had gone perfectly. You went unnoticed in the coffee shop but public online, it was purposely vague and yet sparked obsession across Gossip Girl and your DMs. Your plan was working. And across the table, it made your mother’s glare taste even better.

“Honestly, you think you’d want to actually be on time given the circumstances.” she scoffed as she aggressively snapped her napkin across her lap. Her greying hair was scraped back into an uptight bun, silver Tiffany hoops glittering in her ears and a beautiful, fresh look to her makeup. She was the picture of nobility, even as she sat across burning daggers into you. 

And you too looked put together, good enough to pretend our weekend scandal never happened. A gauzy, floor length floral dress tickled your ankles, with woven wedges and golden teardrop earrings to accompany your understated look. But you could still feel the eyes, the whispers, the people around you looking over. 

You knew your headline wouldn’t die with a simple coffee date exposition. 

“I wasn’t even that late,” you muttered, sipping at the bubbly flute of champagne and orange juice. The look she gave you doesn’t go unnoticed, but it was cut off by another voice behind you.

“Did you really block my number again?”

You didn’t even have to turn to see who it was.

“Are men even allowed at these things?” you asked your mother flatly, ignoring the voice behind you.

Your mother exhaled, “Charles,” she said in greeting, though tired, “thank you for joining us. But yes…usually it is just the women who come to these.”

You glanced over your shoulder to see your brother with his hands gripping the back of your chair. Impeccably dressed, a crisp blue blazer and freshly cut hair. Of course, he also had a faint white dusting beneath his one nostril.

“How’re the donuts?” you smiled sweet as syrup, using your code for wipe your fucking nose, dumbass.

He clocked your meaning with a swipe to his nose with the back of his hand. “Delicious,” he murmured with a mocking smile, reaching for a glass of champagne like it was a handshake.

“But seriously,” he added as he flopped into the seat beside you, “are you mad at me or is this about your Girls Gone Wild debut?” 

“Can people please stop calling it that?” you whined into your hand, covering your face, “I especially don’t need to be hearing it out of my own brother’s mouth, Chuck.”

He shrugged, “Kind of iconic, sis,”

“Charles.” your mother hissed with a scowl.

“Where’s B?” you asked him, hoping to god for a change of subject.

Chuck didn’t look at you as his jaw tightened and he stared out onto the terrace.

“Busy, I think.” he finally said.

You narrowed your eyes, “Busy with what? I just talked to her last night. She’s supposed to be here too.”

He leaned back in his chair and downed the rest of his glass. “I didn’t ask. She said not to come over last night, so I didn’t.” His voice was casual, but you knew him too well, there was a crack in it, right under the surface.

You didn’t press, you rarely did. It was their thing, whatever strange, codependent gravity held them together all these years. You’d long since stopped trying to understand it, and it wasn’t worth messing into anymore, even if it was the strangest feeling in the world: having your brother and best friend dating, that is.

But before you could say anything else, you felt a shift in the air, could smell warm perfume and that glowing Serena energy that always preceded her like a weather front.

“There you are!” she beamed, sliding up behind your chair and throwing her arms over you. You stood automatically, turning into her embrace, your arms sliding around her waist in return. Her hair brushed your cheek, smelling clean and floral and always so impossibly soft, and for a moment it felt like being sixteen again, sneaking out of benefits and charity galas just to smoke in the park and talk about boys you’d never marry.

She squeezed you once more than necessary.

And then, right beside your ear, voice low and lilting, she said, “Harry?”

You pulled back, blinking. For a second, you forgot where you were. She was smiling tightly, eyes bright enough to register the glee beneath it all. Your pulse spiked.

She knew. You didn’t know how, but she knew. 

She gave a tiny nod, conspiratorial, and you mirrored it automatically, your body moving before your brain could catch up. 

She giggled, delighted, and pulled you back into her arms

“I won’t tell a soul until you’re ready!” she whispered like it was sacred, “I recognized the Darius ring immediately!”

Your stomach dropped. Because if she knew, if she could identify it from a vague, cropped, untagged post over morning coffee... then everyone else wasn’t far behind. You’d set the match and the fuse was lit.

It was only a few seconds that you held each other there, but as you let go of each other you realized your hands were clammy when you reached for your champagne glass. You’d wanted this, you’d pictured how it’d go, when people would finally figure it all out and the gossip would start. But it was another thing to see the knowing in Serena’s eyes. To realize it had worked.

And the nicest thing about her was that she never asked about your messes or pressed you to do better or change your ways. She had her own fallouts once, and you were each other’s favorite bad influence until she got help junior year and started using words like boundaries and healing. But even now—clean, radiant, engaged—she wasn’t sanctimonious. She never needed you to explain yourself.

She just watched, knew, kept secrets like a dragon keeping its jewels. And she didn’t miss much, least of all a man’s ring.

The following week, you arrived at the Gala with your nerves fluttering beneath a glittering, bespoke Gucci gown. As the car crept behind a long line of black SUVs outside the Met, you ran your hands over the hand-sewn jewels stitched across the fabric, trying to steady yourself. The fabric clung like a second skin, sheer and opalescent, dusted with crystals that caught every flicker of light. Soft tulle spilled from your hips in delicate, weightless layers, each one shifting like smoke when you moved. The bodice swept off your shoulders in an ethereal curve, barely there, as if the entire dress had been spun from stardust and breath.

Outside the windows, camera flashes strobed like lightning. Journalists, paparazzi, and red carpet interviewers stood pressed against barricades while celebrities floated past them, their stylists, managers, and handlers hovering just out of frame. Everything looked exactly as it always did every year, controlled and perfect and expected. But something about this time felt heavier, almost electric.

Maybe it was you, maybe it was the buzz of cameras flashing in your face while you were sober this time. Maybe it was the fact you and Harry were going public tonight. The thought of him made your stomach turn and flutter into your lungs. 

The moment your driver opened the door, everything shifted. The hum of the carpet swelled into a roar with the snaps of camera flashes and sharp cries of your name cutting through the night. From the left and the right, voices shouted, whistles pierced the air, all of it crashing toward you in a dizzying rush of flashbulbs and frenzy.

Typically, you just waltzed into these without so much commotion, just a pretty daughter of a major donor to the museum. But tonight there was no chance you’d sneak by with only one or two photos. At least this time your dress, though it clung to every curve, was full coverage. Elegant and thoughtfully styled and tailored to your body. Not like last Saturday when your nipples made headlines.

Your heels hit the carpet and you glided forward, plastering your best soft smile across your face, though the redness in your cheeks was hard to miss. You didn’t stand for photos, you kept moving, kept walking, because you thought your knees might give out if you didn’t. 

Just find your family, find your table and your family and just sit before you throw up.

And then, once mercifully inside the grand doorway, a softer, elegant buzz fell around the room and you let out a long breath. Crystal chandeliers glowed above long tables dressed in gold and white, set between marble statues and famous paintings. It was breathtaking, curated within an inch of its life.

You spotted your mother and father at a table across the room and began to move towards them, when you were suddenly stopped short. There, stepping directly into your path, was a woman with a sleek, dirty-blonde bob and an icy blue coat draped over her shoulders. Her sequined gown shimmered with an elegance that commanded a room without question.

“Anna-!” you blurted, “Ms–Ms. Wintour, how are you?”

She didn’t smile or even reply to your greeting. Her eyes were like sharp daggers through silk.

“Miss Montclair,” she said crisply, “You were removed from the guest list earlier this week due to recent…events.”

The words hit like a slap across the face. You almost wish she had slapped you instead.

Your mother’s words from last week rang through your mind as you stared into Anna’s cold, green eyes.

You can forget about your cover with Forbes. Vogue sure isn’t going to take you back.

And here was the truth, standing in your path— the editor and chief of Vogue herself telling you that you were no longer welcome. 

“I—what?”

“Your family is, of course, still welcome. I believe they’re in their seats right now. But you were struck from the official list.”

You didn’t even realize how tight your hands had curled until your fingernails pressed so hard into the palms of your hands you thought you might start bleeding. You glanced over her shoulder at your mother who was suddenly not looking at you at all.

So this was how it happened. Your first public appearance since the scandal, in front of every person who mattered, and you were going to be escorted out.

You felt your chest tighten—your throat caught, eyes already hot.

But then, there was a warm hand at the small of your back.

“Ah, Ms Wintour, thank you for finding my date.”

You turned, and there he was.

Flawless in all black Tom Ford, tie knotted perfectly and not a single hair out of place. He stood beside you, his chest emitting warmth as it brushed your shoulder, steady and calm as his eyes met Anna’s without blinking.

“Mr. Castillo–” Anna said, surprised.

“I’ll take her to her seat now, thank you,” he said calmly.

“You’re attending together?”

“Yes,” Harry said, “she’s my guest tonight.”

There was a long pause as Anna looked between the two of you, her eyes momentarily caught on the way his arm was around you.

“Very well,” she said with a nod, stepping back. And just like that, she turned and disappeared into the crowd of curated faces and brand sponsored gowns.

You stood frozen, watching her go.

You heard Harry’s voice, so gentle beside you, as it brought you back to the moment, “You okay?”

You took in a gulp of air, remembering yourself, and nodded. He didn’t say anything else before gently guiding you forward, hand staying at the small of your back, through the velvet ropes and into the glittering madness of the main hall.

“You look really nice tonight,” he whispered in your ear as you closed in on the table with your family. It was decorated with white orchids and gold place cards, and you could just make out your name when he stopped you. He turned you towards himself, his hand coming up to your upper arm, steady and gentle.

“Thanks,” you swallowed, but your voice felt so small. You weren’t sure all you were thanking for, but it was for everything, really. For saving you from social torment, for guiding you through the buzzing crowd when you could barely catch your breath. Maybe even for the compliment.

He smiled, just slightly, then lifted a hand to your chin. His thumb brushed softly against it before he glanced behind you. He nodded once, tight, toward your family before turning away and melting into the crowd.

You watched him for a long moment, already being stopped by some hedge fund heir in a pearl bespoke tux.

Sinking slowly into your seat, you could already feel your mother watching, your father’s eyes on the back of Harry’s head.

Both of them confused, and more than anything, furious.

“Care to explain what exactly that was?” your mother said tersely over the rim of her champagne flute.

The swell of the room came back to you as if you were stuck in a whirlwind and finally climbing back out. Around you, the long table buzzed with idle chatter as guests admired the floral arrangements, whispered about other guest’s attire, and traded gossip beneath the glow of crystal chandeliers.

“Can we do this later?” you managed to say, barely above a whisper. You weren’t sure you had it in you to explain everything in the midst of your near social exile.

Your mother opened her mouth to object, but your father cut in first. “She’s right. Later.” and then his deep, stern eyes were on you, “But I expect to hear about it.”

You gave a small nod, grateful for the reprieve, even if temporary, just as Blair slid gracefully into the seat beside you.

She looked like she’d walked out of a fashion editorial, or perhaps an old film—her deep plum gown cut sleek and sharp across her collarbones, the satin catching the light like still water. A band of silver sequins wrapped low around her hips, subtle but stunning, accentuating the drape of the fabric. Her hair was curled softly around her shoulders, her expression calm but knowing.

She didn’t say anything at first, simply reached for her water, took a slow sip, and then leaned in slightly toward you. “You looked incredible,” she murmured. “Even with the parental firing squad.”

You smiled, immediately at ease with your best friend beside you.

“I’m so glad you’re here, B.”

“Please. Like I’d miss this circus. Besides, half of these people are wearing Waldorf gowns, you think my mother would let me miss out on her chance to boast?”

You exhaled, shoulders lowering just slightly. Around you, the room went from a buzzing livewire to hushed tones and the scrape of chairs as everyone took their seats. With Blair beside you, you almost felt like you could face everything the night had in store.

And when all the glitz and glamor dissolved into a haze of flashbulbs and farewells, you found yourself grateful to slip away from the velvet ropes and instead, behind a nondescript steel door with music blaring from inside.

The speakeasy was low-lit and smoky, filled with only the right people. No flashing cameras or press agents. Just velvet booths, a marble bar backlit in soft amber, and a jazz band in the corner with a singer who looked like she was plucked straight from a 20’s Hollywood movie. You let your shoulders drop as the door swung closed behind you, the noise of the outside world sealed off completely.

“Oh god,” Blair muttered beside you, adjusting her diamond earrings. “I see Chuck.”

You rolled your eyes. “He wasn’t even at the gala.”

“Exactly,” she hissed, already backing away. “Classic Chuck, always ruining my night when it’s just about to get fun. I’ll find you later, okay?”

You nodded, amused, and made your way toward the bar.

You ordered your dirty gin martini—Ice cold. Like frostbite. I want my hand to hurt just holding it. The bartender smirked as he went to make it, his gaze lingering too long at your neckline. You stared back blankly until he finally turned away.

Your fingers skimmed your phone screen as you leaned into the bar, scrolling through the expected: red carpet recaps, Vogue slideshows, slow-motion video of someone’s Glambot from the night. You caught sight of yourself in a carousel of photos—you, for once, not for scandal, but for style. A quiet thrill settled in your chest.

Then came a voice, low and close.

“And how many martinis are we thinking for tonight?”

You didn’t have to turn. “You really do have a knack for sneaking up on me tonight, Harry.”

He settled in beside you, his presence tall and steady and gleaming at the edges—like some sleek, expensive car pulling up beside yours at a red light.

“Only one,” you murmured to answer him when he didn’t say anything. “Just enough to take the edge off.”

He lifted his own glass, ice clinking faintly. “Tequila.”

“Of course,” you said, “Can’t help but wonder what that says about you.”

“Dangerously misunderstood,” he replied, deadpan.

You smirked.

The bartender set your drink down with a soft clink, and Harry’s hand brushed your lower back as he gestured toward a booth across the room.

The leather was black and glossy beneath the dim gold light that bounced from the sconces along the wall. Harry slid in first, and you followed, settling beside him as his free arm draped behind you along the top of the loveseat. The heat of him was immediate as he moved in closer. He smelled like sandalwood and amber, sharp and expensive. You could feel the weight of his presence, could hear the shift of his jacket as he leaned in. He was close enough to count the gold flecks in his dark, endless brown eyes.

“Did you have a good night?” you asked, keeping your voice smooth even as your pulse ticked higher. You tried not to shift under the burn of his nearness, tried to ignore the way your skin prickled where his breath grazed your cheek.

He nodded, his thumb lightly circling your wrist as his hand drifted closer on the table, casual but intentional.

“You're a natural,” you added, tilting your head up at him, trying to make it look like flirty banter to any wandering eyes. God he was close.

He mirrored your tilt with a slow, knowing smile. “I saw the bartender looking at you.”

You glanced back toward the bar and caught it. The glint of a phone, half-concealed behind the ice bin. Filming.

“I think he’s recording us,” you whispered when you looked back up to Harry. You leaned in slightly, your voice like a secret.

“What do you say we get this show on the road?” he asked. 

You faced him full, heartbeat quickening. “Okay.” you said, softer now.

“Come closer,”

You set your glass down. Condensation kissed your fingertips as you brushed your hand along the front of his tuxedo jacket, pulling him toward you. The room seemed to fall away—replaced by shadows, low voices, and his warmth beside you.

“I’m going to touch you now, okay?” he asked, and when you nodded, your throat too tight to speak, he added, “Let me know if it’s too much,” 

His breath fanned over your face, smelling like spearmint and alcohol and that oud wood cologne as his fingers trailed from your wrist to the bend of your elbow, cold from the glass of his drink. Goosebumps bloomed across your skin like reflex as he moved in closer—so close his nose nuzzled yours, then traced the high arc of your cheekbone, lingering at your temple before slowly sliding into your hairline, hidden from sight. His breath was warm, slow, steady.

You didn’t mean to grip his lapel so tightly. But your fingers curled anyway, holding him closer than maybe necessary, your knuckles brushing the silk pocket square as if searching for something to anchor you.

Your eyes fluttered shut and he hovered at your ear, close enough for the edge of his jaw to graze your skin.

And then, just when you thought he might pull back, he said: 

“Good job,” voice low, neither smug or insincere. You weren’t sure if he meant your touch, your composure, or the flush you could feel blooming high on your cheeks. Maybe all three.

You drew back slowly, your hand falling from his jacket as your eyes lifted to meet his. But not before they lingered for a second too long on his mouth. When you looked up again, his gaze was already there, steady and a little cheeky, the burned caramel of his eyes catching the soft light and holding your reflection inside them.

You offered him a smile, “Not bad for our first show, huh?”

He shifted slightly, his eyes flicking to the table just as your phone began to buzz beside your glass.

“You tell me,” he said, his voice lighter now, a smile playing at the edge of his mouth.

You picked up your phone, and for a moment, your smile threatened to widen. But you caught it quickly, schooling your expression into something more performative—eyes wide, just the right amount of shock, thumb frozen above the screen like you weren’t expecting exactly this.

Across your notifications, Gossip Girl was already doing what she did best.

“I am trying very hard not to look excited right now,” you whispered, keeping a hand over your mouth so no one could see your smile.

“Why, have I gotten you all twitterpated?” Harry said in your ear, reading the screen.

“Harry, it’s the twenty-first century, no one says that shit anymore,” you said, letting your smile break free as you dropped your hand to reach for your drink and took a sip. The alcohol was cooling against your burning skin, your parched throat, your heavy tongue. Everything felt so real suddenly, like it was snowballing further and further as you saw people around you reaching for their phones, reading their notifications, their eyes finding you in the corner of the room.

“So yes, I think we put on quite a show, don’t you?” Harry said, lifting his glass to his lips.

You leaned back just slightly, letting the confidence settle in your bones. “Close it out with a standing ovation?”

He laughed softly, then set his drink down and reached for you again, nodding. His hands found your waist and tugged you in, your shoulder bumping against his chest. Without another word, he pressed a single kiss to the high point of your cheekbone. Just a small, sweet, calculated gesture. The kind that would photograph beautifully under dim lights of the room.

“How’s that?” he asked in your ear.

You blinked, caught off guard.

“I was thinking of something a little more exciting, but I think that'll do.” you chuckled, voice low, eyes flitting to his lips before settling back on his eyes.

“Can’t give them everything they want,” he said, eyes twinkling.

You huffed in amusement, but then quietly asked, “Can I return the favor?”

His eyes flicked to yours, just a fraction of hesitation before he gave a subtle nod that was measured and careful, like everything he did.

You leaned in, pressing your lips to the edge of his jaw, where his five o’clock shadow covered his skin. It was brief and camera friendly, but still, the second your mouth met the warmth of his rough with scruffy face, your stomach gave a tight and fluttering twist.

“I’m starting to think you’re better at this than me, Castillo,” you murmured, your lips brushing just close enough to make sure he felt the words.

He smiled, soft and smug, “Wouldn’t dream of it, Montclair.”

note from the author: okay yes chuck is your brother and im pretending he doesn't have the last name Bass in this!! sorry bass lovers!! his dad sucked anyway!!

taglist: @ovaryacted, @boscogirlsworld, @or-was-it-just-a-dream, @marisemonteiroo, @obsessedwithjustaboutanything, @umadirectioner, @yslgreen, @blogwagenzmom, @ch0c01atech1p, @vickie5446, @silksepia, @maiamore, @avengersfan25, @indiegirlunited, @tofics, @magicxmiller, @stevie75, @littlcdarlin

[millermouth]

𝙭𝙤𝙭𝙤

Masterlist || Harry Castillo x Reader || Part 1: Girl Gone Wild

Summary: It’s one thing to wake up with your face all over TMZ, but it's another to wake up and have a much more intimate angle making headlines. With your parents ready to cut you off, Harry offers you a solution. || fake dating, tabloids, Gossip Girl AU, socialite!reader, richgirl!reader, kinda bratty!reader, NYC, reader is in her mid 20s, old money lifestyle, trust fund babies, age gap, rich people problems, no spoilers for the movie, reader has a last name for storytelling purposes, no y/n, alcohol consumption, implied drug use, rehab mentioned || note: This is a Gossip Girl AU using canon characters for their personalities and core dynamics, but not bound by the show’s timeline or events. All characters are aged up and in their 20s. Only canon events that are explicitly referenced in the story are considered part of this universe.

