52, She/Her, Richard Armitage, Tom Hiddleston, Pedro Pascal, Oscar Isaac, Henry Cavill, The Hobbit, LOTR, Poetry, people, and things that interest me. MASTERLIST
Summary: When a little boy gets lost in the woods in England, what hope does he have to return to his home safe and sound? Who will come to his rescue? Well, a very chaotic entity that loves kids.
Author's Note: I usually don't write RPF, but I felt compelled to write this one. This concept had been rattling in my head for a while, but I never felt a push to actually write it. Until now, until today, when I had been down in the dumps, thinking I had lost my writing mojo for good. I guess Loki approved?
Category: General
Warnings: None
...............
Golden, rowdy curls... unsure, confused steps.
The child was… lost, for certain. He had looked around and tried to act brave at first. But soon, it all devolved into panic and fear.
He was now crying. No, he was a sobbing mess. Crying out for his mother, looking around with frantic, wet eyes.
He was deep in the woods and there was no help in sight.
Were his parents not around? Why wasn't anyone looking for him?
The hidden, shadowy figure moved closer to the boy as his sobs grew louder, drawn by his distress. Not a sound was heard, but a rustling of wind through the trees.
Slowly, the inky shadow took on a more solid form, though the shape looked like a mirage. Ever changing, never settling.
The boy hadn't noticed the presence yet, for he was far too perturbed with his immediate surroundings.
Finally, on a whim, the shifting mirage settled on a form, just as his footsteps squished the fallen, half rotten leaves on the wet ground.
It had rained not long ago, and it might as well start pouring again.
Not that it mattered. To him, it didn't…
But the child would be soaked, and it wouldn't bode well for him. Children were fragile little treasures, after all.
The boy turned around just as he heard the wet footsteps approaching, his eyes wide and terrified.
They were a lovely shade of blue, big and expressive.
He smiled, stopping before the boy, letting him observe him.
"W-Who are you?" he asked, his voice cracking with nerves, his little body shaking in response to both fear and the evening chill of the woods.
"That's irrelevant, dear heart. Are you lost?" he asked the trembling boy, extending his hand towards him as an offer.
The boy didn't move, eyeing his hand with apprehension.
He didn't trust him. That was wise. Trusting strangers in the woods was bad form.
But in this instance, there was little room for choice.
Ah, but he knew he had to be patient. Children were delicate beings. Innocent from all wiles, they held a special place in his heart.
Bending down on one knee, he asked the same question again.
"Are you lost, my child?"
It took him a beat, but the boy finally gave him a little nod, his lips trembling as the tears once again escaped his eyes.
"I want to go home," he mumbled, barely audible.
"I see." The proffered hand still extended towards the boy. "Come then, we shall find a way back."
Patience unlike which he usually possessed took over then, as he let the boy take his hand in a slow, measured approach.
"My mum says that I shouldn't trust strangers," the boy stated, even as he grasped his hand with his little fingers.
"That's all true and wise, but your mum should've been here to protect you."
He did feel a certain ire towards irresponsible parents.
"It's not her fault. I ran away and got lost," the boy said contritely, lowering his head. "I didn't listen to her. I just wanted to run, to feel the wind on my face. I didn't see where I was going."
"Ah, I see. So you were being rebellious." He smirked as he rose to his full height. "How very chaotic of you."
The boy grew less scared and weepy and more loquacious as they began to walk, the sun setting behind them, darkening the woods.
"Is that bad? Being chaotic?"
"Not at all. Chaos is but an aspect of life. Without it, nothing would move, nothing would stir. Nothing would grow."
"So… why did I get lost then? Why do bad things happen with chaos?"
"You think it's a bad thing, but perhaps it isn't. For what it's worth, I found you."
"Yes. But what were you doing in the woods? Were you lost as well? Or were you looking for something?"
A chuckle escaped between them. The boy was a curious creature. Good for him.
"No. I wasn't lost, neither was I looking for something. I simply love wandering in the woods. I'm at home with nature."
"Where do you live?"
"Far from here, but close enough to visit these woods every once in a while"
"You sound like a riddle, and you talk in a weird way."
Another chuckle. "Do I?"
"Yup. But I like it."
Slowly, they walked in a straight line and reached the edge of the woods, stepping onto the familiar grey asphalt that served as the pathway for all the manner of modern human conveyance.
"I recognize this road!" the child claimed with newfound enthusiasm, pulling at his hand as he tried to cross over to the other side.
He let him pull him, smiling down at him as he chirped about his house, which was only a block away.
Of course, it was.
Hand in hand, they reached the boy's home in no time at all.
"Come inside," the boy urged, still hanging onto his hand as they approached the house's main door. "Please?"
He let out a sigh. "I must not, dear. I have places I need to be"
The boy pouted. "But you said you just wander around."
"Not without a purpose. I do have things to do."
The boy looked down, then sideways at the door to his house, letting out a little sigh of disappointment.
"Alright. But I want to thank you."
"I accept your thanks."
Shaking his head, the boy looked up at him again, one hand still hanging onto him while the other fished something out from his pants pocket.
"Here, please have it. I wanted to give you something more, something bigger, but that's all I have right now." He raised his hand up, offering him a confection.
He recognized it--chocolate, one of his favoured sweet treats.
"Please have it."
Well, he wasn't the one to reject an offering. Especially so innocently given. But… an offering given so freely had to have its consequences.
Silently, the confection changed hands.
"I shall take my leave now." He bent down on his knee again, stroking the golden haired head of the boy, uttering a blessing audible to no one but him, spoken in a tongue as old as time itself. "Be good, and don't spread too much chaos and mischief. At least, not until you grow up a bit. You'll get plenty of opportunities when you do."
The boy nodded, though his eyes grew sad. "Before you go, can I at least know your name, sir?"
Lightning sparked up in the sky behind him as he rose, illuminating his pitch dark tresses as he gazed down at the boy, a kind smile gracing his sharp features.
"I have many names, but you may call me Loki."
Thunder rumbled then, loud and cracking as the rain came down in a heavy downpour. "Till we meet again, Tom."
Patting his head again, he turned around and walked away, disappearing into the sheet-like rain.
"Wait… how did you know my name?" the little boy called out in confusion, only to receive silence in response.
Silence and the clamouring rain…
-------
[Present Day]
"Tom? Hello, you still there?"
A blink, and just like that, his thoughts scattered, leaving the shadow of the memory behind. He pulled it back under lock and key, like always. This one wasn't meant to be shared with anyone.
"Yes, I'm here. Sorry, bad connection."
"Ah ok. As I was saying, Disney is going ahead with this thing, and it's going to be pretty big. They want new stories, and they're very eager to have one with Loki."
That was… a surprise. He hadn't been expecting this.
"Loki?"
"Yup."
"As much as I want this to happen, he's… well, he's dead."
He had to say that with a very heavy heart, even apologizing silently to the one he knew was certainly alive and watching over him.
"We'll figure something out. Are you game for it?"
He rubbed his palm against his face, closing his eyes. He was pretty certain that he heard a chuckle echo around him, light and effervescent and almost inaudible.
"You have to be gentle with my heart, Louis, I can't keep saying goodbye to him. Be still, my heart."
"I understand, man, but this time, you'll get the reins. Tell his story in a more fleshed out way, it's gonna be a whole series."
"A whole series, you say?"
"Yeah."
Tom opened his eyes and smiled, shaking his head in disbelief and joy.
"I'm in."
Just as the call disconnected, he went to his kitchen and opened the fridge, taking out a dark chocolate bar.
"Thank you," he murmured softly, smiling to himself as he placed it on the counter and went off to take Bobbie out for a run.
He knew that it'd be gone by the time he'd return. Just like it always did.
Warnings: None really, but the fic starts out with a pregnant/laboring reader. It is not graphic. Just like ao3, “creator chooses not to use warnings.” If you click Keep Reading, that means you agree that you’re the age to handle mature themes. Also by clicking Keep Reading, you understand warnings may not be complete in order to avoid spoilers for the story.
Notes: I had this idea for ages and tortured @theewokingdead about it for longer than she deserves, so here it is! I dedicate it to her!
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**Reader is not described
Main Masterlist
Joel Miller Masterlist
"One more breath and…push!" The man with the dark curly hair and freckles lightly splattered aross his cheeks gently commands me, his face fully concentrated, body ready to catch the baby that I'm currently bringing into this broken world.
I had labored by myself in this shack, trying to be as silent as I could so I wouldn't attract anything that may have been lurking nearby. I didn't have a chance to properly scout the area, on account of the contractions that eventually got to the point where I couldn't continue moving through them anymore. I went as far in the dilapidated building as I could, poorly attempting to conceal myself inside. And then the man came with a younger girl, his hands up and offering help. Normally I wouldn't have accepted, but I am out of choices.
I don't have a chance to push, my body's instincts taking over, surprise on my face as my baby comes into the world, screaming right away. The man picks up his shed flannel shirt from the ground next to him, gently wrapping my baby in it.
"Congrats. You have a beautiful little girl." He hands me to her, tears streaming down my face as I gently take her, holding her tiny body to my chest. I unbutton my shirt, trying to get as much skin to skin as I can and it's several minutes before I look up at the man, surprised to find him wiping a tear from his eyes.
"Thank you," I manage to get out.
"I'm just glad I found you."
I smile at him. "Me too. You've done this before?"
He nods. "A few times. Including my own."
"That sounds special."
A few moments of silence passes between us.
"I'm Tommy. The girl with me is Ellie."
I tell him my name. "But everyone calls me Sage."
His eyes crinkle a little when he smiles at me. "It's nice to meet you Sage. Do you have a name for her?" He looks down at the bundle in my arms.
Tears sting my eyes and I clear my throat. "I had a friend when I was younger. She…didn't make it." I'm quiet for several moments, thinking of my friend. "Hana."
"It's a good name."
He helps me get Hana settled, surprisingly good at latch technique. "My wife struggled a bit at first too. It's common." He invited me back to Jackson, his town. An actual town, with fortifications, running water, and electricity. I burst into tears when he said I would have a house just for me and Hana.
We make it to Jackson where I'm immediately brought to the clinic, the town doctor and midwife checking me over. They kept me for a day or so, just to make sure everything was good. When I was ready to go, Tommy met me at the door, his wife Maria standing next to him. They both guided me down a few streets up to a beautiful ranch style home. It has 3 bedrooms which I insisted was too many, but they wouldn't hear about it. One of the rooms had some toys for a girl already, maybe about 5 or 6 years old. I wonder what had happened to her.
I follow them out the front door and Tommy turns to face me. "My brother Joel lives across the street," he gestures at the house. "He's grumpy, but reliable. And we're just a few streets down."
"I can't thank you enough. Both of you."
Maria smiles at me. "You let me know if you need anything."
-------
It's been a week since Hana came into my life and Tommy and Maria graciously welcomed us into Jackson. I haven't been able to get out much. Such is the life with a newborn and a single mom. Maria checks in on me daily, bringing by food supplies and cooked meals.
I make my way downstairs quietly, somehow managing to leave Hana fast asleep in the old dresser drawer I had made into a bassinet of sorts. Stumbling into the kitchen, I pour a glass of room temperature water and drink it, letting it sit in my mouth for several moments before swallowing. Clean, readily available water is something I'll never take for granted. A soft double rap on my front door brings me present and I set my glass down, making my way to the front of the house. When I open it, no one is there. Except, on the doorstep is a wooden bassinet that looks freshly carved. A light blanket folded inside of it. Tears well at the corners of my eyes as I bend down to pick it up, glancing around once more and not seeing anyone. It must have been Tommy or Maria. Sometimes they leave stuff without knocking so as not to disturb Hana, but this is…so unexpected and appreciated.
I take the bassinet inside and study it some more. I run my fingers gently across little outlines of horses and sage flowers, carved along the sides and across the top of the bassinet. Such beautiful work! I hear Hana start to stir from upstairs so I quickly clean off the bassinet and carry it up, placing it on the floor near my bed. I bend over at the dresser drawer to pick up a waking Hana.
"Hey pretty girl. Look what someone left us! Probably Tommy and Maria."
I feed Hana first, waiting until she passes out from being milk drunk before I lay her down on the bed and arrange her bassinet, transferring her blankets from the drawer over. I manage to move her over and she snuggles down, passing fully out for a few hours.
I really have to thank Tommy and Maria for this.
-------
A couple of days later, I feel good enough to try and get in a walk to the main part of town, maybe stop at the main eatery to get a meal I don't have to cook. Maria had given me a long bolt of fabric, showing me how to wrap it around me a certain way to tuck Hana against me and keep her safe and be hands free. I get dressed and wrap us up, slowly making my way towards the main part of town. I quietly talk to Hana about everything I see, in awe at the beautiful little town we somehow ended up in. I head into the building marked EAT and am met with the smell of beef stew, my stomach rumbling at the scent. I join the line, looking at some kids at a table playing with a couple of toy cars.
"I forgot about toys. We'll have to find you something, Hana." I quietly say to her, taking another step forward in line. But when I'm offered a tray of food, I quickly realize how difficult it will be for me to balance it and not spill the stew on Hana's head. I'm about to tell the worker that I'll have to take trips, when the man in front of me, clad in flannel, turns around, gently taking the tray for me. His deep brown eyes meet mine and he nods his head to the side, indicating I should go and he'll follow. I wind my way through the room and find a back corner booth, carefully scooting into the booth. The man sets the tray on the table in front of me and I look up at him, finding his gaze already on me.
"Anythin' else you need?" His voice is gruff, but soft around the edges. I smile up at him.
"No, this is great. Thanks for your help. Really." He nods at me, his eyes shifting to Hana. They soften as he looks at her, a far off look in his eyes. His eyes start to water and he quickly turns away, his heavy boots thunking across the wood floor as he leaves. My heart hurts, thinking about the pain in his eyes. That pain is a familiar one.
-------
A few days goes by and I open my front door, nearly stepping on a basket with 2 wooden rattles inside, also handmade. I look around, still seeing no one to thank. Picking up the basket, I take out one of the rattles and run my thumb over its smooth surface, gently giving it a shake, the wooden rings rattling against each other. I smile, turning to head inside, excited to give Hana her new toys. Well, show them to her at least.
-------
Tommy stops by a few days later, a casserole in his hands from Maria. I could cry. Sometimes I'm too tired to eat, but this makes it so much easier.
"Maria sends her love, but she's up at the school today."
"There's a school too?"
Tommy nods, smiling. "Yeah. We just expanded it. Finished about a month or so before we found you. You haven't seen it?"
I shake my head, forcing a smile. "I uh..haven't gotten out much."
Tommy chuckles. "Yeah I remember those first few months. You feel like you're doing everything wrong and wonder how long you can go without sleep before you die."
I laugh then. "I mean, I've gone without sleep before, but this is borderline torture."
We both share a chuckle. "Oh, Tommy, I forgot. Thanks for the bassinet and the rattles. They're gorgeous."
His eyebrows knit together in confusion, his head cocking to the side. "The bassinet?"
"Mmhhmm. And the rattles….you…don't remember leaving them?"
Tommy shakes his head, confusion still on his face. "No?"
I beckon to Tommy, pressing my finger to my lips as I lead him to the bedroom where Hana was fast asleep. I point to it and Tommy's eyes roam over it, a peculiar look shining from them. I close the door and we head back downstairs to the front hall, Tommy sliding his boots back on.
"I didn't make that bassinet." Tommy admits as he laces up his boots.