Morning broke soft and golden over Madison Avenue, spilling honeyed light through the long rose-pink curtains at your window and the linen canopy draped around your bed. It shimmered across the carpet, pooled over the cashmere throw, and kissed your bare shoulder with a warmth so gentle it almost convinced you the pounding in your head was just a dream. You began to surface from sleep like rising through champagne: light headed, sticky, and dizzy. You’re not sure what stirred you awake, only that the scent of last night still clung to you, to the room, to your silk sheets tangled around your legs. You breathed in the smell of jasmine and top shelf vodka as you rolled over and faced the sunshine.

You’re grateful, really, that somehow you ended up back home safe and sound. Last night was such a blur you only barely recalled stripping your clothes off the second you walked in, leaving yourself bare beneath the down comforter and silken white sheets. Curled up in your lavish bed, your eyes too heavy and your mouth vaguely tasted like chocolate and alcohol. It wasn’t any surprise. You were well known for raiding the cabinet for something sweet on any given occasion, really. And a night out for drinks was no different.

The light pouring in from the windows and across the bed hurt. Your feet hurt. And God, your head hurt. On the floor, your clothing lay at odd angles, dress draped haphazardly over your pink velvet vanity chair and strappy heels abandoned at the door. Your hand dragged down your face, coming up messy with mascara and smudged foundation, your hair a tangled rat’s nest stuck to your cheek, sticky with lip gloss.

Your phone buzzed on the nightstand; you vaguely remembered it doing the same just moments ago, likely what had woken you.

You groaned, turning over to the side of your bed until your fingers slapped on the wood, blindly reaching for the device. As your fingers wrapped around it, you squinted at the brightness when you pulled it into your face. The screen was already crowded with texts and notifications, all of them pinging like little grenades across your vision.

You didn’t even bother clicking the photo from Gossip girl. You already had an awful, awful feeling sinking in your stomach to accompany the nausea. Memories of camera flashes blinding your vision, the crisp night air against your hot skin and stumbling into the car at the end of the night blurred in your mind. You’re almost certain you cursed out the paparazzi as you left too.

More texts came in, more DMs from strangers and someone you swore you’d blocked last week. You sent a welfare check to Blair, letting her know you were safely in bed. Sighing, you looked through the rest of your notifications, thumb frozen above the screen before you decided to throw the phone across the room. It smacked against the glossy pile of Vogue magazines on your desk, sending them falling to the floor until silence folded back over you. Pressing the heels of your hands into your eyes, you flopped onto your back, staring at the colors bursting behind your eyes. 

Eventually, you knew you’d have to face the world. So you headed for the en suite, shuffling your bare feet across the soft carpet until your toes hit the cold marble. Your head pulsed behind your eyes, body moving heavy as stone as you faced the wreckage in the mirror. You winced at the vision of yourself: tangled hair sticking to your face and black mascara circles beneath your eyes. You looked like you’d slept through world war three. 

You began assessing the rest of the damage, pulling a comb through the tangled mess of your hair, brushing your teeth three times and still tasting remnants of the vodka sodas you’d consumed. You wiped away the makeup with a damp cloth that smelled like rosewater, taking your time and dragging yourself through the routine, hoping maybe the longer you lingered, the easier it would be to enjoy the quiet before the storm.

With a fresh satin lounge set on and looking as presentable as you could hope to be in your state,  you made your way downstairs, fingers gripping the polished mahogany banister for support. The morning light flooded the room through floor-to-ceiling windows even through the sheer silk curtains. It struck the marble floor, creamy white and veined in golds and gray, the kind of blinding light that made the back of your eyes throb against it.

The dining table came into view and was set for breakfast, a gleaming pitcher of orange juice and kettle of coffee calling your name. Even on a Saturday morning it was fit for a front page of Architectural Digest. A long, lacquered table stretched beneath a low hanging crystal chandelier, the place settings already neatly arranged with heavy silver flatware that caught the light like mirrors. A Baccarat pitcher of fresh orange juice beading gently with condensation sat beside a matching carafe of black coffee, both calling your name.

You squinted slightly against the brightness reflecting off the stone floor, adjusting to the light. Your mother was already seated, picture-perfect in her usual place, a china teacup delicately poised between her fingers, her lips painted the exact shade of peony pink that matched the fresh arrangement at the center of the table.

You slid into the chair across from her. She didn’t speak, just turned a page of the Financial Times with quiet practiced precision, her expression unreadable.

“Morning, Mom,” you grumbled, reaching for the juice. But before she could respond, another voice cut through the room—low, baritone, and unmistakably commanding in its presence. 

“And how was your night, young lady?” your father asked as he sat to your right at the head of the table.

His face was freshly shaven, the blue suit pressed to perfection, tie knotted snug at his throat. Every inch of it tailored within a millimeter of precision. His salt-and-pepper hair was slicked back with gel even on a Saturday morning. He looked like he was on his way to a board meeting, not sitting down to breakfast with his hungover daughter.

“Fine.” you mumbled, sipping the juice in the hopes it would quench your suddenly dry throat. 

“Indeed,” he said. He reached for the coffee, poured himself a cup, added just a touch of cream, everything meticulous as always. He stirred slowly, the spoon tapping against the porcelain like a clock ticking down.

He took a slow sip, and you realized he hadn’t even looked at you once this entire time. 

Setting down his mug with a soft clink, he pulled out something from his jacket, “Sure seems like you had fun.”

The sudden slap of the tabloid section of the morning paper hit the spotless glass table sharp and final, the sound making your already throbbing head pulse harder and a fresh wave of nausea creep up your throat.

Your father leaned forward, fingers steepled as his elbows rested, his fingers pressing into his lips as if to hold back the true wrath behind his lips. His voice was controlled and low when he finally spoke.

“Imagine waking up this morning, reaching for the paper to catch up on the weekend markets, maybe check my emails before my first call, and instead finding this.” He dropped his hand, forefinger pointing hard into the black and white photo at the headline. 

You dared a glance at the paper, and there you were. Mid-laugh, eyes glassy, the car window rolled halfway down. Your smile was wide and your hands were caught in motion, lifting the hem of your blouse up to your clavicle. Right beneath it, the photo was censored, two blurred circles stamped across your bare chest. You winced, heat flooding your cheeks, shame blooming fast and sick in your stomach.

“My own daughter—shirt off, flashing the damn paparazzi on a night out.” His voice was low and precise, a man delivering a verdict. “What in the world were you thinking?”

You slumped deeper into your chair, the cool leather sticking to your bare thighs. Your palms, clammy with guilt and hangover sweat, came up to shield your eyes.

Your mother exhaled a high, theatrical sigh as she set down her mug across from you.

“Look at me when I’m speaking to you, young lady.” your father commanded.

You dragged your hands down your reddening face, turning towards him with a pout. Everything about him looked freshly pressed, polished, and perfect. He looked so severe as he glared at you—the picture of legacy and discipline, like you were supposed to be.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, voice wavering.

He was watching you when your eyes met his, his anger sliding into disappointment, something like sadness in his eyes.

“I’m sure you are, pumpkin.” he said, the heart of his palm swiping across his face, “But don’t think you can wipe this clean with some half-assed apology.” he tapped a stern finger on the tabloid again. The photo bended under his sharp pointed digit.

“What do you want me to say?” you said, voice thick, “I had too much to drink, I was stupid. It won’t happen again, daddy. I’m sorry.”

Your mother let out another sharp tut, but your father kept going.

“Something needs to change. You’re not a teenager running around Ibiza anymore. You’re the face of this family’s future, whether you like it or not. You think this is what I worked my whole life for? That I built our name so my daughter could be treated as a punchline? You think those diamonds in your ears, your Hermes bags, your Amex black card all pay for themselves?”

You had half a heart to tell him your brother actually was the one who was the face of the family name, but you didn’t think you could stomach the look that would cross his face. So instead, you shook your head, shameful, “I’m sorry, Daddy.”

“Good. Because starting now, it’s over.”

Your heart dropped to your stomach, and you sat bolt upright in your seat, “Wait–what? No, Daddy, no, Blair and I are flying to Greece this weekend! We have the yacht ready, the hotel in Santorini—everything’s already planned, I can’t just cancel.”

“You can,” your mother finally said, voice sharp and throwing her napkin down after dabbing the corners of her mouth, “And you will. Enough of this. Enough crying your way out of trouble. You're in your twenties, for god sake! This isn’t some harmless mistake, you acted like a downtown slut and got plastered across the front page.” she waved her hand in the air, “You can forget about your cover with Forbes. Vogue sure isn’t going to take you back after this little stunt…you can forget it all. This is a disgrace.”

Her voice was so crisp and cruel, her tea cold and forgotten at her elbow and her fury taking up every inch of space in the room. She sat stiffly at the table in a bright Lululemon set that looked untouched by actual exercise, posture perfect. 

You watched her, feeling so unbearably small under her eyes, and turned back to your father, “Daddy, please—”

“Your mother is right,” he cut in. There wasn’t even anger in his voice, just something worse like resolve. 

You pressed both hands over your eyes again, “Just…just tell me what I can do. To make it right.”

Your voice cracked around the words, all your plans for beachside Aperol Spritzes disintegrating into nothing. You could practically feel the sea breeze slipping through your fingers with it.

He leaned forward, and you watched him through split fingers, his elbows on the glass like a man making a deal, “Here is what’s going to happen. I’m giving you two months. Eight weeks without your credit cards, without store allowances. I want you to get yourself together. Maybe find a job, your own apartment, I don’t know. Something useful, something that puts your head back on your shoulders. Prove to me you can handle yourself, that you can be something other than this.”

“And maybe a nice man to settle you down,” your mother chimed in, suddenly calmer. “That’s what you need. I can call up the girls from tennis. They all have sons. Trust fund babies around your age and handsome, polished—”

“God, no,” you snapped through your tears. “I don’t want any of those preppy assholes.”

“Enough,” your father said, voice cutting clean across the room. “Finding someone respectable isn’t a punishment. It’s a step in the right direction. A partner keeps you grounded. Gives people less reason to talk. And frankly, right now, anything that helps the press take you seriously again is worth considering.”

“I’m not some PR campaign, Dad,” you muttered. “And I’m not going to date someone just to make you look better.”

He ignored you, “You get eight weeks. That’s the offer. Find some stability, and maybe someone who brings out the version of you I used to be proud of. Do that, and I’ll restore your accounts. If you don’t…”

You swallowed hard, wiping your eyes.

“...if I don’t?”

He shrugged, already standing. “Then you’re cut off. You’ll turn in your cards, your keys. You’ll find a new apartment on your own dime. And you’ll learn the hard way just how far your name alone gets you.”

The polished wood table sat between you like a mirror, reflecting everything you were about to lose.

“Okay,” you whispered, throat thick and tight.

He paused, adjusting the cuff of his suit like the conversation hadn’t hollowed you out. His tone softened slightly, not warm but almost… performative.

“I love you, honey. This is for your own good.”

That night, you nursed your gin martini at the hotel bar like it was medicine. It was the kind that didn’t fix anything but at least made you forget it for a few hours. The ice-cold glass sat heavy in your hand, the drink perfectly dirty, just how you liked it—briny and bitter. You chuckled, thinking that’s exactly how you felt too. 

When you’d finally had the nerve to leave the house and walk down the street to the Rosewood Hotel, you’d made yourself at home at the bar as the rest of the city lived their lives behind you. 

You’d tipped the bartender a handful of cash to keep the martinis comin’, using the emergency stash that had been stuffed into your closet drawer since Christmas, courtesy of your grandmother. 

Buy something nice, or get that nose fixed, whichever comes first, she’d told you, as she'd handed you the envelope. A nose job would do numbers, honey. It’s only a couple weeks of rest, anyway.

You’d laughed her off, taking the money and stashing it for emergencies like this.

And now, sitting at Belmans Bar inside the hotel on the Upper East side in your red bottomed heels and all black attire, you half heartedly stirred your drink, hoping to God the bartender didn’t recognize you. 

Your phone sat facedown for a while, but eventually, boredom and self pity rang louder than your pride and you picked it up and started to scroll.

Your own downfall was everywhere. Flashbulb-lit screenshots from the afterparty, that blurred-out photo of your chest from the curbside car door, a thousand IG stories captioned with your name, half of them mocking, the other half pretending to be concerned.

As you scrolled, you finally got a small relief of a post that wasn’t your blurred out tits and a headline. But this photo looked different. It was grainier, taken from behind a car tinted window late at night. A teenage girl, maybe fifteen, ducking into a black car with a hand covering her face. She looked…miserable.

CASTILLO DAUGHTER ESCORTED INTO REHAB FACILITY?

Yeesh, at least you weren’t that bad.

As you looked closer, you recognized her. Of course you did. Everyone knew the Castillo name. Your families had circled each other for years—same charity galas, same tax bracket, same stuffy luncheons celebrating some Ivy League degree or another. There’d never really been anyone your age in their family to talk to, just polite nods and mutual attendance at mutual obligations. Wedding season, debutante balls, the usual revolving door of the one percent’s social calendar.

You only kind of knew Camilla. She was younger, sweeter, and much more tame. She was the daughter of Peter and Charlotte Castillo. Always so prim and proper, she was so put together in her ballet flats and perfect posture anytime you saw her. She was the kind of daughter your parents always wished you were. And now, looking so disheveled, rushing into an unmarked SUV, it made your stomach twist, wincing at the thought. She looked how you felt lately. 

The internet was still feasting on her photo as you scrolled, headlines dissecting her sad face, the slump of her shoulders, her broken frame as if it were sport.

Eventually, you couldn’t take it anymore. You switched to Raya, hoping to find something—someone—that might appease your father’s expectations. You swiped through an endless parade of polo-wearing trust fund boys you already knew too well. Every face was another recycled name from childhood birthdays, graduation parties, foundation dinners. Hell really did have its own social calendar. 

Then came the celebrities. Too recognizable, too chaotic. All of them too coked out or too committed to their own image to be of any use to your father. Some you’d met, a few you’d kissed, most you knew well enough to stay far, far away from.

As the bartender set down your third martini, you plucked the olive from the glass, chewing slowly. You held the pick between your lips like a cigarette, scrolling with your free hand. And just as you were thinking to gulp down your entire glass and head home, someone slid into the stool beside you.

You heard a low exhale as they fell into the seat, a quiet, polite ordering of tequila on ice. You glanced sideways as the man slid his hand down from his mouth to the nicely trimmed dark mustache and five o clock shadow around his chin and jaw. An emerald green ring gleamed at you, encased in gold on his opposite ring finger.

“Harry,” you muttered in greeting, flitting your gaze between him and back to your phone.

His head turned, molasses brown eyes blinking once before recognition settled in, “Oh,” he said, sitting up a little straighter, “Sorry, I didn’t realize it was you.”

“Oh, it’s me alright,” you said, voice flat as you scrolled. You didn’t stop swiping, just leaned your elbow on the bar, screen casting soft light across your face.

Harry’s drink arrived. He took a sip, slow and steady, and you could feel his eyes watching you over the rim of the glass, then landing on the half empty one in your hand. “And… How many martinis in are you?”

“Don’t judge me,” you quip back. “You came here to drink alone too.”

“I’m not judging,” he said, gesturing lazily with the glass. “Just…making sure you’re…” he couldn’t seem to find the words before finally settling on, “well, especially after the last twenty-four hours…”

You paused mid-swipe and looked at him with a raised brow. “Are you referring to my tits on the cover of TMZ this morning, Mr. Castillo?”

He smirked, eyes flicking back to his drink. “I guess I am.”

“Charming.”

He huffed a little laugh, “But really, are you alright?”

You scoffed back, “Define alright.”

“I mean… not spiraling publicly would be a start.”

“Oh, well, then no. Not alright at all.”

There was a beat of quiet between you, the kind that wasn’t uncomfortable but wasn’t quite easy either. Just... stale, and a little heavy. You let your gaze move over him—pristine even now, dressed in a navy cashmere sweater that looked simple but intentional, sleeves pushed just high enough to show his silver Rolex. His dark wash jeans were the kind you knew cost more than most people’s rent, and the emerald ring on his right hand caught the light again as he turned his glass between his fingers. 

“Didn’t think this was your scene,” you said finally.

“Well, the hotel belongs to my family,” he replied. “I’m here more often than I’d like to admit.” 

You bit your lip, setting down your glass, “Right…sorry.”

He sighed again, deep and long as he took another sip of tequila, “Besides…they’re all here. Upstairs in the Penthouse for the night.”

“Why?”

“We had a, uh... ‘family meeting.’” 

There was something surprisingly genuine in the way he said it, though it was obvious he was exhausted by it. Harry always had that about him even when he was guarded, when he dressed everything in civility and charm. There was a softness there, something unpolished beneath all the carefully crafted exterior.

“A family meeting?” you asked, finally setting your phone down and turning toward him. 

He gave a short nod. “You’re not the only one in the news lately, if you hadn’t noticed.”

Oh.

“Camilla,” you breathed, stomach sinking, “Is she okay?”

Harry didn’t answer right away. His fingers turned his glass slowly, his gaze fixed on the clear liquid inside like he might find something helpful there. When he did look up, his eyes were as big and brown and heartbreakingly kind—eyes that seemed too soft, too honest to belong in your world of trust funds and galas.

“I don’t really know,” he said quietly. “She’s just… going through something.”

“Okay...”

“She’s struggling,” he sighed, a faint roughness at the edge of his voice. “I don’t fully understand it, but I know it’s real. My brother, her own father, refuses to see it that way. Thinks it’s for attention, which I find frankly infuriating. So we had a meeting after everything that happened last night. Everyone is just scared, so they sent her off to that rehabilitation center.”

You blinked, then shook your head. Harry didn’t seem interested in giving you all the details—and honestly, you knew he didn’t owe you any. The two of you barely knew each other outside of events and obligatory paths being crossed. Whatever happened, it was family business, and it wasn’t your place to pry. But still, before you could think better of it, your hand reached out and came to rest gently on his arm, the fabric of his sweater soft and warm beneath your fingers.

“I’m so sorry, Harry. I had no idea.”

He looked at your hand for a long moment, and you wondered if his mind had gone somewhere far from the room, the bar, the entire city, as he stared at the way your manicured fingers curved lightly against his sleeve.

“Yeah, well,” he finally said, tipping back his drink to his lips, “No one was supposed to. And now she’s all over the tabloids.”

You smiled ironically, though it didn’t quite reach your eyes as you pulled away from him. “Right next to little ol’ me, the spoiled party girl who can’t go one day without ending up in Gossip Girl’s daily roundup.”

That pulled a small laugh from him. You took your martini and clinked the glass gently against his, both of you drinking in quiet solidarity.

After a moment, he glanced sideways at you. “So… what’s your plan?”

You exhaled, setting your drink down on the bar top with a soft clink. “According to my parents? Settle down, find a man who can ‘reel me in,’ and fix my image. Make me palatable again. Maybe get a job.” You gave a humorless laugh. “They’re cutting me off for two months to prove I can be respectable.”

His brow lifted slightly, but he didn’t interrupt.

“I’m just... tired,” you said, quieter now. “Tired of performing, of being their favorite liability. I feel like livestock at a charity auction—dressed up, shown off, never actually listened to. God forbid I enjoy myself or go to one little party. Then I’m reckless, I’m a shame. They never…I don’t know. They expect me to be so perfect and that the only way I’ll be respected is if I’m with a man.”

You sighed long and deep. You swirled the last sip of your martini around and shot it back in one last gulp. Staring deep into your glass, you swished the last dregs of alcohol in your mouth before swallowing it. You knew he was still watching you, could feel that piercing stare burning the side of your face.

“I might have an idea,” he said, quiet but sure.

You turned to him slowly, a little suspicious. “Oh no.”

He didn’t smile or look like he was mocking at all, he just leaned back in his seat, calm and composed. 

“Date me.”

You blinked, coughed, and full on choked on your drink, your own spit, you weren’t even sure. You grabbed a napkin, pressing it to your mouth as your eyes watered, looking at him incredulously.

Harry raised a brow, unbothered. He sipped his tequila like nothing had happened. “Not the worst response I’ve ever received.”

“Are you serious?”

“Entirely.”

You kept staring in disbelief before one final cough and a short and disbelieving laugh. “Harry, come on. Why in the world would I do that? You’re... what, like, a thousand?”

He winced with exaggerated offense. “Not quite.”

You shook your head, “Don’t get me wrong, you’re… attractive. In that polished, middle-aged politician kind of way.” 

“Wow, really digging the knife in now. And for the record, I’m forty five.”

“I just don’t see how this helps me.”

He set his glass down, folded his hands, and turned toward you. The amusement left his face, replaced by something quieter like intention.

“Because I can give them exactly what they want. A man who speaks their language. Brunches, art auctions, opening nights. I understand the performance. I know how to present well. You let them believe you’ve finally come to your senses, and perhaps the pressure eases. Perhaps your father gives you back those accounts of yours.”

You frowned, suddenly wary. “And in return?”

He paused for a beat. ““In return, you help me shift the spotlight. Keep Camilla out of the tabloids for a while. If people are busy watching me with a girl like you, they’re not digging into her while she gets the help she needs.”

There it was. A girl like you.

You stared at him, something sharp and sour curdling behind your ribs.

“Oh, I see. Because I’m already such a disaster, so what’s one more headline? One more joke?” you stood, grabbing your phone and snatching your black clutch bag, “What’s one more public humiliation for the girl everyone already thinks is a braindead waste of space. Perfect to hide your family dirt behind, right?”

“Wait—”

“No, fuck you, Harry.”

You shoved your chair back hard enough to scrape against the floor, tossing your napkin onto the bar without looking at him. Your heels struck the glossy wooden floor with every step, each one echoing louder than the last, the heat in your chest pulsing toward your throat as you walked out.

Throwing open the door to your bedroom, you flung yourself onto the bed without bothering to take off your shoes. Your body landed hard before sinking into the plush silk duvet, letting it swallow you whole. The room was so quiet, so clean and polished and perfect, everything you felt like you weren’t. Everything you were supposed to be. Your breath hitched once, then again, and then you were really crying. Hot, furious tears spilling into your pillow like a little girl. 

Because of course that’s all anyone ever saw now. A spoiled, stupid, dramatic, disposable little girl. The perfect distraction, the party girl. Always staying out late, showing up on Gossip Girl’s headlines day in and day out, always saying the wrong thing at events and making it all look so effortlessly trashy. You were nothing but a walking headline in designer heels to them, and it hurt. It really fucking hurt.

Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you threw it clear across the room before even bothering a single glance. It bounced off your pile of half-unpacked Chanel shopping bags from two weeks ago and landed face-up on the floor. A second later, it lit up again. This time, Blair.

You peeked over the side of your bed to look as the notifications came in.

You sniffled, wiped your eyes with the sleeve of your cardigan, and hit call before you could stop yourself.

“Finally,” Blair answered exasperatedly, “I’ve had to watch you get publicly dragged across the entire internet without your commentary, and you completely ditched me today! Where have you been?”

You didn’t say anything at first, trying to soften the tightness in your throat.

“...Hello?”

“B…” you choked.

There was a pause, then her voice softened. “Aw, babe.”

You laid back, pressing your hand to your forehead while you let everything spill out of you. “Everyone thinks I’m a joke. My parents are going to cut me off, I just stormed out on Harry Castillo, Chuck is texting me for fucking drugs again.” you breathed in shakily, “And I’m so sorry about Greece, B.” 

“What the hell were you doing with Harry?” Blair said, and you could picture her perfectly scrunched nose and ruby red lips pulling into a grimace, “Well, you have always had a flair for theatrics,” she said with a sigh, then quickly added, “but no one pulls off self-destruction in vintage Galliano quite like you.”

You let out a soft, wet, miserable laugh.

Blair sighed again through the phone, “Okay, listen, you are not a joke. Maybe a little dramatic, maybe a little insane and allergic to consequences, but you’re not a mess. I don’t care about Greece, I just care that you’re okay. We’ve all been through one thing or another. Do you remember when Gossip Girl told everyone I’d slept with both Nate and Chuck in one week? I threatened to move to France over it!”

You leaned back against the headboard, breathing slow. “God, yeah, that was so long ago I totally forgot.”

“Exactly. So go dry your tears, put on a hair mask, and for God’s sake, block Chuck’s number again please.”

“Do you wanna talk about why you were mad at him at your party?”

“Not today. We’re talking about you right now.”

You nodded even though she couldn’t see it. “Okay. Thanks, B.”

“Don’t let these jerks decide who you are, okay?” she said with a softness that she rarely let anyone see, “You’re not just what people post about. You’re my best friend and actually a good person, which none of these assholes can say about themselves.”

You smiled, watery and grateful. “Love you,”

“Love you more, babe.”

You hung up with a breath of something close to relief. For a moment, the silence was still, but less crushing.

You stared at your phone, swiping through your contacts and hesitating before you pressed Harry Castillo.

It rang once, and then again as you held your breath.

“Hey, kid,” he answered, “Listen, I’m so sorry—”

“Are you busy tomorrow morning?”

There was a pause.

“I can… move some things around,” he said slowly, “Why?”

You glanced out the window at the Manhattan skyline still lit up in its usual cold, glittering arrogance. “Meet me at Sant Ambroeus. Upper East Side. Nine.”

There was another pause before you heard a low exhale through the phone.

“Alright,” he said. “I’ll be there.”

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comment below to be added for the next chapter!

[wardenparker]

The Unbearable Weight of Perfection, ch 12

Javi Gutierrez x female reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When an accident of fate throws Javi G into the path of his soulmate, his instinct is to dive in head first. Adjusting to life as the fated partner of someone you barely know is going to be harder than either of you suspect, but anything worth having is worth working for. Isn't it?

(This story is heavily inspired by the lovely house museums that I work in every day and the fantastic few months that HBO was using our houses to film a TV show in fall! I spent each day on that set in wonder and I can't wait to share the experience with all of you through this story.)

Rating: E for Explicit! 18+ Word Count: 9.2k Warnings: *Blanket warnings for this story include: Cursing, alcohol, food, references to abusive family members -- i.e. Lucas, discussion of money/finances.* Morning sex, vaginal sex, unprotected sex, lovemaking, sex for procreation, low level breeding kink. Clothing descriptions are not meant to imply body types. Summary: The long-awaited premiere of the film that brought you and Javi together will bring more surprises along the way. Notes: It seems as though we are only a few chapters from the end, my dears! Stay tuned for updates about whose soulmate story is coming next and thank you so much to the faithful few still reading along with Javi's story!

Ch 1 ~ Ch 2 ~ Ch 3 ~ Ch 4 ~ Ch 5 ~ Ch 6 ~ Ch 7 ~ Ch 8 ~ Ch 9 ~ Ch 10 ~ Ch 11

Thursday, February 12, 2026

The best and only perfect way to start each morning is, in your opinion, lying tangled and panting in your soulmate’s arms in your bed after sleepy, lazy morning sex that turns into something so needy and passionate that the only words you remember are yes and his name. But you can’t stay here all day. Not today, anyway. Today you have a full day of spa treatments and pampering scheduled to prepare for the premiere of his movie tomorrow night. Today you have a schedule. And that schedule starts with the car that will be picking you up in half an hour.

“Are you sure you have to go?” Javi pouts prettily, even as he is clinging to you as you drag yourself out of the bed. “I can pamper you, amor.” He’s teasing, mostly, but he’s always a little clingy after a needy bout of lovemaking.

“Mi cielo, you are the one that booked this trip for me,” you remind him, leaning into his touch with just as much tenderness. If you did not have to shower off the smell of sex, you would simply lie here that much longer. “The girls do not need me.” Although it would be a shame to miss out on. You haven’t seen Tamara in almost a month and Billie hadn’t made it to the last Margs and Nachos girls’ night.

“No, they do.” He huffs and shakes his head as he rolls over you and gets out of the bed on your side to tug you to your feet. “We must shower.” He winks at you. “You smell like sweat and my cum.”

“But that’s my favourite smell.” The pout you send him is just enough to get him to pause to kiss you, and that has you humming happily as you trail into your bathroom together. “Last interviews are today, mi amor?” He has been summoned to join the press junket this week leading up to the premiere, and to Javi’s extreme delight the last day of junket interviews are taking place at the museum so a specific set of reporters can be shown the house that inspired the film.

“Yes.” He opens the shower door to turn on the water before he smirks at you. “I have requested the interviews be done in the room we met in.”

“Really?” Your expression softens immediately, eyes widening slightly, and he grins as he pulls you into the shower with him.

“Yes.” He had been specific about to, and the producers have been more than amenable to his suggestions since two of the three stars, plus the screenwriter, have found their soulmates because of this movie. “It’s important to me.”

“You’re important to me.” With everything that has happened in the last almost-year of your lives, you and Javi are still in the honeymoon phase of your relationship and cherishing every second. “Te amo, mi alma.”

“Te amo.” It’s a simple sentiment, but both of you have come to enjoy the little affirmations and reassurances, even if both of you are secure in your relationship. Neither one of you wishes to let the other feel unappreciated for even a moment. He reaches for your soap and the gloves that he wears when he washes your body for you. Preferring them to a poofy loofa.

The shower cap you keep in the spacious shower is mandatory today, as you’ve been strictly instructed on how to care for your hair and skin by Tracy and Tandy in advance of the premiere. It will only be the second time they’ve ever made you up but they’re excited that you asked. There is no one you could possibly trust more, and Moira and Jason are coming over to share the experience of getting ready together.

“Are you planning on having lunch at the spa or having it delivered in?” Javi had left that up to you when he had set up the day, not sure what kind of diets you would be dealing with.

“We all looked at the restaurant at the spa and decided we liked the menu,” you assure him. “We’re aiming for this day to be relaxing as possible.”

“Then you should absolutely have a few cocktails from the bar as you are pampered.” Between the scrubbing and peeling, there is also massages and more massages. He wanted you to feel like a princess when you are done. You deserve it for all your hard work lately in designing and making the outfits for the premiere.

“Knowing us it will something fruity and lots of yapping while we’re in treatments.” Your fingers trace his jaw gently and you press a soft kiss to his lips. “Thank you for this, amor. You know I’m nervous and time with my friends will help so much.”

“You deserve it.” He promises, kissing you again because one kiss is never enough.

“Tomorrow is so important for you. I want it to be perfect.” And it will be. If you have anything to say, at least.

******

“I cannot believe he rented a car to take us.” Billie huffs, even as she throws her arms around you when you pull up to her and Alex’s home to retrieve her. She’s the last one to be picked up since she lives the closest to the spa.

“Since when does Javi ever shirk when it comes to his wife?” Tamara poses, giggling as you pull your cousin into the limo. “I don’t mind riding the wave of generosity at all.”

Moira grins, leaning back beside the movie star. “You don’t mind missing the last day of the junket, either.”

“Not at all.” She snorts, rolling her eyes. “I get all the fashion questions, and I’m tired of answering the same ones six hundred different ways and not demand better questions.” It also stings slightly when everyone else is asked about meeting their soulmates and the subtle apologetic tone towards her was starting to rub her raw.

“You’ll have a far better day with us.” Billie promises. The car is moving again as soon as the door is closed and all four of you sigh happily. “Besides. We’re bonding with our designer,” she flashes you a grin. All three of them are wearing dresses designed and made by you for the premiere.

“They are amazing.” Moira gushes, all three women did their last fitting yesterday and there was nothing that needed to be changed. They are perfect. “Have you decided on a brand name?” She asks softly, ready to shout to the heavens what she is wearing and who made it.

“Not yet.” You’re almost dreading the red carpet tomorrow for this exact question.

“What are the top three choices?” She asks, knowing you and Javi have been talking about it.

“When we were kids, we used to want to run a clothing store called Button Up Buttercup.” Billie grins at the memory. “Not that I’m suggesting that. But I’m gonna tell everyone about it when you’re famous.”

“I’m not going to be famous,” you wave off that daunting thought even though the memory is sweet. “We haven’t really come up with a top three, but Javi thinks it should have some kind of historical flair since that’s where a lot of my inspiration comes from. We keep tossing around words like modiste or seamestre. Old words for dressmakers.”

“Modiste de Amor” Tamara almost sighs the moniker out, a soft smile on her face. The clothing was born out of love and is made with love, so it’s fitting in her mind.

"Weren't modistes specifically dressmakers and milliners for women?" Moira, ever on point, chews over the historical implications of the word. "You make clothes for men, too...and..." she grins slightly guiltily. "It will make people think of Bridgerton."

“I think it’s perfect.” Billie agrees. “A hippy romance period vibe.”

"What about..." It's you chewing this time. Chewing on your lip as you consider things back and forth and sideways. "What about just...Del Amor? Or even Con Amor? Almost like the label is the signing of a love letter?"

The other three women immediately start agreeing. Erupting into coos and sighs of happiness as they squeal in excitement for you. This is happening.

"The logo should look like a love letter!" Moira exclaims, practically squealing with excitement.

"With a little wax stamp." Billie agrees immediately. "Go full historical vibe."

“Ohhhhh what if the packaging for the outfits includes a wax seal on the tissue paper?” Tamara asks. “Or the ribbon on the box?”

The suggestion has made you a little misty, and suddenly you can't stop grinning. "That would be absolutely gorgeous."

“Del Amor.” Moira sighs. “Honey…it’s so you.” She promises. “Everything about this. And you know Javi will shout his pride from the rooftops.” She snorts. “As will I.”

"We all will," Tamara promises. "You're going to get so many requests after the premiere, babe. I know you will."

"Maybe. Maybe not." Honestly? You're trying not to get your hopes up too high. The disappointment would feel too much like your mother being right and you absolutely cannot have that. "What matters to me is that you guys and Javi and Jason love what you're wearing. The rest will happen the way it's supposed to."

“I am obsessed.” Moira gushes. Everyone had decided to keep their individual dresses a secret, even from each other. You had been a great sport and played along. Keeping them separate when fitting the dresses. “I’m going to be feel like a queen on that red carpet.”

"I really hope so." It isn't far to the spa from Billie's house, and you can already feel the car swinging off the highway again even though it's been practically no time at all. You're so nervous about tomorrow that your friends' excitement is exactly the tonic you need to combat it.

The next few minutes are a blur of spilling out of the limo into the spa to check in. Being treated like royalty as soon as your name is spoken, so it’s apparent that Javier had tipped the staff generously already.

The first place you are brought is to a changing room where you are encouraged to undress to your comfort level and given soft, fluffy robes to keep that are embroidered with the spa's logo. All four of you brought swimsuits, so you change into them and put on your robes, then follow the very sweet girl who is obviously starstruck by meeting Tamara. She brings you to the whirlpool and tells you to sit back and relax, and to enjoy the drinks provided on a tray nearby. It's fresh, cool water with cucumber and mint, and that is the perfect way to start out this day.

“How did Javier know about this place?” Moria asks, sipping the water and sighing happily as she sinks into the warm, bubbly water.

"He said a friend recommended it." The temperature of the water is perfect when you slide in and you hum with that same satisfied happiness that Moira does. "So I can only assume Olivia must come here. Nick sends her for a full spa day every Mother's day."

“Now that’s just a little bug that we need to put in Jason and Alex’s ears for when we have kids.” Billie smirks as she waggles her brows at you. “Right?”

"I say it's got to be standard," you agree with a smirk as you lean back in the whirlpool. "One by one, we all get added to the Mother's Day spa roster as we have kids."

“Can I join as the wine Aunt?” Tamara snorts, smirking slightly behind her glass of cucumber water.

"Hey." Billie waggles a finger at her playfully. "There is still time and I refuse to give up on the magic of this movie. We will find your soulmate because of it. We have until next awards season to still claim the magic."

“That’s a pretty generous timeframe.” She snorts, giggling to hide her doubts. She hadn’t found her soulmate yet, she doubts a longer timeframe to awards season will help. It’s not fair to bring clouds to your sunny days so she winks at you all playfully. “You’re on.”

“You’re going to get nominated for this movie.” Moira is absolutely sure of it. “Which means if you meet anyone at the Golden Globes or the Oscar’s, that’s still because of it.”

“You’re right.” She chuckles softly. “We will see.”

"What do you want your soulmate to be like?" It's a topic that has never been breached before, because none of you wanted to rub your happiness in her face. But really? Why shouldn't you all be helping your friend find her universe-sanctioned other half? It's your privilege and duty as people who care about her.

She takes a sip of her water and sighs. “Someone who’s willing to put up with the shit we deal with.” She admits. “Supportive and no offense, not another actor.” She shrugs. “I’ve seen too many couples try to compete with each other and start to resent success.”

"No offense to be taken here," you remind her gently. "You need someone to support you, not compete with you. That's more than fair." After all, what you and Billie and Moira have found out together is that having Hollywood soulmates is as stressful as it is luxurious. You may be sitting in a spa together right now, but this is as a result of months upon months of twelve-to-sixteen hour work days framed by frustration and exhaustion. There's travel, and you can't always go with them. There's plenty of time apart that you have to be secure in your relationship to be able to withstand. Not everyone is built for that. "When you find them, they're going to be so, so lucky to have you, honey."

“Fabulous me.” She titters, rolling her eyes playfully. “I just want someone…real.”

"You'll find them." Moira reaches over and squeezes her hand. "If it happened for all of us, it can happen for you, too."

“I’m not worried about that.” She lies, waving her hand with Moria’s. “Right now, I’m thinking about this premiere.” She giggles. “It’s gonna be amazing.”

"Javi's still upset that we're only having the after party at the museum and not the whole premiere." He had campaigned hard for it, but ultimately the producers wanted a traditional red carpet at a movie theater for the screening, and agreed to having the after party at Hazelwood House. It will be the last movie-related big hurrah for the museum, though you and Moira have helped Leslie develop a Behind the Scenes style guided tour for fans of the film that may visit.

“I swear that he would buy the museum if he could.” Tamara snorts, a little relieved that the subject has been shifted away from her absent soulmate. It has been weighing on her for nearly two years and the last thing she wants is for her worry about not meeting them to cast a cloud over this exciting time for you all. You have become some of her dearest friends.