My eyebrows pinch together. "You didn't? Then who did?"
Tommy rights himself, a smirk struggling to be contained as his eyes glittered. "Must be a secret admirer."
He's so full of shit. He knows exactly who left it. But right as I open my mouth to call him out, Hana's cry sounds from the back room. Tommy taps an invisible hat and nods. "See you later, Sage."
-------
Another week goes by and I hear something heavy being set down outside my front door. By the time I'm able to leave Hana safely, there's no one there. However, there is a beautiful, simple changing table. My back cries out in relief, as I had been bending over the bassinet or the floor to change Hana's cloth diapers. I pull it inside and dust it off, admiring the woodwork. It's not just a flat table to change diapers, but several compartments down the sides to hold diapers and wipes, even a basket with what feels like some sort of waterproof liner on the side of it for dirty ones. This had to take hours. Tears well in my eyes and I silently thank whomever it is that keeps leaving these wonderful gifts.
-------
Hana is a few months old now, somehow. I'm honestly not sure how. Somewhere between the sleep deprivation and the feeding, I guess. My secret admirer has left us a few more things: more little toys for Hana, a new set of wooden utensils (which is great because the plastic ones that had been left here were shit), a bread box, and several baskets and crates to help carry things around in. I had nearly dropped everything out of the flimsy laundry basket I had on my front steps the other day, so the basket was really appreciated.
I'm putting the dishes away, Hana sleeping in her little bassinet that I'd brought into the kitchen with me when I hear boots scuffing against my front porch. Tommy had said he was going to bring by some baby clothes that Maria had scrounged up, so I set down my dish rag, quickly heading to the front door to avoid him knocking and waking up Hana. I fling the door open and am met with wide, brown eyes, but not the familiar ones belonging to Tommy. Instead, it's my neighbor from across the street, Joel. The other Miller. The one who had helped me with my tray. The handsome one. His eyes are wide and terrified and I glance down at his hands, a tiny, wooden toy horse in one and a jar in the other labled Nipple Cream. I look back up at him, his ears turning redder by the moment. He shoves both of them at me, mumbling under his breath. "Not from me…the nipple…just horse…" before he quickly turns and stalks off across the street, slamming his door behind him.
I'm frozen on my front steps for a moment, trying to digest what I'd just seen. I look at the jar and see a small note attached to it: I know I needed this. It's a miracle salve -Maria. I look at the toy horse, no saddle, mane flowing in the wind. The detail is impeccable-
The realization slams into me hard and my gaze flicks up to Joel's house across the street. It was him. He was the one leaving me all these gifts, the beautiful bassinet, the toys. He must have heard me or seen me need something and then just..went and made it. I clutch the horse a little tighter as I head back inside, tears streaming down my face.
The next day, I bake a pie and take it over to his porch, leaving it where he'll see it, knowing it's not enough to thank him for everything.
-------
About a month later, Hana won't stop crying. Her diaper is clean, she's been burped, she's not hungry. But she won't stop crying, her little face scrunched up in some made up audacity. I rock her, bounce her up and down, sing to her, all of it.
"Ssshh, little girl. You're alright. What do you need? You're probably tired. Ssshh.."
::knock knock knock::
Shit. I bet her screaming is keeping up the entire neighborhood. I don't even bother to fix my disheveled hair as I open the door, Hana's scream greeting the man standing there.
Joel.
"I…I'm sorry, Joel. I'm trying to get her to be quiet, but she just insists on making her discomfort everyone's problem. I'll try harder-"
Joel holds out his hands. "I know we don't know each other real good, but can I hold her? Give you a moment?"
Hana continues screaming while I stare at him. We haven't said more than a handful of words to each other and I'm fairly certian he's been actively avoiding me since the nipple cream incident. But I'm desperate and if I trust Tommy, I can trust him. Gently, I pass Hana to him and he cradles her like he'd done it a thousand times.
"Hey, baby girl. What's a matter?" His deep voice is low and soothing. Hana looks up at him and almost immediately stops crying, letting out little coos. "You look mighty tired, baby girl." Joel rocks her slightly, Hana's hand reaching out to squeeze his thumb, her tiny fingers wrapping around him. She makes a final cooing sound before she nuzzles into his chest and promptly falls asleep.
My jaw hits the floor.
"Can you move in?" I ask. Joel looks up at me and chuckles.
"I know that feeling."
He looks back down at her and we both take a moment to watch her sleep, my ears grateful for the silence.
"I can take her back if you have something else you need to do?"
Joel shakes his head. "Nah. I'm free. As long as it's good with you."
My eyes burn, my nose starting to tingle and I quickly dab at my eyes. "I have some coffee if you'd like some?"
His big brown eyes snap to mine, wide and hopeful, just like a puppy. "You have coffee?" How do his eyes do that?
I nod, smiling. "I do. And you can have it all. You can have whatever you want if you can get her to stop crying like that."
Joel follows me inside, still rocking and bouncing my sleeping Hana as I make coffee. I offer him milk and sugar, but he declines, turning his head to the side and taking a sip of the dark liquid. A low hum eminates from the back of his throat and he closes his eyes for a moment, savoring it.
"Ellie traded my coffee for some cookies, so I haven't had any in a while."
I chuckle. "Ellie, like the girl who was with Tommy when they found me?"
Joel nods. "Yeah. 18 years old. Little shit, but aren't they all?"
I smile, giving him a shrug. "Yeah, I suppose so. You had her after the outbreak?"
Joel takes another sip and sets his mug down on the side table, shaking his head. "Nah she ain't mine. Not like that. We…traveled here together from the Boston QZ."
"That's a long way from here."
Joel nods. "Yeah. She was supposed to meet up with another group but it…didn't work out."
"Well, at least she has you…do you have any other kids?"
Joel's smile fades quickly, and I immediately regret asking. I reach out and squeeze his arm, which is fucking firm as hell, damn. "I'm sorry. I shouldn't have asked. It's just, you're so good with Hana, and the way you just knew how to do things, I just assumed…"I let my voice trail off, silence enveloping us for a few moments.
"I..did have a daughter. Before. She…well, her mama left when she was born, so it was just me and her. I was 22 and terrified and alone, except for Tommy. I learned everything the hard way. Sarah was-" Joel swallows hard, his eyes watering slightly. "-everything to me. Smarter than me, beautiful, just the best. I don't know what I did to deserve her." He looks down at Hana, his hand coming up to wipe at his eyes. He clears his throat before speaking. "She died on outbreak day."
"I'm sorry," I squeeze his arm again, and he nods a thank you, his jaw muscles clenching as he watches Hana sleep, his thumb still thoroughly trapped in her grip. He clears his throat again, shaking his head a little as to clear it of memories. "What about you? What's your story?"
I take a moment to drink from my own mug, holding the warmth in my hands for a moment. "My parents, myself, and my big brother made it for a while, scavaging and just trying to keep safe. Stayed in a few QZ's, but-" I gesture vaguely. "-not all of them last. Then last year, my brother got sick. Real sick. We had been on the road for a while, escaping the last hell hole QZ. He was dying. I left him as safe as I could and I ventured out, doubling back to this group of people we had initially avoided. I saw some med bottles on the table in their camp, so I knew they had something, or at least access to it. They were the only option. So I walked into their camp and straight up to their leader, a man with dark eyes and olive skin, salt and pepper hair that was curly, but kept short. I asked him for the meds to help my brother. He stared at me for a long while. But he did offer me the meds…in exchange for a night with me." Joel made a disgusted sound. "I had to save my brother, so I agreed. He took me into his tent, the flap closing behind us. But when I turned to face him, he reached out and held my face, his thumbs brushing against my cheeks. Which is not what I expected, but I knew that look. He said I reminded him of his wife. His wife who's favorite breakfast food was pancakes." The pause between us is heavy, both of us knowing the result of that so many years ago. "He put the meds in my hand and told me to go, but I couldn't. I could see the hurt in his eyes and I'd lost people too. So I told him to call me by his wife's name. He could say goodbye. We laid together for a while. He was gentle and kind, and thanked me before I left. My brother healed and we went on our way. It wasn't until a couple of months later when I realized I was pregnant. We went back to find him. I at least wanted him to know. But…"I swallowed hard. "..he had been killed by a clicker attack a couple days before we found them. Or what was left of their group."
Joel manages to shift a hand free, placing it on my thigh and giving it a squeeze. "You gave him a great gift, being able to say goodbye. I'm sure he'd be happy to know some good came of it." He nods towards Hana.
I look at her, peacefully sleeping in Joel's arms. "Yeah. I think you're right. Shame though. He had an ass unlike any I've ever seen."
Joel nearly spit out his coffee, choking slightly. "Good to know." We sit in silence for several more moments before he speaks again. "Wait. Tommy and Ellie found you alone. Well, in labor but it was just you. Didn't you say you had a brother?"
My mind flashes back to the day as I recount it to Joel. "We did good for a while, but I was getting slower as I was getting more and more pregnant. We knew we'd have to find a place for me to stay a bit both before and after the baby. We thought we'd found a place, but my brother missed a room. Didn't know until the clicker was there. He..threw himself in front of me. Managed to take down the clicker but not before it mauled him. He..demanded I leave him. That I don't waste any time. He's heard whispers of a place out this way. I left him my last bullet and I ran as fast as I could. He held on as long as he could before pulling that trigger, a few clickers screaming in the distance at the sound. I stayed on track to find this place, but eventually couldn't go any further. Little Miss here, decided it was time." Hana coos in her sleep and we both watch her yawn before tucking her face against Joel's chest again. "I don't know what I would've done if Tommy hadn't come along. He saved us."
"Don't let him hear you say that. It'll go straight to his head." We both chuckle at that, Joel's smile fading quicker than mine. His eyes lock onto mine, a serious look coming across his face.
"I'm sorry for all that you went through. I know it's hard out there. I can't imagine being pregnant."
I sigh, giving him a small smile. "We all have a story. I'm just lucky I get to be here now. Which reminds me. How am I ever going to repay you for all the things you handmade us?"
Joel shakes his head. "You don't owe me anything, darlin'. I wanted to do it."
-------
From then on, Joel came around more often. Almost always with something for Hana or myself. I told him that wasn't necessary, that he could just come hang out and get a warm meal but he insisted. Said that we deserved nice things too.
Hana seemed to sense when he would leave his house to head to work. I swear she would wake up everyday at the same time and, sure enough, about 20 minutes later, I'd see Joel heading down his front steps, sometimes rubbing the sleep from his eyes. So one day, when hana woke, I got us dressed and sat on his front porch. A few minutes went by before he came out, his eyebrows raised in surprise as a small smile tries to tug at the corners of his mouth.
"What..what are ya'll doing here so early?"
I stand, adjusting Hana in her wrap and walk over to Joel, who gently cradles the back of Hana's head. She coos, resting her tiny head momentarily in his palm before falling back asleep. Does this man have magic hands? My mind starts to drift on that thought before I realize he's staring at me, waiting for an answer.
"Oh. Uh, well..she always seems to get up when you do. I thought maybe you wouldn't mind us walking with you to town?""
His dark eyes study me for a moment before he finally caves and gives me a small smile. "Yeah. I'd like that."
From then on, we accompany him to work. Sometimes he's helping build, sometimes he's just in the office making plans of things to build. Either way, Hana and I walk him to work. After the first week, Tommy leans in and says something to Joel just out of my earshot. Joel's response was to punch him in the shoulder, Tommy smirking while rubbing at his arm. He raises his other hand and waves to me, that shit eating grin on his face.
I start making extra food for Joel, not just dinners or the occasional breakfast, but lunch too. I saw him one day eating some sad meal that he mumbled about not having time to make something good. I decided no more. We bring him lunch every day, his gruff exterior fading a little more every time he sees us.
-------
"This little one is starting to pull herself up," I tell Joel one morning on our walk to work. "I think it's time to figure out where to put her when she sleeps. That bassinet isn't really safe for her anymore now."
"She's pullin' herself up already? Such a strong girl," Joel says more to Hana than me, her response was to blow a raspberry, spit drooling down her chin. The smile that puts on Joel's face is worth any extra laundry I may have to do.
I sigh. "Yeah. I'll have to see if anyone is done with their cribs. I think there's only 3 in all of Jackson, and they are all pretty full. I guess I could try to corral her in somehow on the floor? I really don't know."
We stop at the front door to Joel's office building. I turn to face him and he holds out a finger, which Hana promptly grabs and tries to chew on. "Good thing my hands are still clean," he chuckles, as we both watch her. His eyes look up to mine and I realize, he looks nervous.
"You alright?" I ask, eyebrows raised.
Joel shrugs. "Y…yeah. Uh, listen. I don't mean to invite myself over, but are you free tonight? I have somethin' to bring by."
I gently squeeze his bicep and have to force my brain to focus on the moment and not wander off down spicy thoughts. "Joel, you're always welcome at our house. You know that. Come on over. I'll make dinner."
He gives me a soft smile, his eyes not quite meeting mine before he looks back at Hana, gently prying his finger from her grip. "I'll see you later, baby girl."
-------
My soup is still cooking when I hear some heavy thunks on my front porch. I set down my wooden spoon and wipe my hands on my apron, heading over to the front door. When I open it I see Joel, surrounded by many pieces of finished wood that looks like, when placed together, they would be-
"So, it's not finished yet, but I wanted to assemble it here rather than bring it over."
My eyes grow wide. "Is that a crib?"
Joel looks down at his strategic piles of wood and nods. "Yeah. I uh, I've been workin' on it for a while now. Didn't want to bring it over before Hana was ready, but when you said she was pullin' herself up, I figured it was time."
I throw my arms around his neck and hug him, tears burning my eyes. He hesitates a moment before hugging me back, taking a deep breath.
"Thank you so much, Joel. I didn't know what we were going to do." We break the hug and right ourselves, Joel awkwardly reaching out to squeeze my arm.
"I've got you, Sage."
While I finish up dinner, Joel hauls everything inside and upstairs to Hana's room. There's lots of hammering, Hana staring up at the stairs while she wiggles around on her blanket in the living room, one of the wooden toy rattles Joel had made her gripped in her tiny hand. He comes back down a bit later, wiping the sweat from his brow and I have to turn away so he doesn't see the heat that rises in my cheeks.
"It's finished."
I take a quick, deep breath to calm myself. "Great! I want to see, but I know you have to be hungry. Sit."
We eat while Hana alternates between eating and making her new favorite loud sound she'd discovered she could make. Of course Joel makes a huge deal out of it and she does it more and more, giggling when he makes a silly face.
After dinner, we go upstairs to see the crib. Which is simple and elegant in structure, but when I look closer, I see the same sage and horse print that he'd carved into her bassinet. I run my fingers along the print, my eyes burning with the tears I'm desperately trying not to shed.
"This is gorgeous, Joel. Really. Thank you."
He shrugs like it was no big deal. "Should we see if she likes it?"
"I know she'll love it. She loves everything you give her."
He glances away from me, but not before I see the giant smile on his face that he quickly hides. I place a sleepy Hana down into the new crib, which he'd already had a mattress and her old blanket in. She moves her body around a little, her head moving from side to side before cooing quietly. Her eyes close the rest of the way and she falls asleep. Quietly, we leave the room, leaving the door opened a crack as we head back downstairs.
"I swear you have a magic touch for her. She's always so calm around you," I say to Joel as I head into the kitchen.
"What can I say? I guess I have a magic touch."
I nearly drop the glass I'm reaching for thinking about that. "I bet you do."