"Well sure." Billie grins. "Just look at the house he built her!"

Everyone starts to chatter about the house, each woman almost as in love with the concept as you are. Although you hadn’t let them inside yet, wanting to keep it a surprise for when you have your big housewarming.

"It's so close to being done." There are some things that will be on going projects after you move in. The real bulk of the work is done, what's left is detail work and finishing touches. Appliances, furniture, fabrics, all of that is being delivered in just a few short weeks. "I can't wait for you guys to see it."

“Alex has been so looking forward to seeing it.” Billie admits. “He’s been talking about snatching your designer from you after the project is over based on what Javi has shown him.”

"No!" Tamara gasps in concern. "Please tell me you guys aren't gutting that big, beautiful house you just bought?"

“No.” She shakes her head quickly. “He wants to keep a lot of the features.” She grins. “He wants a pool house like you guys have. Not quite as big.”

"Their pool house is a whole-ass house." Moira teases, though it's entirely lighthearted. She's so glad of the happiness you've found. That great big house sounds far too overwhelming to her.

“What about you and Jason?” Tamara asks. “I know he was renting a place. Have you two decided if you’re gonna buy?”

"We're looking at a couple of places." Instantly, Moira is lit up and blushing. "Small places. We just want a starter place, if we're lucky enough to find one. While he's building his career and before we have a family."

“Ohhhh you should definitely ask Alex for our realtor’s information!” Billie tells her. “He was amazing and really listened to what we wanted.”

"If you still have his card, I'll happily take a recommendation." That would make their lives a hell of a lot easier. Real estate websites can only do so much.

“Absolutely. As soon as we get back to our purses.” Billie promises. All your belongings had been left in secure lockers in the changing room.

“For now, we relax.” And you do not mind that one bit. Not at all.

******

“I am nervous.” Javi admits, always feeling a little ill right before the premiere of one of his works. His hands shake slightly as he straightens his shirt.

“I know. But I’m right here.” The car that the studio sent to ferry you around tonight is comfortable but not extravagant. It will simply blend in with all the other black luxury cars arriving at the premiere. “I’ll be right by your side no matter what, amor.”

“What if they hate it?” That worry had kept him from sleeping last night. You had been asleep in his arms but he hadn’t been able to sleep more than twenty minutes at a time.

"Then they're fools with no taste." While you can't guarantee him that audiences will love his beautiful love story, you can assure him that anyone with sense will. The car creeps forward one more space and you glance out the window. You're next. "No matter what, remember that the people who made this movie love it as much as you and I do."

Javi takes a deep breath, your hand in his helps more than you ever know and he squeezes it gently. “Thank you for being here with me.”

"I will never be anywhere else," you promise him. One more squeeze of your joined hands and careful kiss is managed in the car, and you take a deep breath together before the door opens. "Ready, amor?"

“Ready.” The clicking of cameras isn’t as crazy as it would be, not right at the start. There’s a few flashes of light. Javi doesn’t mind that. He’s not a celebrity. Sliding out of the car and helping you out with gentlemanly aplomb, he hears the whispers start to build.

The press junket had talked a lot about your love story so you’re not entirely surprised to have the flashes pointed at you. You hold Javi’s hand on the carpet while he gets his bearings and then happily settle into wrapping your hand around his arm to walk together. Only a few people are here before you bit you know this walk will be long and slow — with plenty of stops to pose for photos and answers reporter’s questions.

It’s grounding to have you with him, and fitting. So fitting like the way you have seamlessly slotted into his heart and very soul. Fitting into his life all just as perfectly as the custom clothes you had made for him.

His suit, sans jacket, looks far better than you had originally envisioned. Javi was involved in the process of creating it and in the process of tailoring it so that every stitch and seam lay perfectly. He looks like a dream in black and red, with his curls immaculately styled and that bright smile on his face. If you weren’t wearing a flood of bright red liquid silk as deep and unctuous as your lipstick, you would have been riding him in the car on the way here.

“Javi! Javi!” The first reporter, one that had been very giggly and excited to meet him at the junket, is the first in line. “You are here! You are stunning!” She gushes, her microphone actually the same color as her dress, coordinated to perfection. “How are you feeling tonight?” Javi lights up even more, his face a wave of excitement, anticipation and happiness. “Like I’m on top of the world!” He promises with a laugh, the anxiety melting away. He might not be an actor, but he has the ability to push aside personal worries to perform. He’s done it all his life but this time, the rewards are more than just safety and peace. “My movie is premiering, I’m escorting my gorgeous soulmate, and…” he lifts his brows, aware that he is giving her the scoop of the night. “Modeling her clothing line.”

“How fantastic!” The reporter’s gorgeous curls bounce as she turns to you with bright curiosity. “Who are you designing for?” She asks, assuming you must have been picked up by a major design house. Not couture, surely, although the suit does look splendid.

“Myself.” You expected a question like that, and smile warmly despite being terrified to actually talk to the press about this for the first time. “These pieces are designed by me and made by hand from start to finish. Javi’s suit, my dress, and a few other pieces tonight…they’re all just the start.” He had helped you print business cards last night after you got home from the spa — simple little things but you’d gotten out your wax kit and sealed each business card with a piece of gold ribbon and a red wax seal. When you hand one over to this first reporter, it becomes official. You have a brand now.

Her mouth drops open in a surprised ‘o’ shape, eyes wide as she takes a closer look at your outfits. “That is- please- spin around for the camera!” She insists.

Javi insists you go first, holding your arm at length like he's spinning you slowly on a dance floor. The reporter generously Oo's and Ah's at your gown before once again admiring Javi's outfit when he turns for the camera as well.

"You made these entirely yourself?" She asks, obviously impressed.

"I did." And now, in the face of her admiration, you feel both pleased beyond measure and so awed that reality seemed to hit all in an instant.

You and you husband are standing on a red carpet wearing bespoke couture by you. This is your literal dream come true.

“She did.” Javi gushes. “She wanted a romantic look, one that has very old school vibes, just like our movie but brought forward into the modern world.” He kisses the back of your hand.

“A few other guests will be wearing my designs tonight.” You offer it to her like a morsel of sweet gossip, as though the pact amongst you didn’t already include the promise that your friends would be sure to name your designs with pride. After each of those conversations had been had, you had gone home and wept with gratitude and love. Tonight you’ll most likely do the same.

“Who?” She asks, delighted to have a spin on a premiere that no one else has quite yet. You bite your lip and Javi grins. “Why don’t you guess?” He asks her with a playful tone. “When the cast arrives.”

“I’ll just ask everyone I talk to,” she half-jokes. But it’s only half. She now has an advanced tip on reporting this premiere that could prove very important. Or at least buzzworthy.

“I think you’ll find her exceptional work to stand out.” Javi predicts with a wink.

“I look forward to seeing it.” She nearly giggles at the prospect and waves you down the carpet with a smile.

“I think that went well.” He hums proudly. The reporter, Kristy, had seemed thrilled about the outfits and that you had personally sewn each one. It adds a playful mystery to this happy day.

“Hopefully she likes the rest of the clothes and writes about it.” It’s not as though you just picked the first reporter you came across. Not at all. Choosing to hand your very first business card to the reporter from E! was strategic.

“Oh, I think that she absolutely will.” Javi looks over his shoulder to see her in a deep conversation with her camera man.

"Fingers crossed." As you glide down the carpet together, you slide your hand into the crook of his arm again and grin. "You look so good, amor. If I didn't know how much work this outfit took, I'd be ripping it off of you tonight."

“I will very carefully strip out of it for you later.” He promises with a chuckle. “Although you designed your dress to not need my help getting you out of it.” He pouts slightly but it had been a practical necessity, and he finds the side zipper to be very sexy for some reason.

"Just because I don't need your help," you murmur as you walk arm in arm. "Doesn't mean I don't want it."

“That is good to know.” He teases, smiling and leaning into you as you make your way to the next reporter.

The cycle repeats itself with the next few reporters. The chatting, the surprise, the spins, and then you hand over your card. By the time you hit the fourth journalist, the whispers have spread. The word is rippling through the crowd, and your cheeks are burning with nerves and excitement.

“Everyone is staring at your gorgeous dress.” Javi whispers to you, almost more excited for you than he is for himself. It is rare that the screenwriter gets much attention, he is only famous for the crazy true action drama with Nick. So he is eager to see what unfolds.

“I hope they’re not just wondering who the crazy lady is who got really dressed up,” you murmur back, even through a smile. A photographer nearby is sitting for you to turn toward him and offer a beaming smile in an effort to suppress your nerves.

“Baby, you are shining like a star in the sky.” He murmurs softly, laughing as he grabs you to spin you around on the red carpet to make you gasp. It’s recorded and photographed, and he knows it will be a hit, but he does it to make you laugh as he drags you close to him to kiss you.

That clip will be plastered all over the internet for days and weeks to come, but right now all you care about is sinking into the softness and the joy of being caught up in his arms. Showing the world how much you love your amazing husband is easy. It's almost as effortless as how you fell in love with him in the first place. All the hard and scary and uncertain moments melt away when the world narrows down to just you and him. The weight of expectation and the perception of false perfection slides right off of your shoulders.

Javi hears the shouted questions, the demands to do it again or turn and pose for the cameras, but he just kisses you once more and starts to dance with you right there. A slow little move that makes every romantic sigh a little.

From somewhere in the distance you could swear you hear music, but it's probably just the magic of the moment. You dismiss the thought well before looking around (you have no desire to take your eyes off of your soulmate) and so you never see Alex standing off to the side with his phone out, playing Ella Fitzgerald's Someone to Watch Over Me loud enough to be recognized. All you know is Javi is turning you right there on that long, red carpet and you never want it to end.

Alex grins, looking at the reporters. “They do this alllllll the time.” He confides. “The sappiest couple ever. Besides me and Billie.”

"Is it true that this film brought together four soulmate couples?" The young reporter on the carpet is wearing a badge that marks them from an online publication that specializes in soulmate love stories and they look positively starry-eyed.

“Yes.” Alex bobbles his head happily. “Of course, our wonderful writer, Javi Gutierrez and my best friend.” He grins when he says that. “Then we had one of our production assistants match with his mechanic.” He motions to Jason and Moira who have just arrived behind him. “Those two because Moira works at the house where we filmed. And then Billie and myself.” His hand wraps proudly around his wife’s waist. “Who knows who else might meet because of this movie?”

"Which one of your co-stars would you most like to see meet their soulmate next?" She has a microphone out to record every conversation she has tonight, but she can see this being the highlight of whatever she writes.

“Tamara for sure.” Alex murmurs immediately. “Whoever shares marks with her, rest assured you are getting the sweetest, most talented, brilliant woman that they could hope for.” He tells her and looks at the camera as he talks. “It was amazing to work with all my co-stars, and we’ve become lifelong friends.”

"Is that so?" It's something one hears from actors on a film every so often, but this young reporter is still new enough to be impressed by it. "So you think family dinners and lawn games are in the future for all of you together?"

“Oh absolutely.” Alex nods. “We are all bound by this movie in a beautiful way. My soulmate is Javi’s wife’s cousin and Jason’s is her best female friend.” He winks. “Because I’m her best male friend.” He chuckles and then stops to think about it. “Actually, come to think about it, she is the center of all of this.”

“Just because she knew everyone first?” The reporter asks, prompting him along.

“Not just because of that.” He shakes his head. “She also designed the outfits for tonight.” He beams as he tugs his wife closer. “Right, baby?” Billie has been quiet because she’s a little overwhelmed, but he’s wanting to bring her into the conversation.

"Several of them, yes." This is something that Billie can talk about comfortably, and she squeezes Alex's hand subtly in gratitude. This is precisely the right time to bring her into the conversation. "My dress, her own, Javi's suit, and the outfits for Jason Grant and his wife, Moira." She grins at Alex in amusement. "I think that's the next endorsement contract you're going to go over, isn't it babe?" He had pouted about still being under another designer's contract until spring was out. It was actually pretty cute.

“Absolutely.” Alex has no problem admitting that and if Tom Ford didn’t like that, they could sue him. The suit he is wearing tonight is nice, but it’s not nearly anything like the dress his wife is wearing. “Did you know she also made Billie’s wedding dress?” He asks the reporter. “Genius, pure genius.”

“You wouldn’t have a photo, would you?” The reporter hopes they can get a good close up or even a copy of the photo itself.

“Oh I always carry a photo of my beautiful wife.” Alex might be in the running for People’s Sexiest Man Alive for the second year in a row, but he’s become Billie’s greatest cheerleader. He pulls out his phone. “No peeking.” He teases before opening the device to his album of wedding photos. A few had leaked, but not many.

The photos are stunning and well posed, but she focuses on the bride’s dress and audibly sighs. “It’s—you look like you stepped out of a painting.”

“She didn’t even know it was going to be my wedding dress, but it was just perfect.” Billie gushes.

“It’s absolutely stunning.” She agrees, practicing cooing at the images as Alex shows her one or two more pictures from the day.

“Oh!” He perks up and takes a card out of his jacket pocket to hand to the young woman with the microphone. “This is her. Her line, I mean.”

“You almost forgot.” Billie laughs as she slaps his arm affectionately.

“I got excited,” he defends, leaning over to kiss his soulmate’s cheek. “I love showing off our wedding pictures.”

“I know you do.” That earns him a smile and a small peck on the lips. “He loves showing them. To everyone. Even our driver on the way here.”

“Remind me how long it’s been now?” The reporter asks. She knows it’s her job to know, but truthfully she hasn’t kept track.

“Five months and one day.” Alex supplies immediately with a beaming smile. “We are planning on celebrating our six-month anniversary with our actual honeymoon.”

“Any hints about where you’ll be going?” It’s a long shot, but she has to ask.

He chuckles and shrugs. “We’ll see.” He says vaguely. “My wife is a free spirit, so it could be anywhere.”

“What he means,” Billie teases, thinking fast on her feet. “Is that he let me pick because he wanted to be surprised.” She softly bids the reporter goodbye so they can glide along the red carpet, and Billie looks up to Alex and throws him a wink. “There’s plenty more people to talk to, baby. We’ve got to spread the love around.”

“It’s fun, isn’t it?” He asks, squeezing her hand gently as he grins at her.

“It’s a lot,” Billie admits. She’s holding tight to his arm for support but still laughing. “I don’t know how you do this as often as you do, but…it’s not not fun.”

“I’m a people person.” He reminds her with a shrug as he looks around and guides her towards the next reporter. “I love this.”

"Extroverts," she huffs playfully, rolling her eyes."

“Of course.” He snorts, leaning in and nudging her nose with his. Something that is also photographed to be published, the article talking about how in love Alex Powell is. “We have to counter balance our introvert soulmates.”

"Black cat wives for golden retriever husbands," Moira jokes as she and Jason catch up to them.

“Isn’t it great?” There is a back slapping hug between the co-stars and grins. “How are you two?”

"Great, glowing, giddy," Alex lists off the words like a checklist and leans down to kiss Moira's cheek just like Jason does for Billie.

“You look amazing.” Billie gushes to Moria as she hugs her friend again. “Me?” Look at you!” Moria squeals.

Moira's pink cocktail dress is a perfect copy of the blue one that you wore to Alex and Billie's wedding, with wide sleeves that hang off her shoulders and a cinched waist to accent her stunning hourglass figure. The embellishments are what make it unique — the pearl jewelry that offsets the antique-inspired lace belt at her waist, and the creamy pink and pearl pumps on her feet. Even her clutch is pearly white to bring the look together.

Jason, as though he needed to be complementary else he would combust, is in a soft dove gray two-button suit with Gatsby-inspired pink pinstripes. His pink tie is handmade from the same material as Moira's dress, and his cufflinks are pearl to match her accessories. They look positively enchanting together. A full contrast to the rich purple, Basque waist gown that you had designed for Billie. With silver accessories, she looks like she'll shimmer by moonlight.

“I cannot believe that we are here!” Moria whispers, looking around at the clicking cameras and hundreds of people staring them.

"See?" Alex asks brightly, grinning at his friends. "It's fun!"

“Fun for us.” Jason chuckles as he moves back to Moira’s side as if connected by magnet.

"How many cards have you guys given out?" Moira asks excitedly. In her little clutch purse she still has at least a dozen.

“Alex has given out one to the reporters.” Billie teases him. “I still have mine, but he can give those out too.”

"We have to keep some for people we talk to inside, and anybody who wants one at the after party," Alex reasons, pouting animatedly at his wife for teasing.

“That’s a good point.” Jason agrees. “Especially when other actors come up to admire your dresses.”

"She's going to have so much work she won't know what to do with herself." Moira giggles, bubbling over with happiness tonight and feeling like the totally new-to-her situation is giving her unexpected adrenaline.

“Javi has already started talking about her having more help.” Alex snorts.

"She's going to need a whole staff before too long." Billie smiles, looking a little too pleased with herself. "It's a good thing she's already got one more set of hands on deck."

Moira tilts her head. “Who?”

The smile on Billie's face grows just a little, and she beams like she's been keeping this secret for ages. In reality, it's only been a few weeks. "Me," she tells them and giggles when they look shocked and excited immediately. "She's the genius, but I'm pretty handy with patterns and the business end of things. And a website. She tried to put up her own website and it was a disaster, but I've been helping her fix it."

“That’s amazing!” Moira can’t even sew a button on straight, but she admires anyone who can. “Let me know if I can help any way besides with a needle and thread.”

“I’m sure there will be plenty of things.” Billie knows more about running a business than you do, and you’ve always been a more creative artist with fabrics. Between the two — and maybe three — of you? This little business could grow up fast.

“Right now, we need be to models.” Moira points out with a grin. “So let’s go model.”

******

"Oh my god!" One by one the cars pulled up outside Hazelwood House for the after party, but the view from the car was like looking at a shooting star through a magnifying glass. The entire property is lit up with twinkle lights, there are live musicians littered around the grounds, and a uniformed staff of caterers are standing lined up with tray of champagne glasses at the front door to welcome every guest with a drink before they even hit the front door.

Javi laughs as he watches your eyes light up in excitement. “It seems like everyone has accepted the invitation.” He muses.

"It's incredible!" You cling to his arm happily, your face lit up in wonder as you walk up to the house you know so well. So much has changed since the film crew turned up on site almost a year ago, but you wouldn't trade it for the world. Not when every single thing has been so wonderful. "I doubt this house has seen a party like this in decades."

“They wanted to keep it very much in the time period.” The first reviews are out and it’s going to be a smash hit. They are talking box office records. So it was fitting the party to celebrate was over the top.

“It’s perfect.” One of the young men in uniform hands you a glass and you thank him, smiling when he then hands one over to Javi. “You had your nose in your phone for half the ride, mi amor. Are you going to tell me what the reviews say?”

“‘Hit of the summer’.” He quotes with a grin. “‘Masterful storytelling. and ‘a compelling love triangle’.” He practically giggles. “I think they like it.”

“Javi!” You have to be careful not to dose him in champagne when you throw your arm around his neck to hug him, but there are tears in your eyes when you pull back. “You deserve every second of praise, love. You wrote an incredible film.”

“You helped.” He whispers against your lips. “Both when I was writing it and when it was being filmed.” You don’t give yourself enough credit, but you have been the steadying anchor throughout all of this and he loves that you are so supportive.

“If the one thing I can claim to be in life is your muse, I will be a very happy and very proud woman,” you murmur, kissing him back one more endless time.