Silence for several moments before I clear my throat. "Uh you want some coffee?"
"Yeah. Sure."
I quickly brew some coffee, pouring us each a mug before heading into the living room, handing one to Joel as I sit next to him on the couch. We both set our mugs down on the table before settling back onto the couch.
"Thanks again for…everything. I really don't know what I would've done without you."
"You'd have been fine, darlin'. You're a strong woman."
"No, really Joel. I don't…I don't know what I ever did to deserve you."
I finally look at him, his dark eyes all big and gorgeous. My stomach flutters as his eyes glance down to my lips and back. He slowly leans in closer and closer, his mouth an inch from mine. I can feel his breath fan out across my face before his lips ever so gently meet mine. Soft and warm, a gentle press as his hand comes up to my face, sliding back around my head to tangle in my hair as he pulls me closer, his other hand sliding around my back. My fingers grip his shirt, desperately trying to hold on to him, to this moment, afraid if I let go, then he'd disappear. He pulls back just a little, pressing his forehead to mine.
"I know how it feels to raise a child alone. But, you don't have to be."
-------
2 years later…
We took it slow since that night, especially since Hana started to go through so many growth spurts it made my head spin. Joel was there for all of them, coaching me through them all, helping me from pulling my hair out.
Joel had us over for dinner with him and Ellie, who had long since taken off to hang out with her new friends. She's hilarious but I'm sure she's going to put Joel in an early grave with the way she stresses him out. Sometimes on purpose.
Hana had curled up on Joel, her tiny head resting on his broad chest, little arms wrapped around him as best as she could. He had one large palm on her back to make sure she didn't fall off, the other wrapped around my shoulders as he held me to his side. We stayed like that for a while, just chatting and watching the fireplace.
"Well, I should probably get her home and into bed." I sit up, stretching slightly before trying to grab her from his chest. Hana opens her eyes halfway, shaking her head no as she grabs onto Joel's shirt.
"No go. I wanna stay with daddy."
Joel's eyes go wide as he looks at me. She had never called him daddy before. Tears well in the corners of his eyes as he holds her tighter to his chest, her face nuzzling more into him. My heart twists, my own tears falling from my eyes at the sight of them.
"What if you didn't go home?"
My eyes find his, bright and puppy-like. "What?"
"What if you and Hana moved in with me?"
My heart races at the thought. "Do you…do you mean it?"
He nods. "I would love nothin' more. I know Ellie don't mind."
I take his face in my hands and kiss him before pulling back. "Whenever you want me, I'm yours."
Within another year, Joel and I get married in town and I still wonder what I ever did to deserve the love of this man.
a/n: Getting back into the swing of things is so much harder than I thought, phew! lol. Crazy to think that I've been working steadily for over a month now, after more than a year off. Buuuutttt enough about all that, lets get into Clint. There’s a huge shift here, a lot of grief and coming to terms with that grief, please let me know what you think I’d love to dive into it. 🥰 (not beta’d, barely proofread)
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, oral sex f rec'g, *trauma* hurt/comfort, grief and using sex as a coping mechanism, switching povs, Clint is perfect and I will not elaborate on that - period piece - takes place in 1987, let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Clint Flood x F!Reader
Ko-fi link 🥲💕
word count: 3.4k
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist series Masterlist
---
The apartment looks a little different than it did when you moved in two years ago. The furniture’s been moved around, and added. The little shelving unit, a floor lamp, art on the wall. A fresh coat of paint had gone a long way too. Despite the aesthetic changes, it still felt the same. Like home.
Louis meows at your feet, winding through your legs as you water the plants that thrive in the kitchen.
“Oh no you don’t, you already ate, big man.” He yowls in protest, but you ignore him.
The jingle of keys hits your ears before his form fills the kitchen.
“I’ll be back in a few hours.” He slips his jacket on, taps his pockets to make sure he has everything he needs. “Just a quick job, I’ll grab dinner on the way back home.”
You smile into the kiss he gives you, squeal at the spank he lands before winking. He tuts at Louis and moves towards the door.
“I love you.” He calls out.
“I love you too!”
-
He’s tired, achy from the job as he walks into the elevator. The hot shower he’ll take after dinner will be amazing. He can almost feel it, the loosening of his muscles, the warmth of her hands, he can’t help but smile as he finally opens the door to their apartment.
“Sorry I’m late, took a little longer than I thought but the food is hot.” He sets the paper bags down, takes the containers out one by one and sets them on the counter. “They really loaded us up, we’ll have food for a few days.” he calls out. He groans reaching for two plates, loads them both up and sets the table.
“Baby?” He calls for her again, “Come eat while it’s hot–” He sets the cutlery down beside the steaming plates. He frowns when she still doesn’t answer him.
He finds her on the floor of their bedroom, clutching at the phone, staring into the empty air.
“Baby? What's wrong?” Louis is curled up beside her knee, the phone beeps in her hands.
“He’s dead…” Her eyes don’t move, they stare, unfocused, lost. She swallows thickly, drops the phone and finally looks up at him. “My dad is dead.”
His stomach sinks, just as he sinks down to her level. She looks so young, so lost it breaks his heart.
“Oh sweetheart, I’m so sorry.” He takes the receiver from her hands, hangs it up and then takes her in his arms. He can feel how stiff she is and he understands, the shock of the news locks you in place. He remembers how he felt the day his mom went, the haze of it, the way the earth seemed to crumble under his feet. He’d been rudderless, lost for months, maybe years.
“I don’t–I—” she licks her lips, “I haven’t even seen…” she mumbles, voice little, far away. He holds her tightly, presses his lips to her temple, ignores the pain in his back and rocks her gently.
She pushes away from him for a moment, takes a deep breath and lets out a deep sigh.
“I have to plan a funeral, and sell the house. God, I don’t even know how to plan a funeral.” She lets out a laugh, a sad, empty sound he recognizes only too well.
“We can do it together.” He rubs her back, lets her work through the shock. Whatever she needs, he’ll do. After all, he’s done it before.
-
It’s hard to deal with the numbness, it bleeds into everything. The shower feels like nothing, even though you can see the steam in the air, you can see it coming off your skin when Clint turns the water off. He says something, but you don’t quite catch it.
“Sorry, what?” He repeats himself, but you miss it again. Your ears are ringing, your body feels slow. He doesn’t get upset, doesn’t bother repeating himself. Instead he wraps the towel around your body, guides you gently into the bedroom and dresses you in your pajamas, like some lifesize doll.
You sit on the bed, waiting, like a doll, to be moved and placed, to be made to walk and talk and do whatever it is you make dolls do.
He lifts you softly by the arm, and guides you again to the kitchen. A bowl of food is set down in front of you. He says something again, this time you can guess what it is. It tastes like nothing. It feels like nothing, but you finish it anyway.
He clears away the bowl when you’re done, and still, you just sit there. Louis jumps up onto your lap, you pet him absentmindedly, he can tell somethings wrong, you know it in your bones.
It feels like time doesn’t pass, nothing moves, until he guides you to the bathroom; until he helps you brush your teeth and tucks you into bed. He talks in the dark, and this time you catch a lot of it.
Soft, scarred hands hold you close, his thumb wipes away tears you hadn’t realized were falling. His lips are dry, and soft on your forehead.
“Whatever you need, anything at all.” He whispers, you nod.
-
Things feel weird when you wake up, you’re somehow more tired than you’ve ever been, despite the time. He’d let you sleep in much later than you should have, given everything that had to be done. Louis is still there, your feline shadow, purring so hard you can feel it through the blankets.
You yawn as you dress, blindly reaching for clothes you don’t even care about. Clint is there in the kitchen when you emerge, he’s pouring you coffee, pressing it into your hands with a kiss.
“I slept too long.” You drink it, barely tasting.
“You needed it.” With another kiss to your forehead, he urges you to eat the breakfast he’d made.
“I’m not hungry.”
“I know, but you should eat anyway.”
You don’t want to, you barely want the coffee in your hands, you’re drinking it more or less out of habit. You don’t argue with him though.
“I don’t know what to do.” You pick at your toast, rip it into little bits and spread them around your plate.
“I know.” There’s a patient expression on his face, a calmness that you try to tap into but it isn’t calm you feel, it’s emptiness.
“What do I do?” Something inside you cracks. Any hope you may have harboured of reconciling, or maybe fixing things, however small and unrealistic is gone. All potential for a healthy relationship with your father one day, extinguished. The sound of Clint’s chair brings your head up and then he’s there, scooping you up into a tight hug.
-
Time doesn’t feel real. The moments are disjointed and chopped up. Peaceful nights with the love of your life, in your perfect apartment, a phone call, preparations for a funeral, talking with the bank. Clint had taken care of it all. He’d made the hard calls, he’d even gone through your dads clothes and picked the suit he’d be buried in.
People you know, and people you don’t give you their condolences. They shake your hand, or wrap an arm around your shoulder, they apologize for your loss. You nod along. When did you get here? Clint stands just behind you, grounding you by extension. You look to him every once in a while for a lifeline he so lovingly provides.
The mass feels both long, and short. A whole life boiled down to an hour. How you read the eulogy, how you wrote one you’ll never know.
You don’t suppose any of it matters now. It’s done, and your father is in the ground. And you are, for all intents and purposes, an orphan.
-
The house sold, shockingly enough. And even more shocking, it had sold for more than you’d thought it was worth. Enough to pay the balance of the mortgage, enough to pay off your father’s outstanding debts as well as set you up with a decent little nest egg. Not that it mattered. It didn’t feel like anything really. Nothing did in the weeks after.
It was still a blur; the funeral, packing up the house, settling back into your routine. Your boss at the video store had been sweet, and had given you all the time you needed to process and deal with the practical matters of a death.
Even a couple of weeks after the actual death, time still feels weird, disjointed and unconnected. The days are like yarn, a spool of string crisscrossing through the apartment like a spiderweb. Other feelings have woven themselves through the fabric of grief. There is the main thread, the devastation of losing a parent; your only parent, as shitty as he was. Then there’s the loneliness of it all, the solitude of being all alone in the world, Clint not included. These things you could understand and identify, these feelings you could deal with.
The relief was harder.
It had crept in while cleaning out all of the crap he’d hoarded, a little thought, a sigh of relief at never having to deal with any of his bullshit ever again. It had taken the wind out of you, needled at the space between your ribs enough to pull you out of his bedroom and into the kitchen in a cold sweat.
That relief floods you again while in bed. Clint, the saint that he is, walks into the dimly lit bedroom with a steaming cup of chamomile.
“I put a little bit of honey in it for you, but I can add more if it’s not sweet enough.” He sets it down on your nightstand, pressing his lips to your forehead and the love you have for him swells so suddenly. He’s been so caring, so patient and understanding, truly a saving grace.
“Thank you babe.” He winks, “Get into bed with me.”
“I will, let me just lock up.”
You think about what your life might have been like had he never come into it. Where would you be right now? Probably sitting in your old room, dissolving in your own distorted, lonely world. The tea steams while you wait, warming your hands. It’s perfect, just how you knew it would be.
He groans when he finally gets into the bed, tired no doubt from everything he’s been doing in the time since the phone call. You cuddle up to him, rest your head on his chest and relish the steady sound of his heart beating. You sigh, already calming down significantly. His heartbeat regulates your own, your breathing syncs up with his.
“How you holding up Princess?” His hand squeezes your arm and it’s almost too much to take, how much you love this man.
“I’m only coherent because of you.” You admit, his eyes are already on yours when you crane your neck to look at him.
“I don’t know if that’s true, pretty baby.”
“I do, I would probably still be dealing with the house, probably would have let the funeral home talk me into something insane–you did everything, Clint. You did it all, dealt with all of the bullshit, I don’t even know how to thank you for that.” He shakes his head, frowning.
“You don’t have to thank me for anything, I did what you needed me to do and that’s it. There’s no doubt in my mind you’d do the same for me.” He cups your cheek, breathing the words onto your face and into your skin. You can’t really speak, it’s all too big. The loss, the period at the end of that chapter, the recurring realization that you have no one left but him.
“I’m sorry, I know it hurts.” He kisses your cheeks, tastes the tears fresh from the source. It’s not just the grief that makes you cry, it’s everything. It’s the warmth of the man who holds you so tightly, loves you so deeply. It’s the security you have in this aspect of your life at least, the knowledge that he’s with you through it, warts and all.
“I-” You take in a deep gasp, “It’s just everything,” you choke out the words, throat aching through the tears. Your body is so sore from crying, from clenching up tight, making yourself small, maybe the sadness wouldn't fit if you were smaller.
“I know baby, it’s a lot to deal with, and it’s so fucking fresh.” He squeezes tighter, keeping you together, mending more cracks in the veneer of you. You cling to him, desperate to feel anything but this blinding emptiness, this inescapable weight that’s pinned you down in the dirt.
“I just want to forget.” You hiccup into his neck. He smells like the bodywash you bought him, like his own clean sweat, like home and love and the promise of a million nights cuddled together in bed.
“I know it doesn’t seem like it right now, but the pain won’t be this bad forever. Eventually, with time, you will feel like yourself again. It’ll be a little different but you’ll adjust and you’ll laugh, you’ll feel happy again. I promise you.” He holds your face in his hands, holds your heart there too. Your body blooms for him, unexpectedly, shockingly, annoyingly.
You surge forward and press your mouth to his, a filthy kiss that he entertains for a moment before softly, but firmly pulling back.
“Baby–”
“I need it.” You surge forward again, so hard that your teeth and his clink together. It hurts but the pain is good, his tongue is better. With a force you can barely understand, you crawl onto him, straddle him in your quiet bedroom and take the kiss. For a few seconds he lets you, your madness infects him–that and the fact that it’s been weeks since you’ve been intimate with everything going on.
He groans when you bite his ear.
“Baby, baby wait–” He speaks, but his hands grab at the meat of your thighs, slip under your panties to hold onto your ass.
He says your name, loud enough that it shocks you into stopping.
“Princess, we don’t have to do this right now.” He cups your face again, eyes soft despite how fucking hard his cock is underneath you. “I don’t want you to do this just because you think it’ll fix things, it won’t take the pain away. When we’re done he’ll still be gone.” It’s a harsh point, anger and grief swell again at the thought, at the reminder.
“I don’t say this to hurt you, I just want you to understand that nothing you do will fix anything. You have to sit with it.” You know he means well, you know what he says, he says out of love but that’s exactly what you need, you need his love, you need to be reminded that good feelings still exist, that this emptiness and loss won’t fill every single part of you forever.
“I’m not trying to fix anything, and I know I won’t forget, I just want to feel something other than this.” You hate that a tear falls, hate that you can’t even ask him to fuck you without crying about your dead dad. He says nothing for a long moment, the seconds collect and you think he might deny you despite how badly you need this from him now.
Wordlessly he moves, gets you on your back and settles between your legs.
His kiss is soft, but full of everything that you share. It’s sweeter than yours, softer than you need but he senses it; slants his head and licks into your mouth deep enough to pull a moan from somewhere in your throat. It's everything a kiss should be, passionate enough to warm the apples of your cheeks and chase away everything but the feel of it.
The layers separating him from you are a mere suggestion, every vein, every ridge of him only unravels your arousal, soaks into the gusset of your panties and soon, the crotch of his bottoms. The slip of it is so fucking good it makes you want to laugh.
“Fuck me.” You pant into his ear. It will help you think, it’ll help me forget for a little bit, just a little bit.