“I want you to socialize tonight.” He murmurs. “A lot of people will be here.” He smiles as he nods towards the car where an eccentric actor just popped out. “Dieter made it.” He hums happily.

Everyone who paid attention to tabloids heard the story of Dieter Bravo coming together with his soulmate, and everyone who watched the Oscars two years ago saw his on-air proposal. She's at his side tonight, as she always is, radiant in a black satin dress that compliments Dieter's three-piece black suit with all his stylized black jewelry.

"His stylist has been doing monochrome lately," you whisper to Javi, trying not to be obvious in looking at the actor to see his clothing at a glance. "He wears it so well."

“Hmmmmm.” He chuckles softly. “Dieter could be an amazing model for you.” He nods towards the soulmate smiling at him. “And her. She’s gotten contracts from what I’ve heard. And she’s an artist.”

"I've always wondered about working with painted fabrics..." you hum, feeling a little bashful about the idea but excitable all at once.

“Would you like me to introduce you?” He asks you with a grin when your eyes widen. “I met them at the Oscar after party last year.”

"It couldn't hurt..." Eager and nervous, that's how you've felt all night long, and you cling to Javi's arm as elegantly as you can and still have it qualify as clinging. "Right?”

“Absolutely.” Javi lifts his hand. “Dieter!” He calls out, smiling when the actor’s head turns his way. He’s sober still and gives the credit to his soulmate.

“Javi.” When Dieter and his soulmate reach your side, you can see his suit is threaded with gray just like his sparse but styled beard. It’s surprisingly stately. “Fuckin amazing film, man.”

“Thanks.” Every praise is enough to make him blush but he shakes the actor’s hand. “Maybe one day you’ll star in one of them? Hmm?”

“Got the next one written yet?” Dieter grins. “Turns out winning Oscar’s is fun, and I have a feeling your films are gonna be a good way to do that.”

“Have one already putting the polish on and another one in the chamber.” Javi admits, pulling you close. “Also, let me introduce you to my soulmate.” He says your name and then introduces you to the couple. “She works at this gorgeous estate. It’s how we met.”

“It’s so nice to meet you.” Shaking hands with Dieter Bravo and his wife is pretty high up there in the list of surreal things you’ve done since meeting Javi, but the movie star introduces you to his wife proudly and you immediately get the sense that this couple feels about each other the way that you and Javi feel. Like you’re lucky just to be around each other.

“I have to say, I heard that you made your dress?” She asks, eyes wide with excitement. “Please say it’s true because it’s gorgeous!”

“I did, actually.” And all at once, your face is hot again and Javi is beaming with pride. “I made Javi’s suit as well.” There are a few cards left in your clutch and you produce one for her with more confidence than you feel.

“Oh that’s amazing.” She’s snatching the card up quickly and examining it with rabid interest. “Dee, isn’t that amazing? I was telling him it was the best dress of the premiere.”

“Well, I can certainly fit you for one just like it, if you want?” The pattern exists now, and you worked through a couple of difficulties in the actual fabrication of the dress, so it shouldn’t be difficult at all to make a second.

Her face lights up in delighted surprise. “Would you?” She asks, interested. “Dieter and I have the annual gala for our charity and I am thinking that it would be perfect.” She admits with a slightly shy smile.

“Why don’t you let me know when you can come by for a meeting?” A phone number and email are both listed on the card, though you had no idea if they would get used or not. It looks like you may have gained one client from tonight and that makes it fully worth all this effort. “It would be my pleasure.”

“Oh absolutely.” She nods with a giant smile on her face. “One thing that I love is how much the celebrity community supports their soulmate’s passions.” Her eyes flit up adoringly to Dieter and her fingers thread through his to bring his hand up to her lips for a kiss.

It’s a far cry from those inflammatory stories you remember reading when Dieter’s soulmate first appeared on the scene, but has you smiling softly and turning your eyes up to Javi beside you. That feeling of complete adoration is one you know all too well. “You’re a painter, right?” The new arrivals are lining the path into the house with gusto and taking the four off you along with them. Inside Hazelwood’s great hall there is plenty more space to talk. “I wonder if I might talk to you about commissioning a painting for our new house.”

“Ohhhhh now you are speaking her language.” Dieter kisses her cheek and motions for Javi to move off to the side with him. “Why don’t we let them talk and you and I can discuss the next Oscar you’re gonna win me.”

******

“I don’t think I’m ever going to sleep again.” When the two of you fall through the front door of your near-replica of Hazelwood House (measurably smaller by virtue of not having a servants’ wing or as many guests rooms) many hours later, you’re flying on pure adrenaline and giddiness. “Is this always how you feel after big parties? No wonder you love them so much.”

“That makes sense, since you were the star of the party tonight.” Javi isn’t the least bit jealous of that, he’s actually filled with pride and gratitude that the cast and crew all celebrated the success of the film and the start of your business together with the grace and enthusiasm they had.

“I was not,” you huff, stepping out of your heels at the front door. Christian Louboutin makes high heels and you’ve been wearing those since five o’clock this evening.

“Amor…” he throws you a doubtful look. You had celebrities and producers alike around you. “You were.”

“It wasn’t that bad.” Still, your face burns with temporary embarrassment and you’re grinning so hard you could erupt into giggles at any second. “Was it?”

“I loved it.” He assures you. “The launch of your brand was a success.” He winks. “We should celebrate by removing the dress that started it all.”

“Is that so?” You hum, but you’re already moving into his arms even as you hum at him.

“You looked delectable all night and I have been good.” He pouts playfully at you. “Even when Dieter snuck off with his soulmate to one of the resting rooms.” Everyone knew why the couple had left and there were some rumors they are expecting their first child.

“You were very well behaved. Even when I knew you didn’t want to be.” The few times you’d caught him not-so-subtly admiring your figure through the night had made you wonder if you would be slinking off to a private moment too, but you’d both behaved admirably.

His fingers find the discreet zipper and he tugs it down. Eager to pull this creation off of you. Not because he doesn’t love it, but because you bare is his favorite way to worship you.

You’re a bit more cautious in undressing him, if only because the nails that the woman gave you at the salon yesterday are longer than you’re used to. It almost makes you wish you hadn’t made his waistcoat double breasted. The extra interior buttons prove difficult to undo.

Javi watches you, wanting to help, but you have that set to your jaw that tells him you want to do this. You had already pouted that you had to get ready separately, so it’s fitting that you strip him down. “Te amo.” He whispers softly, loving smile on his face.

“Te amo.” The last button slips mercifully free and you slide the waistcoat off of his shoulders as you surge up to kiss him. Not a single stitch of these outfits will be tossed to the floor, not after the work you put in with your own two hands, but that doesn’t mean you don’t want it off quickly.

Javi kisses you just as desperately as he does when he is most needy for you. When the desire takes over everything and he groans your name while guiding you blindly into the house towards the suite you had chosen on the main floor.

It’s a big damn house. That is never more apparent than when you’re trying to get to somewhere quickly, and the forty stairs up to the second floor would be far too much right now. Thank God for the decision to put a bedroom suite on the north wing’s first floor. In future it will be for any guests that struggle with stairs. For now? It means you can close the door behind you that much faster as you desperately try to share every ounce of air in your lungs with your husband.

“Baby, I need you.” Javi groans as his hands squeeze your ass, lips trailing along your neck. “Need you so damn bad.”

“Then why are my panties still on?” You can barely push the words out in between kisses, but all of your clothes are now lying draped over the loveseat in your room and the only thing left between you is underwear. “I’m yours, cariño. Take me.”

Your panties are expensive, but Javi doesn’t give a damn. His fingers rip through the fabric like a hot knife through butter and he growls as he drags you over to the bed.

Pulling him down with you means that you land on the mattress in a tangle of limbs, grasping at each other and spreading those endless kisses across the exposed lengths of your bodies.

“Baby,” he whines when you nip at his pulse then kiss behind his ear. You always know exactly where to touch him, how to kiss him. His own hands cup and squeeze, cock twitching against your belly.

“That’s exactly what I was thinking,” you grin, nipping his throat again, a little further down. “You want to put a baby in me, cariño?”

The string of half English, half Spanish that comes pouring out of his mouth as he flips you over would be amusing to him, if he weren’t so desperate to do exactly that. So rattled and turned on by the prospect he can’t settle on what language to use while he is spreading your thighs and starting to rub his cock through your folds.

“Fuck, fuck, Javi, baby, please—” You’ll beg him for it every single time if that is what does it for him. Thankfully you know that for him, the real treat here is your shared goal. Fucking your soulmate is great. Making a baby is better.

“You’re so wet.” Javi groans as he uses that wetness to coat his cock. Just because he is eager to have you doesn’t mean that it should hurt. “Are you that turned on?”

"Baby," you would tut if you weren't squirming and desperate for him to be inside you. "I deserve a goddamn award for my self-restraint tonight. I've been wet for hours."

He chuckles in delight as he presses the head of his cock right at your entrance and it slips inside you. “Then we were in the same damn boat.” He admits. “Your tailoring job did a fantastic job of hiding my erection.”

Barely able to stop moan long enough to answer, you grasp his shoulder tightly while Javi slowly sheathes himself in your body. "Then I did my job well."

He smirks down at you as he settles closer, sliding his arms under your back as you lift up to let him. “You do everything well.” He groans, twitching inside you. “Especially this.”

“Especially this?” It’s just a little tease, considering your own breathless enthusiasm, but you roll your hips against his and wrap your legs around his waist as if you can’t bear to have him move even an inch away.

“Yes…” Javi pants out your name desperately as he pushes deep rather than pulling out. Grinding into you to be as close as possible as his cock twitches inside you again.

"Javi—" The groan that starts all the way down in your toes comes out raspy and needy and wraps around the two of you like it could tighten your bond even further. "So good, baby. You always feel so fucking good inside me."

“I’m gonna get you pregnant.” He vows. “A part of me, staying inside you.” He groans after the words come out, finding it incredibly erotic to even think about.

“You can’t wait to see me knocked up.” A giggle escapes you but it morphs into a moan when he grinds his hips into yours again. “Filled up and dripping your cum now and my belly full of your baby for months to come.”

“Shit.” Javi chokes out, almost afraid he’s going to cum right then. Your words evoking something primal inside him and he kisses you almost desperately as his hips grind to a halt, needing a moment to calm down.

“Mi amor,” you manage to catch his lips, nipping at his bottom lip and dissolving into a kiss. “Don’t hold back. I want to be full of you.”

“You have to cum too.” He shakes his head, whispering the words into your mouth.

“And I will.” Of course you will. Even with the quickest of encounters, Javi always makes sure you cum. “I always do.”

“I want you to cum on my cock.” He pants against your lips as he starts to rock again. “I love you.”

“I love you.”

Since the first time you said the words it has always been the same. Rocking in and out of you with the utmost devotion and passion, chased by that all-consuming need to lose yourself in each other. To become one for just a little while.

Or, in the case of tonight, to make one.

------ Master Tags: @pixiedurango @chattychell @winter-fox-queen @lady-himbo @artsymaddie @princess76179 @paintballkid711 @missminkylove @pedrosbrat @ew-erin @sarahjkl82-blog @sharkbait77 @justanotherblonde23 @lv7867 @recklesswit @mylittlesenaar @f0rever15elf @gallowsjoker @steeevienicks @athalien @sherala007 @skvatnavle @thatpinkshirt @jaime1110 @girlimjusttryingtoreadfanfics @goodgriefitsawildworld @greeneyedblondie44 @littlemousedroid @harriedandharassed @churchill356 @ajathegreats-blog @haylzcyon   @beardsanddetectives @kirsteng42 @ladykatakuri @adancedivasmom @madiebear @tanzthompson @emilianamason @bigsdinger @xocalliexo @pedr0swh0r3 @avaleineandafryingpan @charlyrmv @avidreader73 @iceclaw101 @loveslide @elegantduckturtle @becsworld @julesonrecord @its-nebuleuse @itsrubberbisquit @mikeyswifie @guelyury @lizzie-cakes @for-a-longlongtime @vabeachazn @purplerain04 @weho2kcmo @madnessofadaydreamer

TUWOP: @inept-the-magnificent @missladym1981 @sunnytuliptime @iamladyp @spishsstuff @famouslyanonymous

[perotovar]

baby, i'm-a want you — (ch 2) "session two"

gif by me

pairing: javier peña/joel miller rating: E (18+) mdni word count: 4.3k content: use of a plug, throat fucking, ass eating, lots of spit, gratuitous descriptions of cum, unprotected p in a, creampie, (safe) breathplay, background handjob, cock slapping, one (1) spank, joel's porn persona is a tad mean but it's nothing crazy, shy!joel, javi is a HUGE flirt, smoking, lmk if i missed anything! dividers: @saradika-graphics betas: @qveerthe0ry & @scenaaario (ily angels ♥)

series summary: javier peña has been doing this a long time. he's really good at his job. joel miller? not so much. he started doing this to get some extra cash to support his daughters. what happens when they're supposed to do a scene together? aka, the au where javier and joel are gay porn stars~

series masterlist | shoutout to this spanish dirty talk reference

for notifications, follow @oakslibrary ♥

“Fuck.”

Javier hadn’t had to prepare in a while. At least a few months. And the fact that he was doing this for Joel, of all men? He was harder than a fucking rock and he hadn’t even gotten the plug all the way in yet. Granted, he’d purposely chosen a smaller plug so he could still feel the stretch when Joel pushed that thick–

“Mierda,” he groaned, looking over his shoulder to see if he could get a better angle. The plug he chose was small, black, and a little thinner than he would normally go for. It’s been a while, so no matter what, there was a stretch but the lube certainly helped. When his hole finally sucked it in lewdly, he moaned, arching his back like a cat presenting himself to a mate. He grinned to himself and rested his head on his folded arms, ass in the open air of his apartment. 

He wished that his first major scene with Joel wasn’t a scene. He wanted to see if Joel was any different when the cameras weren’t on and he could just be himself. Every time he’s ever talked to Joel, he’d been quiet, with a heavy brow. Javier had been around the block once or twice and he could tell when someone didn’t like him. He’s not sure what he did to get on Joel’s bad side, but he hoped that tension added to the scene instead of making things awkward. And part of him liked the rift. It made Joel way more attractive to him, because Joel was probably the closest the site had to a bear, but not as big. Javier had always wanted to be fucked by one– 

Bzz. Bzz.

Cracking open an eye, Javier looked as his phone lit up next to him. He sighed and started rolling his hips side to side, slowly getting used to the feeling of being filled up again.

R u ready ?

“Who still texts like this, Jesus Christ,” he grumbled to himself. A slow trickle of sweat fell down the length of his back as he started typing a response.

Be there shortly, boss.

Javier rolled his eyes to himself. Max was always on his ass about being on time, but it never bothered him. They couldn’t start the shoot without him anyway. His cock throbbed between his legs, making him curl his fingers around his shaft. 

One quick wank couldn’t hurt right? 

Joel was panicking, to put it mildly. He showed up to the shoot way too fucking early and now he was rocking a semi in the hallway outside the room they’d be using. They, meaning him and Javier, because of course he hadn’t fully processed that that was still happening. He couldn’t get the image of Javier’s mouth around his cock, that mustache framing it so perfectly. Or his hole being stretched by Joel’s cock, or even–

“Hey, big guy.”

The words sounded like they were coming from down the hall and directly in his ear simultaneously. He slowly looked up to find Javier smirking down at him. Joel swallowed around a lump in his throat and cleared his throat awkwardly. His cheeks felt like they were on fire. Javier looked really fucking good – when didn’t he – with a healthy glow and slightly tousled hair. Had he freshly cleaned up his mustache this morning?

“Joel?” Javier chuckled, a soft smile coloring his features.

Joel cleared his throat again and stood awkwardly. “S-sorry, uh, hey,” he mumbled, looking down at his boots before keeping his eyes off of Javier’s, as he shoved his hands in his pockets. “Where ya been?” 

It was meant to be casual conversation, he swears, but he’d lowered his voice and it came out all gruff and accusatory and now he wants to hide in the broom closet. He knows this because the easy, relaxed look on Javier’s changed to one of confusion.

“Uh, preparing. Sorry, I know I was a little later than usual,” Javier exhaled. Guess he was right; Joel wasn’t the biggest fan of his. That’s fine, he was a professional and he could get his job done and go home. “See you in there, hombre.”

Joel blinked a couple times, looking at the empty area of the hallway where Javier was just standing. “W-wait,” he grunted, looking toward the room. Javier was digging into the pocket of the robe he was wearing and lighting up a cigarette, blowing the smoke away from the face of the assistant he was talking to.

“Fuckin’ idiot,” Joel grumbled to himself and stepped inside.

Javier wasn’t opposed to an audience per se, but he wasn’t expecting one today either. “What are you cabrones doing here?” He smirked, looking at the faces of his coworkers. Not all of them were here, but Dieter, Shane, Dave, Marcus, Din, Steve, Cobb, and Jack were. Everyone was in various positions of comfort, some sitting and some standing or leaning. Except Dieter, who was sitting on Din’s lap comfortably, resting his head on the bulkier man’s shoulder. 

“Wanted to see the show, of course,” Dieter grinned, winking at him. Joel stepped onto the set and saw all the men. He gave Dieter a look, and Dieter responded with a softer smile as if to say, You got this.

Javier rolled his eyes and smiled. “Alright, whatever, you perverts.”

“Alright, people, let’s get this show on the road! We’ve got a longer one ahead of us and I’ve got a date tonight.”

Everyone froze and looked at Max like he grew a third eye. 

Max frowned. “It’s not that rare– Y’know what, fuck you guys. Joel, Javi, get into position,” he grumbled, sitting in his director’s seat.

Javier looked at Joel and snorted, untying his robe. He threw it to their audience like they were a bunch of fans, and laughed when Marcus caught it. Javier winked at him, making the slightly younger man’s cheeks flush.

Joel was doing his damndest not to bust a fucking nut right now because obviously Javier was naked. That was his fucking job. That was his fucking job, too.

“Joel,” Dieter whispered. Joel looked at him, a slightly panicked look on his face. Dieter motioned for Joel to come over to him, so the older man did. “What’s goin’ on, huh?” Dieter asked quietly. Joel looked at Din wearily, who just smiled politely. “Oh, he’s not gonna say anything,” Dieter smiled, leaning over to give Din a quick kiss.

“‘M just,” Joel sighed. “Think he thinks I don’ like him.”

“Why would he think that?” Dieter pouted. When Joel didn’t answer right away, Dieter furrowed his brows at him. “Did you do that grumbly thing you always do?”

Joel mumbled under his breath and looked down at his boots.

“Miller! Get in frame,” Max barked.

Joel sighed and ruffled Dieter’s hair a little. “Showtime.”

Javier felt like his throat was on fire, tears were streaming down his cheeks, and he was having a hard time breathing. Joel’s cock felt so thick and hard inside his mouth and he was more turned on than he’d been in a long fucking time. 

“Yeah, shut ya up real good, huh?”

Javier moaned weakly, big brown eyes glassy as they looked up at Joel’s hard face. He choked every time the head of Joel’s cock hit the back of his throat but he couldn’t give a damn. This was probably the messiest head he’d ever given someone, slobber pouring out the sides of his mouth and down Joel’s shaft. 

Joel’s lines had instructed him to tell Javier to keep his hands to himself, so of course he obeyed. He dug the blunt nails of his fingers into his bare thighs so hard he was afraid that he’d break skin.