He kisses you for a long time, excites you to the point of madness with his tongue and the bulk of him pressing against your soaked core, with his fingers creeping under your shirt and across your nipples.
“I want your mouth—“ he cuts off your words, groaning with pleasure. He loves when you ask, when you tell him what you want; Clint loves it when you tell him what to do.
It’s a mad scramble the way he surges up and rips your panties down.
He doesn’t even stop to strip himself before diving in, eyes focused, hands heavy. He holds you close to his mouth, a predator with freshly caught prey and it’s everything you need.
He groans into your skin, slipping his tongue as deep as he can before honing in on your clit. You sigh, smiling at how fucking good he makes it. This is it, this is perfect. It makes you almost giddy, makes you laugh like a madwoman.
Your fingers slip through his hair, hold his face closer while you grind onto his tongue.
“Yes, god yeah, keep doing that—“ you bite your lip watching him, “more, I want your fingers too.” He nods, half moaning, half smiling while he continues his great work. He obeys, and two thick fingers slip inside, pressing on that sweet fucking spot.
“Fuck—yeah baby, yes.” You pant, it’s building so fast, how can anything feel this fucking good with what you’ve gone through? It curdles, the pleasure slips out of your grasp despite how amazing it feels.
A sob crawls its way out of your throat and his fingers still inside you, his tongue pauses its pilgrimage.
“Baby—“ His voice makes you ache with its softness, “why don’t we—“
“No, no, it’s good I promise, please.” You smile through the tears, urging him to continue. He watches you for a moment, quiet, focused on whether or not you’re serious or just manic. You’re not actually sure which one is real, the pleasure or the insanity, neither of which you could correctly map just now. You wipe away the tears and smile a watery smile.
He must see something in your eyes that convinces him, he lowers his head and tastes you again. With his fingers continuing their movement, with his tongue gliding over your clit, up and down again and again, it built up quickly. You held onto the feeling, pushed away everything but the hot slip of his tongue
“Yes, yes—“ you chant, following that current, that perfect tap of his fingers inside you. He groans against you, getting lost in the taste of you and when his other hand slips up to pluck at your nipple. The waves crests and all of the tension that’s been squatting in your neck and shoulders, in your lower back and your jaw all melts away.
He doesn’t say anything when he’s at eye level, only presses his lips to your forehead, then your cheeks, following the trail of tears that continue to fall despite your wishes.
You wrap your arms around his neck, clinging to him while you breathe him deep into your lungs. It has helped you think, the tears mean nothing.
“More.” You whisper into his ear, reaching down to expose his cock. You grasp it in hand, stroke it just how he likes while he watches. He still doesn’t speak, only lets you guide him where you want him the most.
The moan he breathes out when you pull him in, when he’s pressed up against you tight, molding you to accept him lights you up from the inside out. You kiss him, taking more of what he gives you so freely, willing the love you have for him to fill you up to the brim, so much so that there isn’t room for anything else. The tears still fall but they aren’t for anything other than him now, for how grateful you are that he’s with you, that he loves you this much. He kisses the tears from your face, keeps his rhythm and pulls you apart in all the best ways.
You fall apart when he does, pulsing around his length while he pumps you full of his come.
He takes care of everything after that too. Cleans you with a damp, warm cloth, presses the cooled cup of tea to your lips. He tucks you in beside him and turns the lights off. When you let go of the breath you’ve been holding, the tears have dried up, and he’s all that remains.
a/n: The people have spoken, and Dominus wins by a long shot lol. It still takes me out how many of you love these two, my inbox is a testament to that. Thank you for all of the sweet asks (that I promise I'll get to) and for all of the amazing prompts and messages, love you all. Please enjoy this glimpse into the early years, before the big change between them. xoxo (not beta'd, barely proofread) 💕
Warnings; 18+ no minors, vague but big-legal age gap, piv sex, dirty talk, dual pov , **angst / hurt / comfort** some ptsd type trauma—implied violence in past houses, power dynamics-Marcus is your Dominus for now, he calls you girl, let me know if I missed any!
Pairing: Marcus Acaciusx F!Reader
word count: 2.6k 😅
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist series masterlist Ko-fi
-
The sun beats down, ferociously hot, enough to make you sweat through your tunic–light as it is.
You ignore it, do your best to complete your tasks, and purchase the necessary things ordered by the kitchen women. With renewed determination, you march towards your preferred vendor for the things you need. One of the younger men that works within your house accompanies you, a sweet boy skilled with horses. He walks quietly beside you, eyes bright and alert.
He smiles softly when you hand him your purchases, shy despite his great height, despite his obvious strength.
“Gratitude Lucius.” You smile at him, he nods.
It’s not long before your purchases are complete, and the two of you begin your trip back home. He doesn’t speak much, but he listens to your ramblings with good grace, and so you speak. Every thought that comes into your head, also comes out of your mouth and a couple of times you manage to get a huff of laughter out of him. It bolsters you, being able to bring him out of his shell so to speak, until you trip over a loose stone just outside the villa, smashing one of the precious bottles of olive oil you’d been ordered to purchase.
Your heart drops into your belly. Visions of your Dominus red with anger fill your mind and fear grips the whole of you, your blood pounds in your ears making you deaf to everything except the punishment you imagine you will receive. With trembling hands you reach for the broken pieces of pottery, eyes blurry with unshed tears and it’s this that makes you blind to where your hands are. With a hiss you pull away, blood dripping from your palm.
“Stop.” It’s the loudest he’s ever spoken, gentle hands pull you away from the mess, Lucius shakes his head at your insistence that you must clean up the mess you’ve made. “Your hand, you must tend to it.”
Tears stream down your face at both the pain of your injury, and the imagined pain that will be inflicted upon you at your carelessness.
“Do not weep, all is well–” Lucius does his best, but he is out of his depth. You shake your head and he does not speak again.
He takes you to the women, and they bandage your hand, you try to explain that it was just an accident, that you will work off the debt of that oil. They frown, shake their heads and tell you not to fret but you’ve worked in other houses before, and the punishments have been severe. The looks they exchange amongst themselves don’t inspire any confidence.
Lucius awaits you outside the kitchens, a curious, worried frown gracing his face.
“I will tell the Dominus it was me. You need not fear, truly.” He speaks, getting the words out before you open your mouth.
“No, I cannot allow you to do that. Gratitude, but the fault lies with me, I will tell our Dominus the truth–”
“You will tell me the truth about what, Girl?” He stands at the edge of the room, scrolls held in his arms.
“Dominus–” Lucius begins, but you speak over him.
“I have wasted the oil I was sent to buy. I was careless, I did not see the stone jutting out and tripped. I deserve whatever punishment you deem fit to bestow upon me.” You face him, head bowed, subdued.
Lucius sighs beside you. Marcus stares, quiet, frowning and you are unsure if he is angry, or confused.
“Dominus, it was an accident. I witnessed it, there was no malice or lack of care in the act. Just a simple misstep.”
“Gratitude, you may tend to your duties. Girl, come with me.” His voice does not sound altered, does not sound angry but it does not inspire confidence.
When you reach his office, all manner of punishments come to mind. For the sake of your nerves, you pray to the Gods that it is just a simple flogging.
“Shall I bend over Dominus?” You walk over to his desk, lift the back of your tunic and expose your backside to him, take a deep breath and wait for the blow to land. Gentle hands startle you, they pull your tunic back down, and lift you from your place on his desk.
“I brought you in here not to punish, but to see your hand.” He turns you around, takes your palm in his and peaks under the linen. He sighs after, almost exhausted. “I am not sure how business is conducted in the house you served before this one, but I do not punish for mere accidents.”
“But I wasted the oil–” You frown, hands shaking within his soft grip.
“If what I have heard is true, it was not done on purpose. Do you really think me cruel enough to hurt you for something that happened through no fault of your own? Do you want me to punish you?” He tilts his head to the side, the tears come again.
“No Dominus, you have been kind to me. I do not wish to dishonour you.”
“And you have not. Peace.” Relief floods you, and all of a sudden a bone deep exhaustion fills the whole of you. Muscles you had not realized were tense loosened. “Have the women give you something for your pain, you may tend to your duties.”
With a nod, and a sniffle, you leave him there.
-
It worries him, how frightened she is.
He knows it is the way of this world, that some within his station are heavy handed with their slaves, but he’s never understood the need to inflict such pain on those who do not deserve it. He sighs to himself, wondering if his desire for her clouds his judgement but it is no different for her than for any other within his house. Never has he felt the need for anything other than a strong word, a disappointed look. He supposes it is easy for him, with his reputation, there has never been the need for anything more.
He does not call on her that night, despite the ache in him for her body.
-
The next day finds you surprisingly well rested, and the cut on your hand is not as bad as you had thought, already it itches, knitting together without corruption.
Your door creaks, and one of the kitchen women comes in while you lay in your bed, looking at your palm.
“Does the Dominus call for me?” You sit up but she shakes her head no. Instead she puts a tray down in front of you, fresh figs, crusty bread, good cheese.
“He sends this to you.” She smiles a private smile despite your frown. “Eat, and then tend to him.” She leaves you with your confusion.
-
You find him in the peristyle, tending to his dogs a little while later.
“How is your hand, Girl?” He notes your lack of bandage.
“It is much better Dominus, gratitude, for your concern as well as the food sent to break my fast.” He shakes his head, swats away your gratitude and for once, you are at a loss as to what to do, what to say. He saves you from speechlessness, orders you to get on with your duties and you do.
-
The women huddle around each other in the kitchen, whispering amongst themselves and a few words reach your ears, favoured, soft, finally. They stop once you make your presence known.
“May I know what you whisper about?” You fix his tray, hoping to join in the gossip but they only smile.
“It is nothing, we merely wish for the happiness of our Dominus.” They help with the tray, fill a jar with his favoured wine and send you on your way.
-
Days pass, and the wound heals over nicely. Thoughts however, they linger. Although only being in this house for a few short years, Marcus’ reputation is well-known. Many a time you’d heard about the General in other houses, there had been talk of him amongst your previous owners. His brutality, his victories, they’d always been the main theme. The softness you’ve seen is something new and it is difficult to reconcile the two.
Your couplings come to mind as you fill his basin, the rare glimpses of affection that bleed through, a soft caress after his gift is in place; the kisses that devastate you in the best way. The part of your mind concerned with self-preservation filled in the questions with logical explanations; proximity. He did those things because you are available. It is far simpler to couple with a woman within his house, alleviate the ache with someone he owes nothing to. Eventually he will find a suitable wife, a noble woman of good breeding. A jewel of Rome.
The thought irks you, to think of him with another the way he is with you. You sigh, pushing the thoughts out of your mind.
-
His bed is ready, the linens are laid out, the candles are lit, but he is still in his study. The day had been particularly hot, the sun grueling as you completed your chores. The desire to cleanse and fall into bed was enough to push you towards him, to risk his displeasure by interrupting his work.
“Dominus? Forgive my intrusion–” He looks up with wide, owl bright eyes, “the hour grows late, and your rooms have been prepared.” He stretches and your eyes lock in on his arms, the muscles highlighted in the soft light of his candles.
“I have been at this too long.” He sighs, rising with a groan, stacks his scrolls in an order that makes sense to him and him alone. You move quickly, blow out the candles as he moves towards the door.
Once back in his rooms, he lets you perform your nightly routine. His robes are removed and set aside for washing, he sits on his bed, tilts his head up for the damp cloth you pass over his brow. He takes your hand in his when you oil his hair, fingertip tracing the fresh scar softly.
“It has healed well, you will barely notice it within a year.” His voice is soft, so are his eyes.
“Yes Dominus, I am grateful at the thought.” You bow your head slightly, pulling your hand back softly to reach for the oil once more. He says nothing more, instead he watches, eyes focused on your face, on your body. They bore into you, make you feel exposed.
You don’t hear him rise, don’t feel anything until he’s pressed up against your back.
“Enough of the oil.” He whispers in your ear, drawing a shiver with both his voice, and the feel of his hands pulling your tunic up and off. Your nipples harden, your breath catches, your cunt leaks with the press of his lips at your shoulder, with the silky pass of his palms over your hips and over your belly. “I desire you, Girl. I wish to give you my gift, as deep as I can get it. Would you like that?” He bites at your ear, making you sigh into the dimly lit room. You nod, turning in his arms.
“Yes Dominus.” You barely get the words out before his mouth is on you. His kiss is deep, his tongue insistent, his grip bruising. Within a moment he has you bent over the bed, face pressed into his linens.
He is desperate, only when he is desperate does he take you like this and it only adds to your desire. Any thoughts of sleep are chased away by the blunt head of his cock prodding at your sex.
“Open wider for me, Girl.” There’s an edge in his voice that lends credence to your theory, to know that he desires you so greatly makes you moan, sends waves of arousal through you like a tide. With a breath you look back to see him grasp himself in hand, lip caught between his teeth, staring at the place he’ll soon fill.
You arch a little, making him smile before he slips inside to the hilt. He’s so thick, so hard you gasp into the fabric around your face. His grip on your hips is firm, a message that you aren’t going anywhere, you are going to take what he gives, it makes you wetter.
He voices his pleasure, soft moans and groans with every heavy thrust. It’s heaven, the pleasure he gives you, lights your body like a bonfire from the inside out.
“Reach down, touch yourself while I fuck you.” You scramble to obey, more than happy to chase your own end while he ruts.
Your fingers swirl, shoving you closer to your end but it isn’t quite enough,
“More, Dominus, I need more–” You’re half bent, half curled in on yourself, trying for all the world to focus on him, on his body. The sound he makes at your words fills you with fire.
“Come up here.” You shriek, powerless against his strength and why would you need any? There’s nothing in the world like his hold over you. One minute you’re face down in his bed, next minute you’re standing, arched against him, one big hand holding you by the throat, the other knocking your hand from between your legs to touch you the way you need to be touched.
“Like this?” He whispers, half breathless, half gritting. “Is this how you need me to give it to you? Rough like this?” His grip around your neck tightens, almost knocks the breath from you but you nod all the same, because it is how you need it.
“Yes, yes Dominus–Gods yes.” He huffs a laugh into your ear, a sultry, self-satisfied thing that only pulls more liquid heat to drip around him. He feels it, dips his fingers low, where he fills you and uses it to pull you apart.
It builds so fast like this, his fingers swirling so quick, so wet. His sharp pants at your ear raise the hairs at the back of your neck, your desire for him a shiver rolling down your spine. It competes with the ache of holding yourself at the angle he requires to drive his cock as deep as you both need it. Pain and pleasure, two sides of the coin he holds in his palm.
Sweat beads, vulgar sounds ring with every clash of his skin to yours, mingling with the ones spilling from your mouths, you never want it to end.
“You’re close, I can feel that little cunt squeezing me tight.” He licks at your neck, nips at your shoulder while his fingers work and work and work until your body clenches, and the peak of your climax washes over you strong enough to make you scream. He doesn’t stop, only continues to swirl those deft fingers, pulls you closer, clutches at your breast while you shake in his arms.
His own pleasure bleeds into yours, with a handful of painfully deep snaps of his hips he fills you with the gift he promised, breathing hard into the nape of your neck.
Once the blood has cooled, and the time for untangling has come, you move to dress once more but you do not get the chance to reach for your tunic. He pulls you close, presses his lips to yours soft as silk, one of those rare glimpses of this seemingly unknown side to him rears its head. Your hands slip through his freshly oiled waves, his own caress down the skin of your back, pulling you tightly to him. Once, twice, and then a third time he kisses you, before sending you back to your room, and back to the reality of your station.
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: E for Explicit! 18+
Word Count: 7.5k
Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* (Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking.) Oral sex (f receiving),
Summary: Your goddaughter's sweet sixteen party starts out a little differently than you expected.
Notes: I'm going to miss these two so very much, but thank you to everyone who came along for the ride! These soulmate stories mean so much to me and I'm so grateful to be able to continue to write them. Our next story -- debuting in two weeks after the new year! -- will be interweaving storylines through time and we can't wait to get started on this new adventure.
"Babe..." A few seconds to yourselves is rare these days, which is probably how you ended up with Harry pinning you to the double sink in your bathroom while you were trying to get ready for the party. And as much as you want to stay there -- letting him ply you with kisses and nip at your neck -- there just isn't time.
“We’ve got time.” He promises, smirking against your neck and dragging his hands under your dress. “You look so sexy.”
“Then I should change,” you tease, but barely move. Fifteen years of marriage and you and Harry are probably lucky he had a vasectomy ten years ago. You’d have a brood if he hadn’t. “It’s a sweet sixteen party, I shouldn’t look sexy.”
“Sure you should.” He hums as he grinds his hips against your stomach. “You’re her godmother after all.”
The hum he draws out of you is just as needy as his hips are and you groan, relenting. “We’re technically ready slightly early,” you mumble, going back in for a kiss. “We have a few minutes.”
“We can make that work.” He promises. “Do you want me to give you a preview of later?”
“You know I can never refuse that kind of offer.” He doesn’t even have to nudge you backward, you’re already shifting to sit on the edge of the marble countertop while his hands slide farther up your skirt.
He smirks as he kneels down, shooting you a wink and happy to find that you’re not wearing that shapewear shit underneath.
It took a long time to get here, but three pregnancies and a loving, supportive life partner later - you’re wearing a lot less of that kind of thing. Shapewear gets reserved for formal affairs or big dress up nights. Not family parties like Gracie Finch’s sixteenth birthday.
“Fuck, I can already smell you.” Harry praises as he pulls you closer to the edge. “What has you so wet?” He teases, happy that after all this time, the spark is still so hot between you.
Pulling your skirt back so you can watch him as he buries his face in you, you let out the most contented purr of your life. “My handsome as sin husband.”
He hums happily, sliding his hands up your thighs. “The kids have left the apartment. So you can be as loud as you want.”
“Genius idea to let them sleep over with Perce and Tam last night.”
“Never say I don’t see the big picture.” He teases as he pulls your panties to the side and leans in to inhale your scent with a groan before he slides his tongue through your folds for the perfect first taste.
"Never," you agree, but it comes out as a groan.
Harry doesn’t rush, even though he knows that you are pressed for time. He doesn’t have to. After fifteen years, he knows exactly how to make you shake in pleasure and it’s his great delight to do that every chance he gets.
It takes no more than five minutes for the penthouse to echo with his name and your knuckles to ache ever so slightly from clutching the marble as you cum. You'd much rather have your hands in his hair but he's done it so carefully. There's no need to mess up his hard work.
When he pulls back, his chin and neatly trimmed beard is shiny with your slick and he is very pleased with himself. “Small sample of tonight.”
"Fuck. Slumped and panting, you giggle softly to yourself when you look down and see your soulmate's chin glistening. "You should wash your face, gorgeous."
“Maybe I won’t.” He jokes as he stands up and carefully pulls your panties back into place. “That way I can taste you all day.”
“You can have me again later,” you remind him, though the pout on his face would have made you cave in years past.
“You’re lucky that we have to be there in half an hour.” He leans in and kisses you softly. “I love you.”
“I love you too.” You slide off the counter to fix your clothes and check your make up, grateful once more to your best friends for offering to host a mass sleepover at their place while they’re in New York. “I just have to grab Gracie’s present and my bag and I’ll be easy to.”
“And I’ll just wash my face.” He snorts. “And brush my teeth.”
"Probably for the best," you laugh, leaning over to kiss his cheek one more time before you fix your lipstick. "I'm not having awkward conversations with any teenagers about your breath today, mi amor."
“They shouldn’t be that close.” He sniffs, although the tone is affectionately playful. He loves all the kids as if each and every one of them were his own.
“You tell your daughters that when they actually want to hug you,” you remind him. The twins haven’t hit that preteen too cool for their parents stage yet, thank God. You’re dreading it.
“Don’t remind me.” He huffs as he stares at you in the mirror. “They used to love their daddy. Not anymore.”
“They’re still Daddy’s baby girls. They’re just trying to be like their big siblings. I’d say we have another year before they’re too cool on their own.” With your lipstick touched up, you step away from the counter. “We should get going in a minute.”
Harry dries his face and turns towards you. “I’m ready to escort the most beautiful woman I’ve ever seen.” He tells you as he pulls you into his arms again. His cock is still hard, but he’s going to wait until tonight to take care of it.
You've had no texts or calls from Chloe today and while it is technically a good sign, you itch slightly that your goddaughter -- an unofficial title, but one you cherish -- had asked Auntie Chloe to be her party planner instead of you. It's her right, but you had had so many ideas! Ah well, you tell yourself, picking up your clutch from the side table by the penthouse's front door and the envelope that contains Grace's birthday present. It's okay. That doesn't mean she loves you any less.
“I know you’re disappointed that you didn’t plan her party.” He can always tell what’s on your mind and he hadn’t missed the way you checked your phone all morning. “But I’m sure it’s so you can attend as a guest and not work the entire time.”
"I'm sure you're right." There's no point in being surprised anymore that he can do that. Instead you take the envelope containing the greeting card, Broadway tickets, and the little written up card you made with the details for the shopping trip and dinner reservations you have planned -- and tuck that all into your oversized clutch. "I just always want everything to be perfect for the kids. I know Chloe can handle it. It's just that I love that little Drama Queen so much."
“And she loves you right back.” Harry holds tight to your waist as you ride the elevator car down to the garage. “You know they all love you.”
"They love you, too." Percy's son practically idolizes him. It's very sweet, and amuses you because it makes both men huff and puff as though they aren't sentimental about their kids. "What do you think she will have decided on?"
“I’m not completely sure.” He admits with a worried smile. “What do you think?”
"Mmmm..." you hum thoughtfully as the elevator arrives in the garage. Your car is parked nearby and a lot of people seem to be out today so the path to your driver's side door is clear. "Probably an 80s theme. Cover band, neon decorations, a lot of dips and delivery pizza."
“She does love her pizza.” Harry snorts. “We should have bought her a pizza joint.” He’s joking, but he had been eyeing an investment in several chains around the city.
"One day she'll be running one," you predict with a grin. After all, Gracie takes after her father. She has an affinity for food but not the patience for cooking.
He chuckles. “Perc wants her to intern here at the company when she’s out for summer.” He tells you.
“Oh, you’ll love that.” This extended chosen family of yours has really embraced the idea that it takes a village to raise the kids, and it has been very sweet to see all the dads step up in their own ways.
“Of course I would.” Harry scoffs. “I swear she’s a genius.”
“Pretty close.” You grin at him and start to pull out of the garage while you wiggle the fingers of one hand at him playfully. “Will you text Perce that we’re leaving? I’m not trying to be a mama bear I just want to know the kids aren’t giving them too much trouble.”
“I already have.” He had asked if he needed to bring anything for the kids, or for the adults too.
“Look at you,” you hum, reaching over to take his hand as you pull out of the garage. “You think of everything.”
Harry chuckles. “Needed to make sure Perc didn’t need a handle of scotch or a Xanax today.” He jokes. “You know how he gets when the kids are all getting existed for milestones.”
“It’s sweet.” And you’ll insist so until the last breath in your lungs. Seeing all the kids in your various families band together has been better than you could have ever wished for.
“It is sweet.” Harry can agree on that, watching the city pass by. It’s a perfect day for a party. “I know that everyone will be crying.”
“Everyone,” you agree without hesitation. “But that’s our right as the parents.”
******
The party is being held at the kids favorite place to do anything, your event center. Over the years, it has become the place to hold birthdays, family events, even Christmas parties and Thanksgiving when the group has outgrown hosting at the apartment. You have to make sure to block out anything you want to do well in advance since it has become a popular space with everyone else in New York as well. Now Harry can feel how nervous and excited you are as he helps you out of the car on the sidewalk in front of your office. “Look, back at work again.” He teases. “Workaholic.”
The sigh you have is dramatic but you both laugh. “Surprising no one,” you admit, happily filing toward the elevator to the roof with the other arriving party guests. There are a handful of kids you recognize as mutual friends of your kids and Gracie’s, and some parents made small talk along the way.
“We are happy you could join us.” Harry recognizes one of Grace’s friends from her music lessons, at least the poor girl is better musically talented than either you or him. He smiles at her parents and welcomes them as well.
“Any excuse for a party for our girls, right?” The mother laughs as you all load into the elevator together. The kids are fully having their own conversation and leaving the boring adults to be boring, which is just as it should be. In no time at all you’re all up on the roof, unloading into the vestibule that leads out into the decorated party space.
“Holy…” Harry chokes back a sound as he looks around the space and instantly sees Grace in every corner. She had a specific idea and obviously brought it to life.
“I knew it,” you cackle, walking out into an 80s paradise of neon and New Wave with the scent of pizza and Capri Sun in the air.
“You called it.” Harry snorts as he looks at all the things that he would be deeply nostalgic about from his own youth. “You know that girl like you’re in her head.”
“It’s my Fairy Godmother Magic,” you joke, looping your arm through his so you don’t get separated trying to find Percy and your kids.
The fact that John and Lucy have become part of your lives consistently is something that has surprised all of you, but in a very pleasant way. Their daughter is close with your children and at this point in life, it’s almost amusing to remind the kids that daddy dated ‘Aunt’ Lucy. At least you think it’s hilarious. John and Harry just roll their eyes as they share a good bottle of scotch and talk about John’s investments. After he got his head out of his ass, started taking voice over rolls and commercials, his career finally started producing more than just headaches for him. Harry will never admit that he mentioned his name to Javi Gutierrez. Never wanting the man’s accomplishments to dim in the eyes of his soulmate.
“Daddy!” Harry might protest that your youngest daughters are getting too big for hugging their father, but Vanessa and Olivia running at him at top speed when they catch sight of him across the roof says otherwise.
“Hey babies!” Harry lights up when he sees his daughters, just like he does with all the children. He loves having kids. Way more than he ever imagined and if you would have been willing, he would have tried to convince you to have seven or eight more. “Did you have fun last night?”
They start talking at the same time, both very excited to tell their own very separate stories in unison, and Harry does his best to keep up until they both end up at the same place — Uncle Percy and Auntie Tammy apparently turned the living room into an indoor campsite last night and the kids all watched The Goonies for the first time.
“Oh boy.” Harry chuckles, knowing the quotes will be bandied about the apartment for months to come. “It sounds like nothing we could have done would beat that.”
“Nope!” Olivia agrees gleefully, though she hugs him again through a toothy smile.
“We missed you.” That’s true. Even appreciating the time alone together, you had still both missed your children.
“A lot?” Vanessa asks, one skeptical eyebrow raised in your direction.
“Bunches and bunches,” you promise, smoothing one hand down her back. As the actual youngest child of the family, Vanessa has always been just a little more sensitive than the rest of her siblings. You’ve tried your very best to be understanding parents and make sure she never feels too much or ends up worried about telling you how she feels.
Harry smiles as he watches her snuggle into your side for a moment before she’s pulling away and looking around like she’s embarrassed someone might catch her being a kid. They want to grow up so fast, but he wants them to stay young.
“Do you know where your brother is, honey?” Your fingers run through her loose curls gently but you let her go. The twins look so much like Harry that you always seem to cling just a little more when they let you. Your oldest daughter is probably already off with the birthday girl, but your son is nowhere in sight.
“He’s over there.” She points to the alcove that leads out to the terrace. The perfect spot to watch the city and steal a kiss. Harry can attest to that.
"Do you want to come with us to say hi?" It's an easy enough question, and you suppress a laugh when Vanessa's nose wrinkles a little. You're grinning when you pull the envelope out of your purse. "Okay, maybe instead you could go put this card for Gracie on the gift table?"
“Done!” She’s snatching the card from your hand and whirling around to dart off towards the table that is filling with gifts and cards.
Olivia darts off to join her sister and you watch them go for a second, just taking it in with a laugh, before you lean into Harry's side for the stroll across the rooftop. "You make cute kids, Castillo. I'll give you that."
Harry snorts and nods. “I do.” He admits with a grin. “Because their mother is gorgeous.” He will always credit you for how beautiful the kids are.
After fifteen tears you’re used to the playful exchange of flattery, and throw him a wink and a grin in response. “I love you too.”
He chuckles and points to the disco ball. “Wonder if that’s gonna be for the after party at night.”
“If it is, I’m gonna end up being a very fucking embarrassing godmother,” you joke. “You know I can’t say no to an 80s dance party.”
“Oh yeah?” Harry grins and leans in closer to whisper in your ear, “maybe we should install one in the bedroom then.” He teases.
You groan under your breath, shivering a little at the suggestion. “And that is why you had to get a vasectomy,” you tease. “Otherwise I would be pregnant all the time.”
“I wouldn’t have minded that.” It’s not like you couldn’t afford it. Raising your children exactly how you wished was something you were blessed with. But he had immediately agreed when you decided you were done carrying and having babies. You had tried for just one more, a third, to complete your family and had been very happily surprised with twins.
“I know, love.” You hug his side a little closer. “But our family is the perfect size just as it is.”
“I know.” He smiles at you, genuinely content with the way life has treated you. It’s been a blessing, something he could have never imagined before you.
Leaning into his side, the old familiar zing of attraction goes straight between your legs when he smiles down at you, and if you tug him toward the little secluded terrace with a little more urgency.
Harry chuckles, aware of why you want to pull him towards the little area that is romantic and he hears a small giggle, accompanied by the obvious sounds of kissing as you get closer.
You laugh, not too surprised. “Looks like we weren’t the only ones looking for a little—” The pair of you stop short when you see the young couple that has already claimed the terrace for their own private rendezvous.
Five-foot-six-inches and the spitting image of his father, wrapped around the birthday girl.
“James?”
James, to his credit, doesn’t jump back in shame or surprise. He twists his head and spots his parents. His mom shocked and his dad trying to conceal a small smirk. “Mom, dad.” He pulls away and hugs Grace close. “So apparently the surprise is out of the bag.” He says diplomatically.
“Apparently so.” And it’s a relief when your impulse reaction is to laugh and hug the kids. Neither of them has had a romantic relationship before — at least not one that they’ve told you about — so this is a bit of a shock just because it’s new.
James is absolutely relived and he grins as he pulls back, only to find his dad ready to hug both of you. “Just so you know, we were planning on saying something.” He promises.
“You can tell us what you’re ready to, when you’re ready to,” you promise them. Wherever this is forever or just for now, it seems like a good sign to you that they’re trying this out together when they’ve known each other their whole lives. “I just have one question for now.”
“What’s that?” James asks, arm tightening slightly around Grace, a protective gesture he’s seen his father perform on you a million times.
“I’m just wondering,” he really does look so much like his father, in appearance as much as behavior. It makes your heart swell. “If we’re some of the last to know, or the first?”
“The first.” Grace blushes furiously as she leans into his side. She looks equal parts mortified to be found out and proud that one set of parents knows and seemingly accepts. “We-“ she glances up at James and he nods encouragingly, “- share marks.” She confesses. “We are soulmates.”