“Ain’t such a brat now that y’got a cock in your mouth, huh?” Joel sneered, tugging on Javier’s thick locks. Joel’s eyes were glued to Javier’s plump, swollen lips wrapped so tightly around his cock, that perfectly trimmed mustache framing them so beautifully. A full body shiver zipped down his spine when he saw the glossed over look in Javier’s eyes and tear tracks staining his cheeks. He shut his eyes in bliss and exhaled heavily as his hips moved of their own accord, his heavy balls slapping Javier’s chin lewdly.

Javier let out a low noise, his brows furrowing slightly. Joel looked down, worried he’d pushed too far, but saw that Javier was looking up at him with this fucking look in his eye. Even if Joel was technically in charge, at least in the script, he knew Javier had him hook, line, and sinker right now. And he thinks Javier knows that, too. 

Joel’s hips bucked at the twinkle in Javier’s eye, making Javier choke loudly. Slowly, Joel removed his cock from Javier’s swollen mouth. Loud, wet coughs left Javier’s lips, but he looked at Joel with a smirk on his face.

“Thought you were gonna fuck me, old man,” Javier rasped, sweat dripping down his neck.

“But you’d like that, wouldn’ya?” Joel grumbled. His cock throbbed heavily between thick, muscled thighs and Javier couldn’t take his eyes off it. The twitching made his own cock weep at the sight. “S’what I thought,” Joel hummed, harshly gripping Javier’s hair again. He curled thick fingers around the base of his cock and lewdly slapped the head against Javier’s tear-stricken face. 

Javier’s entire body shivered at the demeaning act and he bit his lip, looking at the hard lines in Joel’s face, and at the gray streaks in Joel’s hair. He was easily one of the most menacingly beautiful men he’d ever seen. He kissed and licked and sucked down the shaft of Joel’s cock until he sucked one of his heavy balls into his mouth. He moaned happily around the sensitive skin and looked back up at Joel through his lashes.

“Fuck me,” Joel groaned, breaking character slightly. He couldn’t fucking help it. Not when Javier was looking at him like that.

Javier made an approving sound and lewdly popped the ball out of his mouth, kissing up Joel’s soft, hairy stomach. “That’s my line,” he improvised with a grin, and sucked a dark mark into Joel’s hip.

Joel almost smiled, but at the last moment, remembered they were in fact not alone and had a script to follow. He quickly hardened his eyes and gripped Javier’s arms and manhandled him until Javier was laying over the arm of the couch, cock trapped between his body and the scratchy fabric.

“That what y’want, huh?” Joel grunted, gripping Javier’s ass in a bear paw. “Want me t’fuck this little ass until ya can’t walk no more?”

Javier moaned and arched his back, pushing his ass further into Joel’s hand and tried to grind against his cock. He nodded as much as he could with Joel pulling on his hair like he was, throat bared and panting hard. Joel pressed on Javier’s sweaty back to keep him down, before using both hands to slowly spread his cheeks. He groaned at the puckered little hole, carefully covered in lube from his earlier preparation. Pressing there with the pad of his thumb, he smirked when Javier moaned weakly below him.

“P-please, Joel,” Javier breathed heavily. Javi didn’t even recognize the sound of his own voice. He’d been built up too much and poked and prodded enough that he just needed something inside him already. “Please.”

“Hmm,” Joel hummed, pretending like he was thinking about it. He removed his hands from Javier to finally remove the t-shirt and jeans he was wearing. He could’ve sworn he heard someone from their little audience groan as his naked body was revealed, but he chose to ignore it, far too focused on the sight in front of him. “Don’t think so, sweetheart,” he grinned wickedly, his tone fake-sweet, and collected saliva in the back of his throat. He got down to his knees, thankful that the pillow there would be out of frame in the finished product. He spit directly onto Javi’s hole and gripped the small, plump cheeks in both hands. 

Javier gasped weakly, legs trembling under Joel’s ministrations. Joel was going to fucking kill him.

“Not yet, at least,” Joel mumbled, biting one of Javier’s cheeks before licking a thick stripe up from Javier’s taint to the top of his hole. A breathless huff left Javier’s lungs and his eyes rolled back at the feeling. “Y’mouth makes such pretty noises when ya ain’t runnin’ it,” was all the warning Javier had before Joel’s tongue pierced his hole and started fucking him in earnest.

Joel’s tongue was thick and wet and messy and he sucked loudly and slurped at a volume that should’ve been uncomfortable, but all Javier could do was moan and whimper, completely at Joel’s mercy. His eyebrows were downturned and his lips were parted in an obscene O, arms shaking as he held himself up on the couch. “Mm, fuck, J-Joel, I’m gonna fucking come, I’m–!” He was babbling and trembling and covered in a thin layer of sweat. He barely heard anything over the roaring in his ears.

“No, you’re not,” Joel grumbled between the lewd feast he was enjoying, landing a harsh smack! against one of Javier’s cheeks. “Don’t come until I say ya do.”

Javier groaned and bit his lip, his trapped cock weeping and throbbing between his legs. “Mierda,” he panted, hanging his head low between his shoulders. He tried grinding against the scratchy fabric of the couch for some kind of friction, but to no avail.

Joel grunted into Javier’s ass, convinced that he could stay here for hours if he was allowed. When he pulled his face away, his eyes latched onto the fluttering little hole in front of him and hummed in satisfaction. As he stood, his knees whined and creaked in protest and hopefully, if Max were nice to him for once, he’d edit the sounds out. 

Broad hands traveled up Javier’s heated skin, taking him all in as he panted heavily underneath the older man. He knew today would be good but nothing could’ve prepared him for this. Maybe he should keep his distance from Joel more often, if this was the end result.

Joel was ecstatic on the inside, the memories of their first scene together coming back to him. He’d almost forgotten just how pliant and cat-like Javier could get if pushed enough. The sounds he made were like music to Joel’s ears, and he wished he could keep them in a bottle reserved just for himself. 

He gripped Javier’s sides and manhandled him again until Javier was on his knees on one of the cushions and facing the back of the couch, hands planted on the back. Joel spread Javier’s cheeks again and hummed at the way the younger man clenched on instinct. He left Javier in that position for a second while he went over to an assistant off camera and grabbed some lube, making quick work of getting his cock thoroughly coated. He held Javier’s side, right where his ribs were, with one hand and gripped his cock with the other, grinding his shaft between Javier’s cheeks. 

Javier cried out loud, electricity shooting through his body and settling as heat at the base of his spine. 

Joel grinned, tapping the head of his cock against Javier’s hole before slowly, agonizingly so, pushed the thick head inside him. The air left Javier’s lungs as he froze, the pressure and the weight of being so thoroughly stretched overwhelming him. He grunted as Joel’s hips sat flush against his ass, breathing heavily as his arms trembled against the back of the couch. Joel stroked Javier’s flanks, letting him adjust for only a moment before he pulled out until just the head was left inside and slammed back inside.

“Fuck! Oh, fuck...” Javier moaned, his back arching.

“Aww, you’re alright,” Joel smirked. He hovered over Javier’s body, nearly covering him entirely with how much bulk there was. He curled an arm over Javier’s right shoulder and gripped onto the younger man’s left pec to press Javier’s back into his chest. He kissed along Javier’s shoulder and up his neck until he nibbled on Javi’s earlobe, moaning lowly as the younger man clenched around his shaft. “Y’gonna be good? Gonna let me fuck ya?”

“Sí, coño– Please, Joel,” Javier whined, resting his head on Joel’s shoulder and panting into the open air. “Por favor damelo.”

So Joel did. Before either of them knew it, Joel was fucking into Javier in earnest, his hips slapping against Javier’s ass obscenely. Javier was making the neediest little sounds, chanting Joel’s name like a prayer. Javier’s cock was hard as a rock and lewdly slapping against his skin with every one of Joel’s harsh thrusts.

Joel hid his face in Javier’s neck, panting hotly against the younger man’s already damp skin. With his right arm already wrapped around Javier’s torso, he gripped at Javier’s hip with his left hand, fingers digging into the (surprisingly) soft skin. Javier didn’t have a whole lot of fat on his body, but there was enough to ripple every time Joel jackhammered into him.

“F-fuck,” he gulped, lips parted and eyes half lidded. The pressure was building low in his abdomen. He knew he was close. “J-Joel, I’m–” His mouth was as dry as the desert. “I’m gonna come, I–”

Joel growled. Literally. He bit Javier’s cheek and growled. “Not yet. Jus’ a li’l longer,” he panted. He moved his hand from Javier’s pec to his throat, and carefully, expertly, squeezed the sides. They’d talked about doing this with Max and both had consented to it. They knew how to do it right.

Slowly, as Javier’s air supply was marginally cut off, a wide smile grew on his face. His eyes shut and he was smiling, biting his lip. He felt so fucking good. He wanted to do this again and this time wasn’t even over yet.

Joel must have noticed because he chuckled next to Javier’s ear, hips never letting up once. “Yeah? Feel good, sweetheart?”

Javier nodded as much as he could, nails digging into the shitty couch and pulling hard.

“Good boy,” Joel rumbled, slowing down his hips, but not letting up on how hard he was thrusting. Javier’s breath hitched with every one of Joel’s slow, measured thrusts. Joel’s hand slid from Javier’s hip down to curl around the younger man’s cock. It was like someone had poured ice cold water over Javier’s head, because the pressure was just what he’d needed.

“S-sí, sí, please, p-please,” Javier gasped, a tear falling from his eye.

“Fuck, look at ya,” Joel marveled, slowly stroking Javier’s cock teasingly. “Pretty as a god damn picture, sweetheart.”

Javier opened his eyes as wide as he could and tried looking at Joel for the first time since he was on his knees. When their eyes locked, Javier could have sworn that there was a different man behind Joel’s baby browns. Perhaps that was the real Joel, and not whoever was on camera. Not whoever had been avoiding him for the better part of two years. No, it couldn’t be. Could it?

“Want ya t’come for me,” Joel breathed hotly against his face. Javier shivered all over and nodded as much as he could with Joel’s bear paw of a hand around his throat. “Can ya do that, sweetheart? Come for me.”

Javier grunted as Joel picked up the pace of his hips again, but this time with his other hand tightly gripped around his shaft. Joel teased the head with his thumb just as he slammed directly into Javier’s prostate over and over.

Javier cried weakly, one more tear falling from his eye, and came hard. Thick, creamy spurts of cum painted the set’s couch as Javier trembled with his release.

Joel held him close, their sweaty bodies sticking together as Joel thrust one, two, three more times and followed Javier over the edge. He came with a low roar buried into Javier’s neck and cock twitching violently in Javier’s ass.

The set was dead silent save for Joel and Javier’s heavy breathing. Max kept the camera rolling, stunned into silence for once. 

Javier smiled to himself, eyes shut in bliss, and head resting on Joel’s shoulder. He clenched around Joel’s sensitive cock in little pulses. “Fuck me,” he croaked, voice wrecked.

Joel grunted at the overstimulation and gently held Javier’s hips as he slowly pulled out. Javier leaned forward against the back of the couch and pushed his ass out so the camera (and their audience) could see the thick cum trailing down his thighs. Joel’s hands rubbed Javier’s skin appreciatively at the sight, his cock giving one last valiant twitch.

“C-cut,” Max’s voice cracked, making him clear his throat. “Cut.”

In the corner, Dieter trembled and moaned weakly into Din’s neck as he came, Din’s thick fingers curled around his cock. 

Javier turned his head back to look at Joel with a satisfied smile on his face. “Mind gettin’ me a towel, guapo?”

Joel’s cheeks flushed, completely out of character again. “‘Course,” he mumbled, slowly standing to ask one of the assistants for a towel.

“Jesus Christ, boys,” Max chuckled.

Javier hummed in agreement.

“That was… That was somethin’ else, Jav,'' Steve said, impressed.

They were both outside, having their usual post-shoot cigarette together. No matter if they’d done a scene together or separately, they always kept up the tradition. This time, though, Javier thought he’d need several cigarettes. And a bath.

“Thank you,” Javier grinned, feeling lighter and more satisfied than he had in weeks. He could swear that the crick in his neck he’d woken up with was completely gone. Maybe there was some truth to Silva’s back pain disappearing after certain sessions.

“S’pose ya don’t gotta tell me, since I saw it myself, but was it like you thought it’d be?” Steve chuckled.

Javier snorted in response, taking a long drag off his cigarette. “And then some.”

Din smiled gently down at Dieter, giving him a slow, soft kiss. “I’ll see you tonight?” 

Dieter smiled wide and nodded giddily, getting on his tiptoes to wrap his arms around Din’s neck one more time to give him another kiss. Joel could swear he saw hearts in his eyes. 

Once Dieter came back over to Joel, he had a sheepish expression on his face. “Sorry, just had to say goodbye.”

Joel smiled softly. “Don’ worry yourself over it. Y’all are cute together.”

“You think?” Dieter beamed. “We had a scene the other day and we just haven’t stopped texting, and– Oh my god, this isn’t about me right now, I’m sorry.”

Joel chuckled and followed Dieter into the hallway so the cleaning crew could get to work. Dieter scratched at his beard as he looked at Joel: he seemed lighter, with a healthy glow radiating off of him.

“Well?”

Joel cleared his throat and dug his hands into his pockets, shrugging a little. “What?”

“Don’t ‘what’ me, old man! That was fucking hot! I came so hard!”

Joel laughed, rolling his eyes at his friend. “Thank you.”

“So? You gonna ask him out? Or at least apologize for earlier?”

“Yeah, I will. And uh… Yeah, I plan to,” Joel sighed, awkwardly scratching the back of his neck. “Don’t exactly know how I’m gonna do that, though…”

“Well, you better think of something quick!” Dieter whispered, pointing towards the end of the hall as Javier rounded the corner with Steve.

“Shit,” Joel whispered to himself. Dieter gave him a wink and thumbs up before heading in the opposite direction. 

Javier had his regular clothes on again, and Joel couldn’t take his eyes off him, enamored with how well they fit him. He may have just been inside the man, but he couldn’t help himself. 

“Hey, Joel,” Javier smiled awkwardly. He still wasn’t sure where they stood outside of working together, so he tried to keep it as casual as possible.

“H-hey, Javier,” Joel said hoarsely. He cleared his throat again.

“Y’know, you’re the only one that doesn’t call me Javi,” he said softly.

“Oh,” Joel furrowed his brow. “‘M sorry. My mama always taught me an’ my baby brother it was more polite that way.”

“You have a baby brother?” Javier smiled.

“Uh…” Joel gulped. “Y-yeah. Tommy.”

Javier hummed in response, an amused look crossing his features. He’s slowly figuring Joel out, he thinks. “He just as handsome as you? Bet he is,” he flirted.

The tips of Joel’s ears went pink and he laughed around an awkward cough. “Nah. Don’ cut his hair enough to be respectable.”

“Mm, more to pull then,” Javier smirked.

Joel made a face, not wanting to think of his brother like that. “L-listen, uh. ’m sorry ‘bout earlier. Wasn’t right talkin’ to ya like that,” he mumbled, unable to look Javier in the eye just yet.

Every bit of tension Javier felt left his body in an instant. “Thank you. I appreciate that, Joel.”

Joel nodded, a shy smile on his face. “‘S good,” he said awkwardly.

They were quiet for a few moments before Javier pulled out his pack of cigarettes, sticking one between his lips. “Well, you built up quite the appetite in me, so I’m gonna go–”

“Do you wanna go out sometime?” Joel blurted out. “N-now, maybe?”

Javier blinked a few times as a smile grew on his lips. “You’re asking me out? Gotta be honest, I thought you hated me, Joel.”

Joel snapped his eyes up at that, confusion all over his face. “What? No! I–” He sighed. “‘M no good at this,” he grumbled to himself. “’m sorry. Again.”

Javier chuckled and took the cigarette out of his mouth. “‘s alright. I’d love to.”

“Yeah?” Joel smiled, cheeks flushed and eyes wide. 

“Yeah, guapo. You already got dessert, but dinner sounds great.”

[sp00kymulderr]

Erin I am SCREAMING! fuuuuck

Ok first of all the yearning and shyness between Joel and Javi is so adorable, Joel especially he’s so awkward 😭😭😭 I love it.

And then the smut??? I feel faint lmao it was intense, I felt it. So fucking good.

Ugh this series is fantastic

[stylesispunk]

"Whatever you'd like us to be" | part 1

harry castillo (materialists) x sunshine! reader

series masterlist | next chapter

Summary: the one where you met this incredible, charming man at your best friend's wedding.

w.c: 9,3k.

warnings: age gap (reader is 29-30 and harry 47), mentions of puke, and fluff. (Not angst, shocking)

A/N: This chapter comes out two days later than intended becuase I deleted it by mistake so it's all rewritten. Okay, I wanted to put all the stuff that you can find in a rom-com and It probably came out as a little lame, cringy. It made me want to vomit. If you don't like it, move on, but if you do, please tell me what you think. Also, I may have lied a bit in the summary I shared weeks ago👀 (I rewatched 13 going 30 and I got "Crazy for you" by madonna stuck in my head).

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Self-proclaimed, a hopeless romantic. That’s how you would define your way too much overthinker heart, mind, body and soul. As a whole. Yes, still completely indulging your life from being the little girl dreaming about the handsome charming prince that would come to save you to the full growing adult, still spending her time overindulging in the rom-com fantasy.

How wouldn’t you?

You were practically living in a romantic comedy. Just… not the starring role.

All over again.

You had witnessed your all your group of friends meeting stranger and becoming each’s others world. How they stumbled into other people in that oh-so-whimsical way, fall in love, have the inevitable argument that had leave them screaming into their pillows the moment their bodies hit their bed, followed by the questions and the “yes, I do” walking into the happily ever after.

You were still waiting so patiently for the love to fall into your feet like it did back in those movies. That the right person would knock up your world in the most unexpected way, when you least expected it.

At least that is what people had told you, out of pity, out of a terribly cruel joke. And of course, you kept smiling. It was always there, in your mind. Scanning around room of possible candidates, who out of these people could be the love of your life?

In movies, love had always found a way to look like the key needed to fix everybody’s problems. The mere touch of another’s hands, or having an eye to catch across a crowded room would be enough to make turmoil’s ease, to make your heart burst and make your cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

Which made you cliché. Hopelessly, irrevocably cliché.

Because now, here you were.

At your best friend’s wedding.

She looked unfairly beautiful, practically glowing in a white-laced dress that her now-husband had insisted on paying for. You’d been there for all of it — the dress shopping, the cake tastings, the flower debates that nearly ended friendships. You’d held her hair back when she drank too much at the bachelorette party and sobbed about how she didn’t feel like herself anymore.

And you were genuinely, truly happy for her.

But as you sat alone at the table, watching her sway under the fairy lights with her new husband, something tight settled in your chest. A quiet, persistent ache.

Because now you were the last one.

Your little circle of childhood friends, the five of you who used to swear you’d grow old together, drinking cheap wine on Friday nights and complaining about your disastrous dating lives — one by one, they’d all paired off. Two of them pregnant, one already discussing baby names and nursery colors like it was the most natural thing in the world. Another one had just bought a house with her boyfriend, some fixer-upper they were documenting on Instagram like it was a home renovation series on a streaming platform.

And you?

You were still the one ordering takeout for one. The one picking movies no one else wanted to see. The one looking for a sign, a spark, a stranger’s glance across a crowded room.

Claire looked heartbreakingly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made your chest ache in that sharp, bittersweet way. The lights from the chandelier above cast a warm glow over her, catching in the delicate beading of her dress as she swayed with Chris, her new husband, to some old love song you didn’t quite catch the name of.