“Ohhh…” Fuck Is the end of that sentence in your head, but you swallow it and finish with “my god!” Instead. “I guess that tumble off your skateboard wasn’t such a bad thing after all, was it?”
“No, it wasn’t.” James admits. “And we want to make some things clear.” He frowns slightly, looking exactly like his father as Harry talks business. “We are not having sex right now. We plan to get married after I graduate college, but we do want to live together.” He lifts his brows. “But Grace is already on birth control and dad has given me the talk so many times I could give a lecture on it.”
“You want to live together now?” You ask, with one eyebrow raised high. “That might be a little hard, honey. But the Finches only live in Brooklyn, it’s not that far.”
“I mean in college.” He rolled his eyes and huffs. “I know Grace is graduating first, but I might be able to be half a semester behind her if I keep my current track.”
“We’ll work it all out when the time comes,” you promise them. It’s just like your son to be thinking five years into the future at all times — he’s wanted to inherit the Castillo family business since he was playing Business Man at a miniature desk around four years old.
“Of course.” His smile is all charm, a mixture of both of you and it’s his most effective weapon. “The details will be worked on later.” He looks over at Grace and clears his throat. “Maybe we should get back?” He suggests. “Give them a moment?” He knows you will want to talk to his dad about this.
“Go have fun guys, and happy birthday, Gracie.” Watching your fifteen-year-old son breeze past you with his soulmate on his arm is like the oddest cocktail party flashback you’ve ever had in your life and you blink at your own husband owlishly for a second before bursting out in a torrent of giggles.
“The kid has more charm and sophistication at fifteen than I think I had at thirty.” Harry snorts as he pulls you close and grins as you giggle against his lips. “Must get that from you.”
“No way in hell.” You have to bury your face in his chest to quit laughing, but you’re still processing your surprise. “That’s his abuela. Your mother could charm open a locked safe.”
He chuckles, knowing that is completely true. “How do you feel about this?”
“I think,” you flash him a grin. “It’s a good thing you didn’t marry Lucy.”
Harry snorts and shakes his head. “Never heard of sibling soulmates.” He jokes.
“It can happen, but it’s not common.” Still, you shake your head and sigh with a big, dramatic heave of your shoulders while you’re in his arms. “Our fifteen year old is already talking about getting married.”
“At least we know and love his partner.” Harry points out reasonably. “She’s already family, but this will solidify it.”
“Ten bucks says that John cries when they tell him.” Lucy has warmed over the years but she still isn’t a crier. John, however, has gotten to the point of tearing up at almost anything having to do with his kids.
Harry snorts and shakes his head. “I’m not taking that bet.” He huffs. “Never seen a man so emotional.” It’s a joke, because he’s always been emotional over his kids.
"Sure, baby. No man I know is ever emotional over his kids." Not Harry, not Percy, not John or Aaron nor Peter. They're not just emotional -- they're downright squishy about their kids, every single one of them.
“None at all.” He agrees with a shit eating grin on his face. “Did I tell you what Peter said when Kacey started her period? That man wants to buy a chastity belt.”
"Oh god." Your brother-in-law has not taken to having a teenage daughter very well, but thankfully Charlotte is a very hands-on mom and not in the habit of putting up with her husband's nonsense.
He huffs out a laugh and pulls you close. “Charlie already has her on birth control, so he’s freaking it a little.”
You roll your eyes but laugh too. "Someday Peter is going to have to learn that birth control can be used for things other than pregnancy prevention."
“He knows that, but you also know how you feel about our kids having sex.” He leans in and kisses you softly.
"I know." It's why your oldest two kids are so well educated about their bodies, reproduction, autonomy, and consent. And why you're glad the twins are still so young.
He chuckles. “Although I don’t think Kacey is quite as knowledgeable as our kids.” He jokes, the kids all fully aware of how they came about and joke about how many more siblings they could have had.
“My mother would probably prefer it that way,” you laugh, “but I think not beating around the bush with them has turned out pretty well for our kids.”
“They know what a healthy, loving relationship is like.” He agrees, smirking at you. “And how a man in love should treat his lady.”
“You sound pretty proud of yourself there, babe.” The teasing grim on your face is bright and you lean in to kiss him. “Just as it should be.”
“Well, now we know why she didn’t want you to plan the party.” He speculates. “I bet Chloe knows about it and has planned the reveal.”
“I bet she does.” Reaching out, you put your palm up and Harry’s placed his hand squarely in yours — that connecting thread that keeps your family, your businesses, and your futures always moving forward. “Come on, handsome,” your smile lights up your face when it meets his. “Let’s go celebrate.”
a/n: here it is y'all! I've been living in this world for a little while, a soft, sad, lonely Joel finding comfort and family. I hope you all enjoy and that you're having a great December💕 (thanks for looking this over @wheresarizona💕)
Warnings; no sexy stuff yet, we're world-building but it'll come I promise, age gap, allusions to past trauma on both sides, western period piece, some typical violence for the time, hurt / comfort, slow-burn- let me know if I missed any! (I’ve made reader as faceless as possible, but have alluded to Millie having long dark hair, any pictures used in the collage are strictly for the vibes)
Pairing: Joel Miller x F!Reader (single mom)
Ko-fi link 🥲💕
word count: 8.2k (whoops)
reblogs are appreciated
Masterlist
---
The floorboards creek under her steps, you can pinpoint exactly where she is. She always steps on it, the loose one right in front of the hearth. The sun shines in through the window above the bed, bright enough that you know it’s time to rise.
“Millie, what are you rooting around for over there?” You call out to her softly, she jumps, startled regardless. You keep the smile to yourself.
“Um.” She shifts from one foot to the other, stalling for time. “Just, um.” The smile grows wider.
“Are you hungry, baby? Are you rooting around for something to eat?” You turn towards her, you should get up quickly, the animals will be hungry too. She nods, the braids you’d put in her hair the night before frizzy and loose. You let out a yawn as you stretch and rise, let out another sigh as you tie your threadbare robe around your waist.
“How about we make some corncakes?” The way her eyes light up makes you laugh. “Okay baby, let’s feed the animals and get some milk, and then I’ll make you some corncakes.” Her arms, although little and skinnier than you’d like, wrap around your waist with surprising strength.
-
The broken barn door, the chipped paint, the untilled earth of your ranch; most days it was these things that made you miss your husband much more than his empty side of the bed. The neglect highlighted his absence, made you mourn him so much more than the loneliness did.
Millie chases the chickens around the small coop, trying in vain to pick one up.
“Millie, stop that.” The stool wobbles before you remove the stone under one leg.
“Okay girl–” The cow calms under your soft touch, your low words. With your skirts tucked up high on your thigh you begin the process of milking her. The bucket fills quickly, your back barely aches by the time you’ve finished. Millie squeals with laughter, a chicken clutched within her arms.
“Look mama, I caught her.” Her dad shines out there too, in her smile.
“I see you baby, put her down now. Did you feed them?” With a gentle touch you clean the cows udders, and let her reunite with her calf.
“Two scoops. Just like you said.” Millie sets the squawking chicken down before coming over to your place. She skips beside you, following you closely.
“What about Bruno?” You ask her, words clipped with the effort of hauling the sloshing bucket.
“A big scoop of oats, and a carrot.” She recites, kicking stones out of her way.
“And the eggs?” You rest the bucket on the porch step, wiping away sweat from the back of your neck. She gasps, turning to run back towards the coop before answering.
The milk has been strained and transferred into the butter churner by the time she opens the door.
“How many do we have today?” You ask her, measuring out enough milk for breakfast.
“Lots.” She replies, tongue out, concentrating.
“Count them out for me.” Numbers are a bit of a struggle with Millie, math is a touchy subject. Reading however, words and books, limited as they are, are her favourite. She sighs.
“Come on baby, you can do it.” You nod, encouraging her. She begins, counting them out loud at the big table in your sunny kitchen.
“Thirty-eight, thirty-nine–and that’s it. Thirty-nine.” The eggs look so big in her little hands, how could I have ever been that little you think to yourself.
“So that’s how many dozen?” The stove gives off enough heat to pull even more sweat from your skin. She doesn’t respond.
“How many eggs make up a dozen?” Cornmeal, milk, and some honey all go into the bowl.
“Twelve.” She responds, focused.
“Yes, now how many times can we make twelve with thirty-nine eggs?” You take a couple of them, crack them and mix them into the bowl, letting her mull the question over in her head while you go about cooking the batter. She counts under her breath, one dozen and then another.
“Three! We have three dozen.” She smiles, proud of her counting.
“That’s right honey, three dozen, which is…?”
“Thirty-six, and then there’s one left–”
“There were three left, but mama took two, so there would be three dozen, with three left over. Good job baby, you did it.” She’s proud of herself, and she should be, you think, once again mourning the things her father has missed since his death.
Breakfast comes together quickly, and you eat it in your little space, counting together.
-
The slow lift of the dog's head pulls at Joel’s attention. The intense focus gives him pause. The loaded shotgun in the wagon bed is out of reach, but his pistol isn’t. With a quick movement it fills one hand, the reins for the two horses pulling him fills the other, a much tighter hold than it had been before.
If it’s a lone robber then he should be fine, it wouldn’t be the first time he’s had to fight off someone on the road to trade. If it’s a whole gang however, he may have to give up his things and lose out on any profit.
When the dog barks, he swears to himself.
Four men appear before him, smiling in a way he doesn’t like. The dog doesn’t move from his side, but Joel can see the way he’s coiled like a spring, waiting on his word.
“Can I help you gentlemen?” The grip he has on his gun is clammy, but tight.
“Depends. What you got?” One of the men smiles wider, sweat rings around his collar and on the bandana tied around his throat.
“Just some textiles, some sewin’ supplies, few metal goods. Nothin’ worth fightin’ over.” He knows if they search the wagon they’ll see the gunpowder, the axe heads, his tobacco.
“Well I think we’ll be the judge of that. Why don’t you just get off of that there wagon and be on your way. Things don’t gotta get ugly.” An older man calls out, a reasonable tone to an unreasonable request.
“Can’t do that.” Joel shakes his head, leaning back slightly.
“Yes you can, ain’t no need to lose your life over a few things.” One of them takes a step forward, and the dog beside Joel growls. He shoots first without waiting, knocking the man who moved closer off his horse. The dog takes off at the sound and then all hell breaks loose.
-
All the eggs sell, blessedly, and so does the butter. It’s a good thing too, there were some things you desperately needed and with half the field empty of much needed crop, this coming winter would be very hard. Better to sell all the eggs and butter you could spare and fill your stores before the cold came. Snow, brutal cold, the decrepit barn worries you. Your husband meant to get around to fixing it, he meant to do a lot of things but him dying left it all to you. With a little girl and all.
She smiles at you, and you smile back, the two of you walking down the dirt road towards home. The worries are yours to deal with, not hers.
The dog comes bounding over fast enough to make you jump out of your skin. He’s sleek, coat shiny, almost blue and he’s barking loud enough to hurt your ears. He runs circles around the two of you, barking and darting back through the trail. Millie clings to your side, until she realizes he’s not trying to bite.
“Can we keep him mama?” She tries to follow him but you hold her back.
“Careful baby–” The dog comes closer, takes a hold of your skirt in its jaw and pulls and you know he wants you to follow.
“What is it?” He’s strong, pulling hard enough to almost trip you. Worry fills you to the brim. With all of the gangs running loose, with the ever-looming threat of robbers and bandits this could very well be a trap. It wouldn’t be a trap you’ve ever heard of but a clever one just the same. The dog lets go and trots away, looking back to make sure you’re following.
Fear curls around your guts, threading through every inch of you. Millie runs after the dog despite you calling after her.
“Goddamn it Millie!” You call, running after both of them.
The scene that greets you is something straight out of the newspaper, and regret floods just as easily as fear. The wagon is half empty, things scattered, horses untied and grazing in the grass. This is bad, this is so bad, you think.
“Mama!” Milie calls out from somewhere in front of the wagon, the fear grips tighter as you run to her side.
He's unconscious, face down in the dirt with the dog nosing at his shoulder. There’s blood on his scalp, blood on his shirt, more seeping into the dirt around him.
“Get away from him baby.” You call out to her, she’s too young to see this, a dead man on the road. This is bad you think again. The dog whines, still digging at his owner, begging in his own way for the man to wake. You understand the creature, after all you’d done the same thing.
“We have to help him mama, he’s hurt.” You move her out of the way before she can touch him.
“Baby there’s nothing–” You start but are cut off by an insensate groan. With a curse to yourself, and more doubt creeping in at the whole situation, you approach him. His pulse is weak, but it’s there, slowly beating his life away.
“Baby, do me a favour and grab me some of the fabric from the back, quickly now.” The dog sits next to you, watching you work on him. He’s so big, it’s going to take the hand of god to get him back to your house. With the scraps Millie brings you pack his wounds to slow the bleeding.
Please don’t let me regret this.
Carefully, slowly, you manage to somehow get him onto the wagon. The dog barks, jumps up and lays beside the man. He watches you but lays his head on his owner's chest.
“Millie, get in the front and stay there, I’m gonna go get the horses.” She nods and obeys while you carry on. The sweat soaks through your dress and your back screams, you know it’ll scream louder tonight. The horses are gentle and you coax them easily back to the wagon.
“Will he be okay?” She asks in her little voice when you fall into the bench next to her.
“I hope so, baby, I hope so.”
-
Getting him into the house is a whole other ordeal. With the sunlight fading, with your strength diminishing, lugging this broad, heavy man off the wagon and into your little house proves to be the test of your life.
“Oh come on, work with me here.” You pant, fingers dug under his arms, sweat rolling down your back as you finally get him inside. The dog follows you, seemingly unaware of Millie trying to pet him. “Leave him, baby, he’s only focused on his owner. Why don’t you fetch him some water?”
She takes off for the well, the dog doesn’t follow her.
“Okay, just a little more–” You drag him to the bed, and set him down beside it. Your whole body aches something fierce. The blankets would help you think, so you grab them from the chest near the wall, roll him onto them and then pull him up. With a last effort and a scream of frustration you get him onto the bed.
“Mama?” Millie finds you breathing hard on your floor, back aching, sweat beading on your skin. You can feel the heat coming off your skin.
“I’m alright, just need a minute is all.” She nods, sets the water bowl down with a slosh, the dog comes at the sight and drinks everything that doesn’t end up on the floor, which is more than you'd like. The light is fading fast, shadows fill the small space without the fire going.
“Okay, let's get started.” You sigh, rising despite the burn in your muscles.
-
It takes a few hours to get everything sorted. With water boiled, with his wounds dressed and tended to as best you could, with Millie and the dog fed you set about getting him cleaned up.
He’s older, hair greying at his temples and on his cheeks. He’s handsome, you don’t fail to notice. Rugged, strong and broad. He’s got more than a few scars, and now he’ll have a few more. He’d been shot in the neck but it’d gone clean through and somehow managed to miss the major artery. Lucky bastard.
“Who are you huh? What happened?” You ask him gently, wiping the dirt and dust from his brow.
Millie yawns, belly full and no doubt exhausted from the day's excitement. You can’t sleep with him, neither of you can, and there’s no way you’re moving him off this bed so it’ll have to be the cot for you and Millie. With just the two of you in the house there was never any need for modesty, but now, with a man you didn’t know here precautions would have to be taken.
A blanket hung across a corner would serve.