They were laughing — that soft, private kind of laugh shared between two people in a world of their own — and you felt your throat tighten.

God, you were such a sap.

You hadn’t even noticed the tears gathering in your eyes until you blinked, and one threatened to slip free. You caught it with the pad of your finger before it could ruin your mascara. It wasn’t jealousy, not really. It wasn’t even loneliness. It was… longing. A longing for a moment like that. To be someone’s person. To have your own first dance, your own secret laughs beneath fairy lights straight out a movie.

And then, as if she could feel it, Claire’s gaze lifted, cutting across the room, and landed on you.

Her eyes softened, the kind of look that made you feel sixteen again, sneaking out of her bedroom window in the middle of the night, promising you’d never let some boy come between the both of you. She gave you a wink, wide and mischievous and so her, and then that wide, brilliant smile bloomed across her face.

You smiled back, the tears spilling over now, though you doubted anyone could tell in the dim light. In that moment, you were so damn happy for her you thought your heart might burst.

But as the song slowed, and the couples began to fill the floor around them, you felt that ache settle deep in your ribs. That quiet reminder.

You were the one still waiting.

The clinking of glass against silverware broke through the hum of the ongoing conversations, and a chorus of “Speech! Speech!” rose from the tables. Claire shot you a look, that go on, it’s your turn look, and your stomach immediately flipped.

Right. Your maid of honor duties.

You took a steadying breath, grabbing your champagne glass and rising to your feet, the sudden attention of the room making your skin prickle. Claire was watching you, eyes gleaming, her hand curled tight around Chris’s. God, she looked so happy.

You cleared your throat and gave a small, sheepish smile.

“Well,” you started, your voice a little shaky at first but finding its footing, “I was told to keep this short… but then Claire also told me to pick a dress I’d feel ‘comfortable’ in and look at me now.”

The room chuckled, and you felt yourself relax a little.

“I’ve known Claire since we were around eight years old. She was the new kid next to my house in my neighborhood, and I was the bossy little girl who made her promise that she liked dogs and Titanic, or else we couldn’t be friends.”

Another soft ripple of laughter.

“And you know what? She did. And from that day on, we became thick as thieves, inseparables. She’s been my person ever since. My partner in crime. The voice of reason when I’m about to make a terrible decision or at least, the one holding my hair back while I make it anyway. The one who had always had my back, the one who had watched me shine and I’ve been watching her shine too. Just as this very same moment, where she is lighting up this room entirely by herself.”

Claire laughed a little into her glass, tears shining in her eyes.

You glanced down at your notes, but they suddenly felt useless. All these words were coming straight out from your heart anyway.

“I’ve watched this woman survive terrible boyfriends, bad haircuts, quarter-life crises, and Sunday hangovers. I’ve seen her fall down and get back up more times than I can count. And then, one day, this guy” you gestured toward Chris, who grinned like an idiot, “walked in and… he just stole her from me because he stole her so beautiful heart. He made her laugh in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.”

Your throat tightened, but you pushed through it.

“I think we spend a lot of our lives searching for someone who feels like home, that feels like you are stepping right into the daylight in a cold winter day, and watching you two, it’s pretty clear you’ve found yours.”

Claire was fully crying now, mascara be damned, and it made your own tears sting again.

“I love you both, so much. And I know there’s no one else I’d rather see steal her from our Friday wine nights and chick flick marathons.”

You raised your glass, your voice soft.

“To Claire and Chris. May your life be filled with belly laughs, and that kind of love that feels like being sunbathed in winter.”

The room lifted their glasses in a chorus of agreement.

You caught Claire’s glassy-eyed smile one more time before you sat down, heart pounding against your ribs. A warm buzz of applause followed you, and you felt yourself flush under the attention, but it faded as the music picked back up, and people returned to their conversations, laughter filling the room.

And that’s when you felt the gaze of someone over you. Leaning against the bar.

One of Chris’s groomsmen. You’d seen him earlier, lingering at the edge of the group photos, dodging the eager wedding planner who kept trying to wrangle everyone into neat lines. He wasn’t like Chris’s other friends, younger, loud, glued to their phones and betting on who’d get lucky tonight.

He was older than the rest of Chris’s friends. You guessed mid-forties, maybe a little more. Salt-and-pepper hair, streaked silver at the temples in a way that made your so ever hopeless romantic brain short-circuit a little. His suit jacket fitting the right place, and his tie loose around his neck. He nursed a glass of something dark in his hand, he was smiling widely, and there was something about the way his mouth curved at the corner that made your stomach do a quiet little somersault.

Because he was still looking at you.

Not staring. Not the sleazy, lingering kind of look you were far too used to dodging at weddings.

Like he had seen something.

Like maybe you weren’t as invisible as you’d felt your whole life.

You quickly looked away, heat blooming up your neck.

God, you felt ridiculous.

You grabbed your phone from the table, pretending to check a message you knew wasn’t there. Your fingers hovered over the screen before you started typing something into your note’s app, a silly habit of yours when emotions threatened to spill over.

“Is it pathetic to hope for a meet-cute at someone else’s wedding? Asking for a friend.”

You dropped the phone face down on the table, the soft hum of conversation blending with the strains of an old love song floating from the speakers. Some of the guests were coupling off on the dance floor again, swaying under the canopy of string lights, the whole room glowing in that amber, too-perfect, makes-your-heart-ache kind of way.

Your gaze wandered and landed on your parents, just a little way from Claire and Chris. Your mom's head resting against your dad's shoulder as they moved together, slowly, like the whole world outside this song didn’t exist. Your dad leaned in, murmured something, and your mom let out that small, breathy laugh you knew by heart, the one that meant she was still hopelessly in love with him after all these years.

It made your chest tighten in a way that was both painful and sweet. You rested your chin on your arm, propped up on the table, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

And then, a tap on your bare shoulder.

You startled a little, blinking as you turned, and there he was.

The groomsman.

Up close, the salt-and-pepper was even better, the kind of hairstyle you only thought existed in movies. He had fine lines around his eyes, the kind people got from all the laughing, and a half-crooked, easy smile that did something absolutely unforgivable to your stomach.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm, a little rough at the edges. “Mind if I sit?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how direct it was, and gave a little laugh before gesturing to the chair beside you. “Not at all. Unless you’re looking for a table with a better company, in which case… terrible choice.”

He chuckled, setting his drink down and sliding into the chair, leaning back with that unbothered confidence of someone perfectly at ease in their own skin.

“I would really like to have your company,” he said, tipping his head toward the dance floor. “Figured it was time to come here and talk.”

The air between you crackled, just a little, in a way that made you hyper-aware of how close he was now. How the room seemed to blur at the edges.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he offered, holding out a hand.

You took it. Warm, calloused, and it lingered just a second longer than strictly necessary.

You gave him your name, and he repeated it back in a way that made it sound better than you’d ever heard it before.

You bit your lip, fighting a grin. “You’re one of Chris’s friends, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. From work

There was a beat of quiet, not awkward, at all, but that kind of silence that could lead to new things, like a thread tugging between you both.

Then Harry tipped his head toward the dance floor, smirking. “So… are you one of those ‘leave before dessert’ types, or would you like to dance with me?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

And then you smiled. A real one. Maybe, just maybe, the hopeless romantic in you had been waiting for this moment all along.

“I guess that depends,” you teased, setting your glass down and standing, “do you lead or follow?”

Harry chuckled, rising to his feet. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And as his hand slid into yours again, leading you toward the floor beneath the warm glow of fairy lights, you felt that old ache loosen its grip.

The opening notes of “Crazy for you” by Madonna starting drifting through the speakers

Swaying room as the music starts

Strangers making the most of the dark

Two by two, their bodies become one

It was already making memories out of moments you didn’t know you were making.

I see you through the smokey air

Can't you feel the weight of my stare?

You're so close but still a world away

The air shifted.

Not dramatically, not with some cinematography hush, but enough that your chest tightened and your eyes stung in that way they did when something beautiful caught you off guard. You weren’t expecting that song, weren’t expecting this, any of it.

Harry’s hand in yours tightened and he smiled when he caught the look on your face, those amber-flecked eyes crinkling at his, a small, knowing thing.

“You look quite adorable now, you know?” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the soft thrum of the music and the buzz of other voices.

You felt yourself blush, your stomach flipping like you were sixteen again and someone had just scribbled do you like me? yes or no on a napkin.

“I do not,” you laughed under your breath, trying to play it cool, though your face was already giving you away.

Harry only grinned wider, tugging you a little closer as you reached the edge of the dance floor. “Yeah, you do,” he said softly. “But it makes you look even more beautiful.”

I'm crazy for you

Touch me once and you'll know it's true

I never wanted anyone like this

It's all brand new

You'll feel it in my kiss

I'm crazy for you

Crazy for you

The song wrapped around you both as he rested a careful hand at your waist, your other hand finding his shoulder. It wasn’t a crowded floor anymore, the couples left were mostly the older ones, swaying to memories of their own.

And there you were.

Slowly, you began to move.

Trying hard to control my heart

I walk over to where you are

Eye to eye, we need no words at all

The world shrank to the sound of the song, the warmth of his hand, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing worth noticing in the room.

“I love this song,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above the music.

Harry smirked, leaning in a little. “Of course, you do.”

You arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed, low and genuine. “It means you have good taste. And maybe… you’re a bit of the romantic type.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

The moment lingered, that good kind of quiet stretching between you.

Then, softer, almost shy, which you didn’t expect from him, Harry asked, “So… what took you so long to come say hi?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Touché.”

And then you were both grinning again, like two people who’d known each other for more than just the length of a wedding reception.

I'm crazy for you

Touch me once and you'll know it's true

I never wanted anyone like this

It's all brand new

You'll feel it in my kiss

You let yourself lean into it, into him, into the warmth of the room and the simple sweetness of being wanted. No rush, no pressure. Just the music, his hand on your back, the soft shuffle of your feet in time.

Harry's thumb traced a lazy circle against your waist. He smelled like warm spice and something clean, and his hair fell into his eyes when he dipped his head to look at you.

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” he murmured, like it was some kind of secrecy.

You tilted your head. “To dancing?”

“To this,” he gestured vaguely between you both, lips quirking up. “I don’t usually… I mean, I’m not good at this kind of thing. Not since…”

His words trailed off, but you understood. You weren’t exactly a champion at it either. All the near-misses and unspoken things you’d tucked away over the years, waiting for a night like this, a person who, perhaps looked like the one.

“I’m glad you did,” you said, meaning it more than you expected.

He smiled again, that softer one, the one that made his eyes crinkle and your stomach flip.

“I’m crazy for you…” Madonna crooned, and you both chuckled at the timing.

“Bit on the nose, huh?” you teased.

Harry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m a bit of a romantic too.”

That earned a grin from you. And without really thinking about it, you rested your head lightly against his shoulder. He didn’t pull away. In fact, his hand tightened at your back, and he let out a breath, like maybe he’d been waiting for this too.

The song carried on, wrapping you both in a haze of something golden and bittersweet. The room around you blurred. You didn’t notice the servers’ clearing glasses, the other couples slowly shuffling off the floor. It was just you and him and the words of a song older than both of you.

When the last few notes played out, neither of you moved right away.

You stayed there, his chin resting lightly against your temple, your hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

And then, quietly

“Can I see you after this?” he asked, his voice low and unsure in a way that made your heart ache a little.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were warm and a little nervous and completely open.

“I’d like that,” you whispered.

Harry smiled, and it was that same grin from earlier, the one you realized you’d already grown stupidly fond of.

“I should—” His words faltered, his gaze shifting over your shoulder, his expression flickering. Something tightened in his jaw. You followed his line of sight before you could stop yourself.

A woman stood a few feet away, near the bar, a vision in a deep blue dress that shimmered under the glow of the lights. She was stunning, the kind of woman who didn’t just enter a room, she owned it. Waves of dark hair, a tilt of her head like she knew exactly how she looked and how it made people feel. And you knew her. Not well, but enough.

Lucy.

She was the one who’d introduced Claire and Chris. A friend of a friend, always on the fringe of your social circles, always a little too cool, a little too knowing.

The ache in your stomach came so fast it almost made you dizzy.

You didn’t ask Harry anything. Didn’t need to. The way his posture changed, the way something soft in his face shuttered when he looked at her, you already knew.

And then, as if sensing the shift in you too, his eyes found yours again.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, voice rough. “She’s… well, she’s my ex.”

There it was. Like a thread snapping. The warm, golden haze of the moment instantly clouded over.

You tried to keep your face even, but you knew, and your disappointment showed it. Because suddenly, every word he’d said, every touch, every smile felt suspect. A well-placed scene meant for someone else to see.

You swallowed hard and forced a small smile, stepping back.

“I should… I’m gonna go check on Claire,” you said, voice breezy, pretending like your stomach hadn’t just dropped.

Harry opened his mouth, maybe to stop you, maybe to explain, but you were already turning, weaving through the bodies on the dance floor.

The fairy lights didn’t feel so warm anymore. The music blurred, background noise to the rush of your pulse in your ears.

You didn’t look back at him.

Instead, you made your way toward the patio doors, needing air, or space, or just distance from the way your chest felt too tight. Leaning against the cool railing outside, you focused on the string lights overhead and the muffled bass of songs still playing inside, the last notes lingering like a memory you’d already lost.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice teased behind you.

You turned to find Claire grinning, two glasses of champagne in her hands. She passed you one before settling beside you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What was that all about with Harry?” she asked, nudging your arm. “Are you two lovers or something now?”

You snorted, the sound a little rougher than you meant it to be, taking a sip of the champagne to buy yourself a second.

“God, Claire,” you said, trying for lightness. “No. We’re not… it’s not like that.”

She raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me. The way he was looking at you? And you were looking back? Come on, if that wasn’t ‘we’re about to kiss and possibly leave this party together’ energy, I don’t know what is.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping a little as you stared down at the bubbles in your glass.

“It… it felt nice,” you admitted. “But then…”

Claire’s teasing expression faded into something softer.

“Then what?”

You hesitated. It sounded petty, it sounded stupid when said out loud, but you needed to get it out.

“His ex is here,” you said quietly. “Lucy.”

Claire’s brows shot up. “Lucy Lucy? As in my matchmaker Lucy who introduced me to Chris?”

You managed a small, sad smile. “Yeah. That Lucy.”

Claire let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t know they dated.”

“Neither did I. And when he saw her… it just… I don’t know, Claire. It felt like maybe everything tonight was for show. For her.”

You hated how small your voice sounded at the end.

Claire set her glass down on the railing and turned to face you fully, her face fierce now in the way only best friends get when someone’s hurt you.

“Okay, first of all, Harry is not like the type to do that. And second, even if it started like that, it sure as hell wasn’t about her by the time, he was holding your hand on that dance floor.”

You gave her a look, but she only crossed her arms.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me,” Claire said, “but I know what I saw. And what I saw was a man completely blindsided by you.”

Your stomach fluttered at her words, hope and ache and wariness all tangled up.

“Maybe,” you murmured. “But I don’t know if I have it in me to be someone’s revenge plot, Claire.”

Claire softened, looping her arm through yours.

“You’re nobody’s second choice, okay? If he wants a chance, he better prove it.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder.

“Always. Now, do we stay out here and talk shit, or do we finish our champagne and crash the open bar?”

You laughed, for real this time.

“Option two, obviously.”

And that was how the night blurred in that perfect, tipsy way weddings sometimes do, a little hazy around the edges but warm in the middle. You and Claire did crash the open bar, and somewhere between your third stolen cocktail and a disastrous attempt at the Cha Cha Slide, you laughed so hard you thought you might actually pull a muscle.

Claire kept up a steady stream of hilarious commentary about guests’ outfits, especially the guy who looked like a knock-off James Bond and the woman whose hat could double as satellite reception. Chris eventually joined you both, rolling his eyes but grinning like a man who knew better than to interfere with you two in full chaotic mode.

By the time the fairy lights were dimming and the last slow song played, you were clinging to both Claire and Chris, arms looped around their shoulders as the three of you swayed slightly in your own little goodbye moment.

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” you slurred with a grin, poking Chris in the chest. “Like… offensively so. Ugh.”

Chris chuckled. “And you, my dear, are going to feel this in the morning.”

“Worth it,” you declared dramatically, tightening your hold on Claire. “Best wedding date ever.”

Claire snorted. “You didn’t even come with a date.”

“Exactly.” You winked. “No one to babysit me. Freedom.”

She grinned, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I love you, you idiot.”

“Love you more, bridezilla.”

You hugged Chris too, and as you finally stepped back, Claire grabbed your hand.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

“You’re both are going to be busy on your wedding night to worry about me, I’ll handle it.”

but she just raised a knowing brow.

“Okay, I Promise I’ll text you.”

You blow a kiss to her, stepping out into the night, the cool air brushing against your flushed skin, making you shiver just a little. The sounds of the wedding faded behind you, muffled laughter, a distant swell of music. and you pulled out your phone, squinting at the screen as you opened your ride app.

God, your head was fuzzy. The good kind. The kind where everything felt slightly tilted but softer somehow.

You were fumbling with your screen brightness when the sound of a car window rolling down made you glance up. A sleek, black car had pulled up by the curb. Not the kind you called on an app, this was the kind of car with tinted windows, polished within an inch of its life, and a driver in a suit behind the wheel. And sitting in the backseat, one elbow resting casually on the window frame, was Harry.

His tie was nowhere to see now, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and his hair a little messier than earlier. His expression was… unreadable. Cautious, maybe. Hopeful. A little drunk himself.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, like the night wasn’t quite done with you both.

You blinked at him, caught off guard again, and your heart did that stupid thing, skipping when it shouldn’t.

“Hey,” you echoed, half a smirk on your lips despite yourself. “Fancy car.”

He shrugged, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth, his gaze flicked over you, softer now, “I wanted to ask if maybe you wanted a ride.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, shaking your head with a small, wry laugh. “Harry…”

“I swear it’s not what you think,” he cut in quickly, leaning out a little. “About her. About all of it. I saw her and yeah, it threw me. But tonight… you? That wasn’t about her. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t even know she’d be here.”

You stared at him, your mind a mess of champagne bubbles and the ache of old disappointments, but also that tiny, traitorous spark of wanting to believe him.

“I’m not great at this,” Harry added, softer now, the grin dropping.

And there it was.

That vulnerable, bare thing hanging between you both.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he went on. “I just… didn’t wanna leave it like that.”

You let out a long breath, looking up at the sky for a beat, then back at him.

“Where’s this thing headed?” you asked, jerking your chin toward the car.

Harry’s grin came back, slow and hopeful. “Anywhere you want.”

Without another word, you walked around the car and slipped into the seat beside him. The interior smelled like leather and expensive cologne, and it was too warm in that way that made you a little sleepier, a little braver.

The driver glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

“What’s your address, miss?”

You turned to Harry, a teasing smirk curling on your lips.

“I want French fries,” you declared, pouting a little, like it was the most reasonable answer in the world.

Harry blinked — then laughed. A real, rough-edged laugh that made something stupid and soft twist in your chest.

The driver looked between the two of you, a little uncertain.

“Mine,” Harry told him, voice easy but eyes on you, like he was making sure you were okay with it.

Harry huffed a laugh, leaning his head back against the seat for a second before turning toward you, one brow raised.

“Your house is made of fries?”

“I mean… no,” he grinned, “but now I’m wishing it was. Missed opportunity.”

You shrugged, leaning a little closer, tipsy boldness settling in your bones.

“Bit misleading, don’t you think? You promise me fries, take me to your place, and what? No fries? That’s emotional manipulation, Harry.”

He grinned wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made your stomach flip, and he squeezed your hand where it still rested between you both.

“Alright, alright. Fries first. House later,” he promised, turning to the driver.

“Can you swing by that 24-hour diner close to mine?”

The driver nodded without missing a beat “Sure, sir.”

You beamed, victorious.

Harry looked at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.

“Anything else, your highness? Milkshake? Nuggets? Entire dessert menu?”

You smirked, pretending to think it over.

“Surprise me.”

You didn’t even remember closing your eyes. One second you were leaning your head back against the seat, listening to Harry’s voice teasing the drive about you, and the next thing you knew, you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was soft, rough with amusement. “Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.”

You blinked your eyes open, disoriented by warmth and the quiet hum of the city outside. Harry’s face was close, and for a second you just stared at him, tousled hair, soft grin, eyes like the warmest kind of trouble.

Before your brain could catch up to your mouth, you blurted, “You’re really handsome, Harry Styles.”

Harry blinked, then let out a surprised, breathy laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“My last name is Castillo.” He grinned, raising a brow at you.

You let out a sleepy, tipsy giggle, leaning your head against the seat again.

“Whatever,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded, “you’re even more handsome now.”

He smiled at that, not a cocky smirk, but a soft, heart-twisting curve of his lips. The kind of smile someone saves for moments that matter.

“Come on, trouble,” he murmured, holding out a paper bag. “Got your fries.”

There was something so endearing about you, something he hadn’t quite expected. You didn’t posture, didn’t play at being hard to get or effortlessly untouchable like so many others in his world. There was a simplicity to you, not plain, not ordinary, but honest. Soft edges and sharp wit. A way you laughed with your whole face and said exactly what you meant, even if it came out half-asleep in the back of a car.

To his eyes, you were sunlight at golden hour. The hum of an old record player on a quiet Sunday. The warmth of fries after midnight. The kind of beautiful that didn’t ask to be noticed, and because of that, somehow, you were impossible to look away from.

And as you took the bag from his hand and peeked inside like it was a treasure chest, your sleepy grin making his heart trip over itself.

The elevator ride up to his apartment was quiet, save for the crinkle of the paper bag in your hands and your content little hums with every fry you pulled out. Harry kept sneaking glances at you, waiting, maybe even bracing, for the inevitable reaction.

People always reacted.

The first time Lucy had stepped inside, she’d gasped, breathy Oh my god, Harry, her eyes darting to the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city like it was some priceless painting, her hands trailing along the marble countertop like she could feel the weight of his bank account through it.

But you, you didn’t even look up.

You walked right past the windows, past the absurdly expensive furniture he didn’t even like, straight to the couch, kicking your shoes off and curling up with the fries like it was your own place.

Harry watched you for a second, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“You’re not even gonna pretend to be impressed?” he teased, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

You popped a fry into your mouth, eyes half-lidded from sleep and salt and whatever warmth was left between you both.

“I mean,” you shrugged lazily, “it’s nice. But these fries are stealing the show right now.”

Harry’s grin softened as he stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with something deeper now, something unspoken but electric.

Without warning, his hand reached up, fingers curling gently around your cheek, pulling you closer.

The paper bag slipped from your fingers, fries spilling softly onto the floor.

And then his lips were on yours, soft at first, like a question, then pressing harder, more urgent.

Perhaps both of you were a bit typsy but your heads were totally clear.

You gasped for air, caught off guard, but kissed him back, your hands finding his shoulders, your heart racing like it might burst out of your chest.

His other hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you against the wall with a warm strength that sent shivers down your spine.

It felt good, better than good, like something you’d been waiting for without knowing it.

But just then, a sudden wave of nausea rolled through you, sharp and unwelcome, pulling you out of the moment.

You broke the kiss, blinking, trying to steady yourself.

Your hand flew up to your mouth, but it was too late. A sudden, harsh wave hit, and before you could stop it, you were retching over Harry’s shoes.

He froze for a moment, eyes wide in surprise, then quickly crouched down to steady you, his voice calm “Shit — hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over your back.

“Oh my god… I need the bathroom,” you managed to choke out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Harry didn’t even flinch. “Down the hall, second door on the left,” he told you quickly, already helping you to your feet.

You bolted, following his directions, and sank to your knees beside the toilet just in time for another wave to hit.

A few minutes later, after cleaning up the mess in the living room and tossing his ruined shoes in the trash, Harry padded down the hall. He found you sitting on the cool bathroom floor, your back against the wall, looking pale and a little miserable.

He knelt down beside you, a bottle of water in one hand and a clean towel in the other.

“Hey,” he said gently, a crooked little grin on his face. “Thought I’d better come check you didn’t pass out on my bathroom floor. Bad for your reputation.”

You groaned softly, leaning your cheek against the cold porcelain of the toilet, eyes half-lidded as you looked over at him.

“I really need more French fries,” you mumbled, your voice raspy but stubborn.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he sat beside you, one knee bent up.

“No, you need to sleep,” he said, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “Fries tomorrow. Sleep now.”

You made a small noise of protest, closing your eyes. “But I’m gonna die without them.”

He grinned, his hand still resting lightly against your temple. “If you die, I’ll be arrested. Can’t risk it. So — bed.”

You cracked a sleepy, tipsy smile. “You’re bossy, Harry Castillo.”

He snorted a soft laugh. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta keep you alive tonight.”

Then, gently, he helped you up to your feet. “Come on, let’s get you to bed before you pass out on my bathroom’s floor.”

Harry kept an arm around you as he guided you out of the bathroom, your steps slow and a little unsteady. You clung to his wrist like a sleepy child, head drooping against his shoulder while he half-laughed, half-worried you might collapse again.

He pushed open the door to one of his rooms, though it was obvious no one had ever really stayed in it before. Soft, clean sheets. Dim, cozy lighting. Not as sleek as the rest of the apartment.

“Alright, c’mon, trouble,” he murmured as he helped you sit on the edge of the bed.

You tried to peel off your dress but only managed to tangle an arm halfway through the strap before sighing dramatically. “This thing’s trying to kill me.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay, okay. I got you. Arms up.”

He helped you ease out of the dress, careful, eyes pointedly keeping to your face like an absolute gentleman. He reached for a t-shirt, one of his, soft and faded with the passage of time, the kind of thing people would fight over in a breakup, and slipped it over your head. It hung to your mid-thigh like a dress.

“Perfect,” he said with a small smile, pulling the covers back.

You were already half-asleep again when he turned toward your purse sitting on the side table. He dug through it, phone, lip gloss, keys, a crumpled receipt, until he found a small pack of makeup remover wipes.

“Bingo.”

He crouched beside the bed, gently tilting your chin. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Let’s get this off so you don’t wake up with mascara all over the place.”

You made a sleepy, agreeable noise as he carefully wiped the makeup from your face, his touch tender, his thumb brushing your cheek more than once.

When he finished, he tossed the wipe and ran his hand over your hair. “There. Not bad.”

Your eyes fluttered open, gaze finding his, a tiny, crooked smile on your lips. “I like you, Harry.”

Harry grinned, heart stupidly clenching. “Yeah, well… I kinda like you too, French fry girl.”

And he pulled the blanket up over you, brushing one last stray hair from your forehead before clicking the light off.

The morning light slanted through the tall windows, soft and too bright for the pounding in your head. You groaned, bringing a hand to your temple as you cracked an eye open, and immediately froze.

This wasn’t your bed. This wasn’t your ceiling. And that smell definitely wasn’t your candle from Bath & Body Works.

You sat up slowly, blinking around at the unfamiliar room, trying to piece together the hazy, champagne-fogged puzzle in your head.

Harry.

The wedding.

Your stomach flipped for a whole other reason this time as you swung your legs off the bed and stood, wobbling slightly as you padded barefoot toward the door.

You stepped into the hallway, the muted sound of city traffic far below, the faint scent of coffee in the air. A few steps more and you rounded a corner, stopping when your eyes landed on him.

Harry was sitting at the table by the window, sunlight catching in the messy curl of his hair, a mug in one hand, phone in the other. He looked unfairly good for a man who had dealt with a drunk you.

The second he saw you, his face lit up. That same easy, crooked smile that had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

“Morning, trouble,” he grinned, setting his phone down. “How’s the head?”

You winced, pressing your fingers to your temple. “It’s… existing.”

He chuckled, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Come sit. I made coffee. And I’ve got water and Tylenol with your name on it.”

You blinked at him, still a little dazed. “Wait… did we have sex?”

Harry’s grin faded instantly, his expression softening into something careful, not offended, not smug, just… sincere.

He shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “We didn’t.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. And before you could spiral into embarrassment, he kept going.

“I would never,” he added, eyes steady on yours, voice low and firm. “Not like that. Not with you. You were tipsy, half-asleep, and throwing fries at me in my kitchen.” A crooked smile tugged at his mouth again. “I got you into a t-shirt, wiped off your makeup, and put you to bed. That’s it.”

Your chest warmed, a knot somewhere in your stomach loosening a little at his words, at the way he said them. Not defensive, not self-righteous. Just honest.

You gave him a small, sheepish smile. “Okay. Good. I—“

“You threw up on my shoes though” He interrupted, hiding a smile.

“Oh my god!” You said, taking your hands to cover your face, “I can pay you back.”

Harry laughed, a real, full-bodied one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Oh, absolutely not,” he grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Those shoes deserved it. Honestly, they were ugly as hell.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, groaning. “I’m mortified. I am so sorry. I’ll pay you or — or buy you new ones. Whatever you want.”

He shook his head, waving a hand like it was nothing. “They were Gucci,” he confirmed, grinning at the way your eyes widened like saucers.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, dropping your head to the table dramatically. “I’m a monster.”

He reached over and nudged your arm gently. “Relax, it’s fine. Honestly, I hated those shoes. It was a mercy kill.”

You lifted your head, giving him a hopeful look. “Okay, but… to ease my guilt. Coffee. On the house. From my coffee shop. For a year. It’s the least I can do.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “A year, huh? Unlimited?”

“Unlimited,” you confirmed, hand over your heart.

His grin turned smug. “So, do you own a coffee shop?”

“Yes.” You replied.

“Yes,” you replied, sitting up a little straighter, a flicker of pride sneaking through the mortification. “It’s called Willow & Coffee. — down on 10th.”

Harry’s brows shot up, a surprised grin pulling at his mouth. “Wait—” he pointed at you, then let out a disbelieving laugh. “You own that place?”

You blinked, confused but curious. “Yeah… why?”

“Are you kidding?” he shook his head, leaning back in his chair, grinning like this was the best plot twist he’d heard all week. “I always send my assistant there. Every morning. Best coffee in the entire New York, hands down. I didn’t even know the owner was… you.”

You laughed, both flattered and a little flustered. “Well, guess you’ve been funding my rent without even knowing it.”

He smirked. “And here I thought I was just overpaying for caffeine addiction. Turns out, it was fate.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, grabbing the Tylenol he’d set out for you. “Fate and Gucci-vomit.”

You popped the Tylenol into your mouth, chasing it with a sip of water, then your eyes drifted down to the plate of breakfast he’d made — fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and toast with a little dish of jam on the side.

Your stomach, now steady enough to form coherent requests, let out a soft, very real growl.

Harry caught the sound and grinned. “Eat,” he said, nudging the plate toward you. “Figured you might need something great this morning.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. “God, yes,” you murmured, grabbing a fork and digging in. The eggs were perfect, soft, buttery, with just the right amount of salt. You groaned around a mouthful. “Okay, you cook too? Is there anything you don’t do?”

Harry chuckled, sipping his coffee. “Plenty. I’m shit at assembling furniture. And parallel parking. But breakfast? I’ve got that handled.”

You grinned around another bite of bacon. “This is incredible. I should puke on your shoes more often.”

He laughed again, head tipping back, a warm sound that filled the kitchen. “Noted. But let’s make it a special occasion thing, yeah?”

You smirked, reaching for a slice of toast. “Deal.”

You finished the last of your toast, licking a smudge of jam from your thumb as you leaned back in your chair, feeling marginally more human. Harry was watching you over the rim of his coffee mug, that same soft grin on his face.

“So,” he said casually, setting his cup down, “are you gonna give me your number, or do I have to track you down at your coffee shop like some hopeless caffeine addict?”

You snorted, pulling your phone from where it was sitting on the table. “Pretty bold of you to assume I’d want to see you again after the great puke disaster of last night.”

“Oh, please,” he smirked, sliding his phone across the table to you, “I haven’t laughed that hard in months. You’re a keeper.”

You bit your lip, fighting a grin as you typed your number into his phone and handed it back. “There. Now you can make use of your free membership.”

He glanced at the screen, saving your contact with a small, satisfied smile. “Perfect.”

A little while later, you stood up, reluctantly peeling yourself away from the warmth of his apartment and his stupidly good breakfast. You padded back to the bedroom where your things were and quickly pulled yourself together, your head still a little fuzzy but far better than earlier.

When you came back out, Harry was leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that same infuriatingly good-natured smile.

You stepped up to him, feeling bold in the way only a hangover and a good breakfast could make you, and pressed a light, lingering kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, and you could feel the faint scratch of stubble beneath your lips.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you murmured, pulling back to meet his eyes.

He smiled, a little softer this time. “Anytime, trouble.”

Once you stepped out of his apartment, the air hit your face, clearing the last haze of sleep and champagne from your head. Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced down to see Claire’s name lighting up the screen.

Are you alright? You didn’t text me last night!

You smiled softly, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you replied:

Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. Talk soon, enjoy the start of your married life.

Pocketing your phone, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself

Three days passed, and you hadn’t heard a word from Harry since you left his apartment. The silence gnawed at you more than you expected — a quiet, unsettling kind of disappointment that crept in slowly.

Why had you even thought he’d be different?

You tried to shove the thought aside, burying yourself in work instead. The hum of the coffee machines, the chatter of customers, and the smell of fresh espresso helped distract you, kept your mind busy.

Just as you were about to lose yourself in some inventory paperwork, one of your employees approached, holding out a small envelope.

“Boss? There’s something for you here.”

You slowly opened the envelope, expecting a note or maybe a card — but instead, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you barely had time to register the scene before your eyes locked onto a giant bouquet of roses, nearly as tall as you were.

And then you realized, those roses had legs.

Behind the massive, fragrant explosion of red petals, Harry was standing there, grinning like he’d just pulled off the best surprise ever.

You stood frozen, stunned, your heart skipping a beat.

“I wanted to grab my free coffee and see the boss of this place,” he said with a wink, “people say she’s really pretty.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, you got the right place,” you replied, shaking your head in amused disbelief.

The whole office watched, a mix of surprise and delight lighting up their faces as Harry stood there, roses in hand, like something out of a movie.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. “Alright, Mr. Castillo, let’s get you that coffee.”

Harry stepped closer, still holding the bouquet like a proud knight with his shield. He glanced around at the curious faces in the office, then back at you with that playful glint in his eyes.

“So,” he said, voice low and a little hopeful, “how about you make me company while I grab that coffee? I don’t do well with crowds.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Are you asking me to take care of you, Harry Castillo?”

He shrugged with a charming grin.

The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, and you found yourself smiling more than you expected.

“Alright,” you said, “but only if you promise to keep those roses away from the coffee counter.”

He laughed, stepping beside you as you both headed toward the café.

“Deal.”

You led him toward the little counter tucked near the back of your coffee shop, the scent of roasted beans and warm pastries wrapping around you both like a soft blanket. The employees tried their best to look busy, but you caught a few of them sneaking glances, one of the baristas nudging another with a grin.

Harry leaned against the counter, setting the ridiculous bouquet down carefully beside him.

“So… what’s the house special?” he asked, eyes on you like you were the only thing worth noticing in the room.

You smirked, grabbing a cup and jotting down his name on the side with a little heart.

“Depends,” you teased. “Are you looking to be impressed?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t care. As long as you’re drinking one too.”

You shook your head, amused despite yourself, and started making the drinks, your fingers moving on autopilot while your heart tried to pretend it wasn’t skipping like a damn drumline.

When you handed him the cup, he didn’t take it right away, his hand brushed yours, lingering just a second too long.

After you took a set-in front of him, you notice him fidgeting with his fingers.

“Is there something wrong, Harry?”

 He lifted his gaze to meet yours. “Okay, well. There is something I need to ask, well said. It's kind of embarrassing. But I need to ask you something.”

You arched a brow, curiosity tugging at your lips as you leaned in a little, elbows on the table.

“Okay…” you teased lightly. “Now you have to ask. Can’t leave me hanging like that.”

Harry let out a nervous little huff of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Harry shifted in his seat, his usual confidence flickering for a second, and god, it made your stomach flip. You weren't used to seeing him like this.

He cleared his throat, lifted his gaze to meet yours again, and gave a crooked, sheepish little grin.

“Okay, so… this is gonna sound insane, and probably is, but I kinda need a favor. A big one.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You’re really milking that whole free coffee deal, huh?”

He chuckled, then rubbed the back of his neck again. “Yeah, well… see, there’s this event thing, like, family thing… and I may or may not have told them I was seeing someone. Which was stupid. I know, I know,” he added quickly when your eyebrows shot up. “It’s just, they won’t stop setting me up with these awful dates, and I panicked. So now… I need someone to, uh, pretend to be my girlfriend. For a little while.”

Your lips parted, surprised. You blinked at him.

“Pretend?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little too fast. “Just for a bit. A couple dinners, maybe an event or two. Nothing crazy. Just enough to convince my mum and Nan to get off my back for a while.”

You stared at him for a second longer, and then, against your better judgment, a slow smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You really dug yourself into a hole, huh?”

“Deep,” he admitted, grinning now too. “And you… well, you’re the only person I trust not to sell me out mid-dinner.”

What Harry didn’t say, what he couldn’t say, was that this wasn’t just about his family. Not really.

Sure, his mum and Nan were relentless, and sure, the dates they lined up for him were a special kind of torture. But if he was being honest with himself, something he wasn’t great at. This whole idea had started when his ex-had shown up at his sister’s engagement party last month, hanging off the arm of some the guy she had left him for. And Harry had felt something sharp twist in his chest, something ugly he didn’t want to name.

He’d told himself it didn’t matter. He’d moved on. Or at least, he’d been trying to.

Then you came crashing, quite literally, into his night at the wedding of one of his closest friends, and throwing up on his Gucci shoes like it was some kind of cosmic joke. And instead of being annoyed, he’d laughed. Genuinely laughed. And when he’d tucked you into bed, wiping makeup from your cheek, something soft and unfamiliar had settled in his chest.

There was something about you. Something he hadn’t expected. Something he didn’t want to break.

You were easy to be around. You didn’t fawn over him or try to impress him. You didn’t treat him like he was made of glass, or like he owed you something. You were real in a way he hadn’t realized he was starving for. And yeah, maybe it had started as a petty plan to prove something to himself, to the world, to Lucy, perhaps, but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a game.

And now, sitting across from you while you teased him about his free coffee addiction, that quiet, stubborn part of him wanted to wrap you up in bubble wrap, to keep that warmth you carried, untouched by the messes of his world.

He ran a hand through his hair, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you mock-consider his ridiculous offer.

God, what am I doing?

But you looked up at him then, those eyes bright with mischief and something softer underneath.

“Alright, Harry. But you owe me.”

And he knew, without a doubt, he was already in deeper than he meant to be.

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