Behind the makeshift cover, you get her clean and ready for bed. There are enough blankets and sheets to make the cot less uncomfortable, for you anyway. Millie is asleep before you can cover her up.
“What about you? I take it you won’t be sleeping on the floor huh?” You talk to the dog, curled up at the man's feet. He lifts his head, watches you speak but stays put. “I figured as much. You better not have fleas, you hear me? Or it’s outside with you.” You warn him, he whines.
“Sarah…” It’s a low whisper, a dream or a nightmare. You press the back of your hand to his forehead, it’s a little warmer than it was an hour ago.
“Who’s Sarah?” You ask him gently, “She your wife? Shall I send for her?” He stirs slightly, only repeating the name before falling deeper into the pit of sleep. He’ll be burning up soon you think, better to try and have him drink something now.
There’s a bit of the tonic left, it usually worked wonders for Millie when she was sick. You mixed it in with some of the leftover broth you’d made.
“Come on, let's get this down.” You lift his head, and tip some of the liquid into his mouth. He sputters at first, coughing but you persist. “Breathe, that’s it, swallow–just a little more, that’s it, good.” You can’t help but smile at the accomplishment, at having managed to somehow get this big man to safety. You just hoped to god that he wouldn’t make you regret it.
The ache shows its true colours as you ready yourself for bed, muscles you didn’t even know you had pulse in pain with the effort of pulling your dress off, when you lift your arms above your head to pull your nightdress on. Millie took no notice of you slipping into the cot behind her, and sleep pulled you down just as swiftly as it did her.
-
Joel woke with a gasp. The pain in his neck was so great it made him groan out loud, and that made the pain even greater. He swore to himself, throat aching, limbs numb. Bandages manifested under his fingers when he clutched at his neck, and he was shirtless. Everything was too bright, too quiet–except–there were sounds, but not the sounds he expected; not the sounds he remembered.
Laughter, young, girl-laughter, a sound he hadn’t heard in so long it froze the breath in his lungs. Had it all just been a dream? A horrific nightmare? His surroundings were nothing, his pain was nothing compared to the need to see where that sound was coming from. It all crashed around him at the sight. It wasn’t Sarah. It would never be Sarah again.
Patch chases the young girl around, nipping at her skirts, drawing that sound from her while a woman smiles. She’s young, the woman, younger than he’d been when Sarah died. She smiles at the little girl and his dog, brushing his horses where they graze a few dozen yards from where he stands. Joel is at a loss.
Memories are sparse, a road, a wagon, a shootout–how long had he been on that road? The effort of standing makes him dizzy, sweat drips down his nose and he stumbles back into the bed that isn’t his, in the house he doesn’t recognize.
The room almost stops spinning when the door opens.
“Oh, hello there.” The woman says to him, wary. Patch is anything but, he runs over at Joel full speed, jumping up onto his thighs to lick at his face. The little girl giggles again.
“How long have I been out?” His voice is a painful rasp.
“Few days, how’s your neck?” There’s a small knife tucked into her apron, Joel can see the shape of it in her hand through the fabric. He doesn’t blame her.
“Been better.” His vision is still grey from the effort of movement, the floor is moving, his stomach twitches.
“You need to eat something, haven’t been able to get you to take anything except broth. Lay back and I’ll fix you a plate. Millie baby, why don’t you go and see to the chickens?” She stops the little one from getting too close, he doesn’t blame her for that either.
“But I already fed them–”
“Millie. Go.” Her tone brooks no argument, the little one sulks off and to his surprise, Patch follows her.
It’s quiet when they leave, awkward and tense.
“I believe I owe you my life.” Joel calls out, “I wanna thank you and your husband–”
“I don’t have a husband.” Her tone doesn’t soften, and he instantly understands.
“I’m sorry.” He grits out.
“My daughter and I, we’re alone out here. I took a chance in lugging you back, I dressed your wounds and did the best I could, kept your dog fed and warm. All I ask is that you don’t hurt us. Can I count on that?” Joel watches her, sees the effort it takes for her to say these things to him.
“Yes ma’am. I’m grateful.” She watches him, studies his eyes and his body language. He cannot help but notice how beautiful she is, how fierce.
“Good. What can I call you?”
“Joel, Joel Miller.” He stands slowly, takes a few careful steps to her table and sits.
“Nice to meet you.”
When the little girl–Millie–comes back inside, Joel is eating the best fried eggs he’s had in years.
“Hi.” She says to him, smiling through a gap-toothed smile.
“Hello.” He says back.
“Millie, this is Mr. Miller.” The woman says, setting down a plate for each of them, he doesn’t fail to notice that there are a few scrambled eggs in a bowl for his dog.
“Joel is fine.” He nods at the girl. He’s not really sure how to interact with them, it’s been a while since he’s been alone with a woman, in any capacity, even longer since he’s been around any kids.
“I like your dog.” The girl says, dipping her bread into the yoke of her egg.
“His name is Patch.” Patch lifts his head at that, but lowers it back into his bowl. The little girl squeals, calls him over to pet. It’s almost strange to see the dog so friendly, usually he keeps to himself, much like his owner.
“You should let me take a look at your neck after you're done.” Her voice cuts through his musings, and he nods around a bite. “Millie and I have to go into town, but there’s hot water by the fire if you’re wanting to get yourself cleaned up. There are a few shirts in the chest by the bed that might fit, few trousers too. Please, help yourself.”
“Thank you, Ma’am.” All the nodding is hurting his neck. He finishes what he can, and lets her take the bandages off. Her hands are gentle, but proficient. He can see the knowledge in her gaze, a recognition that this isn’t the first wound she’s ever seen or dressed.
“Looks good. You let me know if the pain gets to be too much, I’ll take another look later on tonight.” She wipes her hands on her apron, a soft smile gracing her face. “Come on Millie, let's give Mr. Miller some privacy.”
“Joel, please.”
She smiles again politely, but doesn’t respond. Patch whines when they leave, circling a few times before curling up at the foot of what’s been Joel's bed.
The house is intensely quiet with them gone, and he takes the opportunity to put that hot water to use. Slowly, carefully he gets himself clean, breathing deep. It takes him a long time, longer than it should and by the time he stumbles back into the chair, he’s out of breath. The sweat beading on his forehead annoys him, he’d just gotten clean and already he’s a sweaty mess.
–
“How long is Mr. Miller gonna be at our house, mama?” Millie skips alongside you, kicking small stones in her path.
“I don’t know, baby. Until he’s better and can make his way back home.” With all the eggs sold, as well as some fresh cream, there’s enough to have a nice meal tonight.
“I hope he stays, I like Patch.” Her hair is getting so long, the same dark shade as her fathers had been.
He’s clean and dressed when you get home, pale though, no doubt exhausted from the effort. Millie squeals, Patch has gotten so attached to her, when they do end up leaving you know it’ll be hard for her. Goddamn, now you’re going to have to get this girl a dog.
“So, Mr. Miller–”
“Please, call me Joel.” He interjects, you nod.
“Joel, is there a message you’d like me to send to your family? I can stop by the post office tomorrow, maybe get a letter to Sarah now that I know your lastname–”
“How do you know that name?” The temperature in the house drops, his eyes grow cold. “Where’d you hear that name, did you go through my things?” He’s angry, and all at once you recognize the same grief that lives inside you.
“You mentioned it in your sleep, I’m sorry I didn’t mean to upset you, I didn’t go through anything.” Your heart races. He lets out a breath, shakes his head. There’s something he’s reliving, something he definitely doesn’t want to discuss flashing across his face. Millie feels the change and moves to stand behind your legs. All of a sudden it’s gone, he frowns, regret visibly replaces the anger.
“No, no, forgive me. I jus’, I haven’t–No. There’s no one.” He lets out a breath, scrubs a big hand down his face. “It’s jus’ Patch and I. Thank you though.” The smile on his face is clipped, it softens when he catches Millie's eye.
“No harm done.” You run a hand through Millie’s hair, press a kiss to the top of her head.
The food comes together and by the time night has truly fallen, everyone is seated and eating. It’s a largely quiet affair, the mention of Sarah had definitely put a damper on things. His enjoyment of the food helps though, it’s obvious that home cooked meals are not a regular occurrence for him.
“There’s more, if you’d like.” He puts the bowl into your outstretched hand, spoon clutched within his grip.
“It’s real good, best I’ve had in some time.” He digs in once you put the newly filled bowl in front of him. There’s a pride that swells in your chest at that.
Things settle more after the meal is finished, with your bellies full and the hour growing late. He’s apologetic about not helping clean up, you wave it away, grateful for the mere thought.
“Okay Millie, let's get ready for bed.” You call out to her once everything is set to rights. With her and your nightclothes in hand, you herd her behind your makeshift room divider and get to work. Her hair is tangled and despite her protests you finger comb it before wiping her face.
“Okay okay, enough of that.” She frowns, looking so much like her father it hurts. “Go on, get tucked in and I’ll be there in a second.”
Joel is standing when you come out from behind the blanket.
“I’ll take the cot, I’ve been takin’ up your bed long enough.”
“Oh that’s not necessary–” You begin, with his injury, with his weakness he needs rest. He shakes his head, firm.
“I insist. I won’t be takin’ no for an answer.” Millie needs no more elaboration, she runs over to the bed and jumps in. “Atta girl.” He smiles at her, a little bigger than you’ve seen so far.
“Let me give you a few more blankets at least, I fear your neck’ll hurt something fierce in the morning.”
“I’ve had much worse, this is perfect.”
“Alright then, good night Joel.” You call out, blowing out your candle.
“Good night.”
The injury had taken his dreams away, but they were back. The quiet peace of the house doesn’t help, despite it being what he’s been craving for so long. Joel could still see it when he woke, a flash behind his eyelids, the nightmare–the memory of her death. He sighs in the dark, eyes shut tight, an attempt to blink it away. It doesn’t work, it’s never worked. He rises, he feels stronger than he had this morning, a testament to the meal she’d fed him and he takes advantage of it. Silently he and Patch slip out the door, he breathes in the cool night air. It’s a gorgeous piece of land she has, lush green grass, big trees that offer just enough privacy, fertile soil; although it’s definitely not being worked.
She could be growing feed corn for not just her animals, but to sell to other farms. She could be growing wheat, she could be making a nice living. He thinks about how quickly he could do it, it would only take him a couple of weeks to till it, plant seed and get it going. His own mind smacks him upside the head, reminds him it’s not up to him to make any sort of plans with this land that doesn’t belong to him. That reminder doesn’t stop him wanting to do it, maybe he could help her get started as a thank you. Had it not been for her he would surely have died.
The decision is made by the time he falls back into bed, he realizes. Once he’s stronger and healed, he’d help her out as much as he could. A thank you, he reminds himself, nothing else.
-
He’s not in the cot when you wake. The first thought that occurs to you is that he’s left, that he felt better and decided to get out of your hair. A cruel, pessimistic voice whispers that you should check your things, you shake it away. Carefully, so as not to wake Millie just yet, you slip out and dress quickly, the fire will have to–you frown, the fire is lit and wood is stacked neatly in the iron basket beside it. That was kind of him, you think, to stoke it before leaving.
With your boots on, and the apron tied tightly you head out but another surprise greets you. Joel stands just outside the coop, the egg collecting basket in his hand.
“Mornin’, I took the liberty of feedin’ ‘em, horses too. I didn’t thank you for takin’ care of mine.” He looks strong, the colour has crept back into his face a little.
“Thank you, this was kind–” He shakes his head, waving you away.
“I collected the eggs too, they’re real gentle, your chickens.” He hands you the basket.
“You’ve done Millie’s chore.” You smile, “She’ll be thrilled.” He lets out a huff of laughter, his eyes disappear with a smile. He’s so much more handsome when he’s happy.
“Thank you, Joel.”
“It’s not a problem.” Millie runs out then, face scrunched up in anger at having been left alone.
“I don’t think so, back inside, get dressed.” You raise an eyebrow at her, she huffs and goes back inside. Wordlessly, you both go about tending to the animals.
“You alright with eggs again Joel?” You wipe your hands on your apron before lifting the bucket of milk.
“Let me get that for you.” He takes it from your hands, waving away your concerns for his strength and his injury. “If you’ll be makin’ ‘em like you did yesterday then I’m more’n alright.”
“I have some buttermilk leftover, I could make some biscuits too.” You almost laugh at the way his face lights up. “I”ll take that as a yes.” He nods.
Millie helps with breakfast, her little fingers crumble together butter and flour, taking much longer than necessary but you encourage her all the same. With Joel there, you have access to some of the pans hung higher on the wall, things your husband had hung up for you. You try not to think about it, and fail.
“Okay, help yourself.” You set the hot pan onto the table, alongside a mess of fried eggs and a few pieces of bacon you’d been saving. They both dig in with the same enthusiasm, two children excited for a good meal despite their vast differences in age. The clear enjoyment only sweetens the taste, your husband had appreciated your cooking too.
“Have as much as you like.” You see him eyeing the biscuits despite being halfway through his first one, he nods and takes another. Millie picks hers apart, a bite of this, a bite of that, mostly paying attention to the dog at her feet. He benefits from the little crispy edges she feeds him.
“You could sell these.” He gets the words out between buttery bites, the pride swells bigger.
“Oh I don’t know about that.”
“I do. I’d buy ‘em.” He splits the second one, butters it a bit and puts an egg in between. Once most everything has been eaten, it’s time to clean up.
“I was thinkin’.” He starts, handing you plates and cutlery despite your assurances that you could do it. “There’s a lot of good land out here, you should be workin’ it. Could plant you some feedcorn, some wheat, make enough money for the two of you to live pretty well.”
“Yes, that was the original plan before… Well, things didn’t work out.”
“I could help.” He begins, clearing the rest of the things off your table.
“I couldn’t ask you to do that.” He shakes his head, you’ll have to take a look at his injury again.
“I’m offerin’, a way to repay you for savin’ my life.” It’s a bit of an overstatement you think, but then again had you and Millie not come along, had Patch not found the two of you. Maybe he was right, fancy that. You’d saved a man’s life.
“It’s an awful lot of work though, Joel, a lot of labour you’d be doing.” You lean against the stove, arms crossed. “And you’re barely healed as it is.”
“I’ll be back to normal in no time, so long as you got tools I can get this land where it needs to be. Long as you’re okay with me hangin’ around for a spell, jus’ until I’m done.” He crosses his arms, he seems a lot better already but you knew that it went deeper than that. He needs rest and pushing himself too hard would hinder his healing.
“That would be just fine, but I insist you rest and let yourself heal fully before you do anything.” Carefully, tactfully, you broach the subject of family, “Are you sure there’s no one that should know you’re alive? I wouldn’t want anyone to worry about you.”
“Believe me, there’s no one.” He picks at the bandage, a nervous habit hopefully, and not a sign of infection.
“Lemme take a look at that.” He lets you guide him to the chair, lets you prod around and peel the bandage back. You don’t let on how relieved you are to see the wounds knitting together cleanly, healthy pink skin stitching together without corruption.
“Does it hurt?” You clean it gently, touching as lightly as you can.
“Bit sore, but I’m good.” Millie comes over, inspects his neck with a comically critical eye.
“Looks like it hurts.” She says, wrinkling her nose at it.
“Mind your manners.” You remind her. He lets out a little huff of amusement.
“Probably looks somethin’ awful. Your mama did a good job patchin’ me up though.” He speaks to her softly, a fatherly tone. She nods.
“Joel collected the eggs today, so you’ll have to pick up another chore.” With his new bandage in place, you wipe your hands on your apron. “Maybe you could go pick stones wherever Joel tells you to.” She frowns, and you raise your eyebrows.
“Don’t give me that look young lady, and while you’re here let me brush out that hair.” She tries to squirm away but you’re too wise to her moves now, with minimal effort you have her sitting in another chair, whining loudly. “Enough of that, it’ll only take a second.”
Joel smiles a small smile before excusing himself, there’s an inkling about what he’s gone through, what he might have lost in the back of your mind and the implication is too big to dwell on. It’s none of your business anyhow, unless he decides it is.
-
A month passes, a quiet month where you accustom yourself to his presence. You check on the wounds every day, and despite how bad he’d been when you’d found him, he’d made a full recovery. Lucky bastard.
Millie likes him, likes Patch more though and they both seem to know it. He doesn’t speak much at first, a few low words to the dog throughout the day, but it changes. You find him more often than not speaking to the horses, calming them and the cows. The chickens too. That’s another thing Millie likes, the way Joel has taken on her outdoor chores. You try to beat him to it but it's no use. He seems to rise with the sun and half the time most of the outdoor chores are done by the time you girls are both dressed and ready.
You continue to sell your eggs, milk, butter and cream. Joel never accompanies you, and you prefer it that way. It’s better you think, that no one knows he’s staying with you. Part of it is saving yourself the need to explain that he’s just someone you helped, who’s now helping you back. Another part of it is preservation, for both of you. After all you still had no idea who had attacked him and there was absolutely no need to put yourselves in danger. Millie was good about keeping your guest a secret, the dog though, him she would not shut up about.
He’s got one of the horses set up with the tiller when you get back, slowly marking out where to grow the crops. He tips his hat when he sees the two of you, Millie waves big. It’s hard not to watch him from inside the house, it’s clear to see just how much work it is, even with the worst of the sunlight already fading. Sweat makes his shirt cling to his back, broad and strong. You sigh, turning away, you’ve been alone too long you think.
Millie is focused on her workbook when he comes in a few hours later, face red, shirt drenched.
“There’s clean water in the basin, freshen up and I’ll fix you a plate.” You keep your eyes on the food you’ve prepared, and not the flex in his arms in your periphery.
“I set up the tub outside, I’ll fill it after supper so I can get properly clean. I must smell like a horse.” That’s a minefield you think, the thought of him bathing just outside. You shove it away and nod, still not meeting his eye.
“Baby, put your book away, you can work on it after you eat.” You set the plates in front of her and Joel, before sitting with your own.
“I’m almost done.” She screws her face up, numbers, must be to see her so focused. She lets out an aggravated sigh. Joel cranes his neck to see what she's working on.
“Hm.” He comments, “Division wasn’t my favourite neither.” Sympathetic, knowing.
“It’s hard.” She sighs again.
“Yes it is, unless you cheat.” He raises his eyebrows, she mirrors him. “See, if you find things to count with your hands, it’s like cheatin’, ‘cause you can see the answer.” His finger lands on her math problem.
“See that, thirty-six divided by nine, you need thirty-six things you can count and you gotta make nine piles. What do you have thirty-six of?”
“Nothing! I don’t have thirty-six of anything.” She frowns at him, he’s patient regardless.
“Oh I dunno, I think you could make thirty-six somethin’s.” He digs into his food. “You got paper, rip it up.” You almost laugh at the look on her face. “May I?” He reaches for an empty page in her work book, she lets him.
“Seems to me you gotta work with what cha got.” He rips the page into strips, carefully dividing it up. “Count me down.” He prompts her, and together they do. Once he has the strips he hands them to her.
“Reckon you can take it from here?” He asks her, she nods. Slowly she divides, counts out nine piles and sorts her pieces.
“Four!” She practically screams.
“Atta’ girl.” It’s almost a smile, a crinkling of his eyes, a tiny upturn of his mouth before it’s gone. When his eyes find yours it’s truly gone, and there's something else in its place, something that looks more sad than anything. You mouth a thank you anyway.
“Good job baby, it’s time to eat now. Put it away.” She does, and the meal is enjoyed in peace.
-
The water is hot enough to burn, but it feels too good to care. His muscles ache, the good kind of ache though, a testament to the work he's put in. The moonlight shines on him in the open air behind the house, highlighting the surface of the water, the steam coming off both it and his body. Feels too fucking good to do anything but relax. With his belly full of the best food he’s eaten in years, with his pains melting away in the water, with the peace of this place he sinks deeper.
His mind drifts to her, to the woman who’d taken him in and saved his life. The ray of sunlight that greeted him each morning, the desert rose that bloomed in adversity. His cock stirs against his will, an altogether different ache, one that he’s been ignoring. He hasn’t been with a woman in so long, longer still since he thought about one in the way he thought about her. There’s an intense curiosity as to whether she might think or feel the same way, he’s caught her looking at him enough to. He sighs and sinks under the water.
Maybe it’s just self-preservation he sees. A woman, alone staying sweet, staying friendly so they’ll get along. He sees it then, the fire in her eyes when she gets angry at something and that line of thought disappears. She’s not afraid of him, not anymore. Joel knows that if push came to shove she’d defend herself well enough. Not that she’d need to against him, he’d never hurt a woman in his life.
He just needs time alone, privacy, she does too.
-
He’s kinder than he lets on, it’s obvious to everyone but him. Despite the arrangement, you can see he enjoys being there. You can’t deny the sense in it. A woman and a small girl living on their own is dangerous, has always been so. You’ve been exceedingly lucky, not counting the tragedy that brought you here in the first place, you’ve lived in relative peace. No robbers, no lawmen hassling you for the land you can only afford by the skin of your teeth. No problems as of yet but you knew in your heart that could change at a moment's notice. At least with a man there, a strong, serious man like Joel would make any other think twice.
He makes himself incredibly useful, he feeds and waters the horses, he makes steady progress on the land as best he can with the tools left behind, he’s even begun to rebuild some of the barn when he has a minute to spare. Millie has taken to him, and despite his silences, you can see that he has taken to her as well.
You watch her run around with the dog while he sits on the milking stool, catching a much needed breath. It feels a little like it did before her dad died, the tableau is an echo of the past only with a stand in. He doesn’t feel like a stand in though, maybe that realization should hurt you, but it doesn’t. He laughs, a deep belly laugh at something Millie says, the corners of your lips curl up. He slices an apple and eats it piece by piece, but he shares it with her. A feeling in your chest swells and blooms into your limbs, an inkling of something you’ve been ignoring, repressing, hiding. No, not a stand in at all. A natural progression.
-
“You need more room.” He speaks low, careful to not startle the horse he’s brushing.
“I have enough room.” You respond, voice clipped. Daisy, your best dairy cow, fusses. You’d waited a little too long to milk her.
“You need your own space, Millie too. I could build it.”
“You don’t need to do that, you’re already working your fingers to the bone tilling as it is. Shhh, it’s okay girl.” You speak softly, calming her as you work.
“I like workin’ with my hands, I like buildin’ things. Growin’ girl needs her own space and so do you.” He sounds gruff, almost annoyed at your refusal.
“Do I got a choice here, Joel?” You ask, almost laughing.
“No, I don’t believe you do.” There’s something in his voice, an amusement, a playfulness you hadn’t heard yet.
“Well then, I guess you can go ahead and build.” With Daisy milked, you rise and wipe your hands, leaving him with both the horse, and his plans.
-
He comes home with lumber, a wagon full of it a week later and begins his project right away. Joel is definitely older than you, by the looks of him well into his forties, probably into his fifties, but he works like a man twenty years younger. You wonder where the hell he gets the stamina.
Millie inserts herself into his work and you try to correct her, keep her from getting underfoot but he waves it away. He lets her ask her questions and does his best to teach her what he’s doing and why. It’s hard to watch at times, to know that her father would have loved to have done this but that he can’t, that he never will. You don’t let them see you cry.
Another month goes by, and the crops are planted and watered, seedlings have sprouted and for the first time in a long time there is hope. Joel tends to everything growing in the morning after seeing to the animals, and before continuing his project. It’s come a long way too, the framework is up and attached to the main house. It’s bigger than you’d imagined, enough for two extra rooms. Fancy that, two bedrooms.
It had occurred to you that he hadn’t built himself a place to stay, and the most logical conclusion would be that once he’d finished, he'd be on his way. Something about that needles you, you don’t actually want him to go. You’re not sure he wants to go either, not with how comfortable he seems to be, how much he’s opened up to the both of you.
You dwell on it over dinner, but don’t say anything. Maybe he’ll take your questions the wrong way, maybe he’ll think you want him to leave. Millie is tuckered out from helping him, her head dips with the effort of staying awake.
“This girl is gon’ drown in her soup.” He huffs out, half amused.
“Let me put her to bed.” You start to rise but he stops you.
“You finish eatin’, I’m done. I got her.” He scoops her up, shushing her softly before walking her over to the bed and setting her down. He takes off her boots with gentle hands, and covers her with the blanket. Something in your chest cracks open, this is a father, clear and simple.
“She’s exhausted.” He laughs, coming to sit at the table once more. You want to ask him, but ultimately you don’t. If it’s something he wants to share, he will.
“You’ve been putting her to work.” You stack the plates, prepping them to be cleaned. “I appreciate you being so patient with her. I know she can slow you down.”
“Oh she’s no trouble, it’s good for me to slow down, stops me from makin’ too many mistakes.”
“Well I appreciate it anyway.” You rise, he follows.
“No trouble, darlin’.”
Joel is already asleep by the time you get to bed. Carefully you get Millie out of her dress, it can’t be too comfortable sleeping with all those layers, not that you’d know by the look of her. She barely notices you lifting her arms, doesn’t wake when you pull the bigger quilt out from underneath her. She’s getting so big, so funny and smart, so precious. Thoughts of what might have happened to Joel flood your mind, had he lost his wife? His mother? A sister or heaven forbid a daughter?
You move the hair away from her face, do your best to pull it all into a loose braid and thank the Lord that you have her.
-
By the end of the third month of his stay, the crops are growing nicely, and one of the rooms, the smaller one, is done. Millie is immensely proud of her work, she pulls you around to inspect, showing you exactly which boards she herself measured, which nails she helped Joel hammer in. It was nice to see her so invested, so happy and accomplished.
“Wow, you did so good baby, I’m so proud of you!” She beams.
“Joel said he’d help me build a new bed too, and a desk for my workbooks.” She skips around the room, excitedly telling you exactly where she’ll set up her bed, where she wants to put her things and while you are very happy for her to have her own space, it’s yet more work for Joel.
He’s working away on the second, bigger room when you find him.
“Whad’ya think?” He asks, a nail hanging in the corner of his mouth.
“It’s perfect, she’s so happy.” You admit, trying and failing to notice the flex in his back.
“Yeah she is, I’ll get a bed together for her, then we can see about findin’ a mattress.”
“Joel, I appreciate all this work you’re doing, truly, but this is so much. You’re breaking your back here–” He waves it away, your worries for him are errant flies.
“It’s nothin’, I told you I like workin’ with my hands, and I owe you–”
“You don’t owe me an indefinite amount of labour, how much did all this cost you? I can’t keep accepting all this with no promise of payment or anything. I’ve given you room and board, yes, and I’ll be honest it’s nice having you here but I don’t want you to waste your time.”
“I’m not wastin’ my time.” He stops, there’s a frown on his face, one you can’t decipher.
“Let me pay you for your work.” You offer, he shakes his head again.
“You paid me, by savin’ my life, and you pay me every day by feedin’ me and the dog.” There’s an annoyance in him, a frustration and then you understand. He likes being useful, he needs to feel needed. He needs a home. There’s a warmth at that realization, sunlight in the early morning when the world is quiet, that this would feel like home to him.
“You hungry?” Tentatively, you place your hand on his shoulder, warm, sturdy. “I could fix you something while you work.” He smiles a little smile, and nods. You leave him to it.
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: E for Explicit! 18+
Word Count: 7.5k
Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* (Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking.) Morning sex, oral sex (f receiving), vaginal sex, unprotected sex, somnophilia.
Summary: The time for Friendsgiving has come, but there are surprises in store that not even you and Harry had in mind.
Notes: We've come to the last chapter of Harry and Mack's beautiful story 🧡 In two weeks we'll have their epilogue, and in the new year we'll welcome the General to the Soulmate family!
Harry watches you for a moment, the rising sun starting to filter in from the windows and paints your skin with a golden hue. His hard cock twitches and he thinks about the conversations you’ve had following since the day you were drunk. Things that you were uncomfortable with and wanted to try. Waking you up with sex was definitely one of them. He smirks slightly as he moves closer and his fingers slide your nightgown up over your luscious ass.
The first rays of morning sun don’t do much to wake you, but that is only because your dreams are far too sweet. Your imaginary time Harry between your legs is almost as tantalizing as the real thing, and you swear you wouldn’t be surprised if one morning he woke you up to tell you that you had been moaning in your sleep.
Your pussy quivers around his fingers, tongue flicking over your clit and you’re so close to cumming but he doesn’t want you to just yet. He wants to be buried inside you, your eyes open when you cum. He pulls his fingers out and shifts to his knees, pushing his briefs down and hooking your legs over his shoulders.
Just a few days ago at the event space, he had put your take-out mock picnic dinner aside in favor of devouring you, but this half-dream, half-memory feels as real as if you were reliving it. Later on, you’ll swear you could feel every stroke of his tongue all over again.
But then your body shifts, and you’re pulled from the dream just in time for your eyes to flutter shut all over again at the feeling of being filled to bursting with your soulmate’s morning wood.
He slides deep, the steady roll of his hips isn’t a rough snap, but constant. Pressing. Filling you to hilt as he groans your name and presses down, pushing your legs back slightly as he rocks you down into the bed.
The moan that tears out of you is hoarse, needy, and almost disbelieving. This is really happening. It’s almost too good to be true, except you know that tone in Harry’s voice as he moans your name.
“Fuck you take me so well.” Harry hisses. Seeing that you are awake, he presses down a little more and snaps his hips on the next thrust. “Feel it, baby? Feel how good it is?”
“Fuck—” The wrenching sob of pleasure is barely a word. Your body is trying to stretch to wake up and also to take him in as deeply as possible, but doing both at once makes you squirm under him and whine. “So—oh my god—fuck—”
“Think about this all the time.” He grunts as he rocks his hips, moving faster now that you are awake. “About you. Fuck, you are-“ he groans your name when you clench around him.
“Yours.” The first real, uncracked word you’ve said this morning, and it’s to finish his thought. “Yours, baby. Always yours.”
The bed manages to creak under the force of his thrusts. Rougher, raw, in the morning light as he fucks you. This isn’t the soft, gentle lovemaking. This is sweaty and breathtaking.
It’s taking as much as giving. Needy and animal. It’s utterly delicious. The two of you dissolve into curses and gasps, moaning and grunting as you meet his thrusts and ignore the world in favor of pure indulgence.
Your fingers dig into his biceps and he loves it. Spurring him on as he continues to rock into you. “Fuck baby, you’re gonna soak the bed aren’t you?”
“Mm, fuck, please baby—” Having found your voice, it’s still hoarse as you babble and your nails dig into his arms. “So good baby, I’m so close—”
Harry grits his teeth, so close to giving in because you are so perfect but he wants you to shatter first. “Do it, cum for me.” He begs. “Soak me.” This time the rough edge comes out as more of a command than anything else.
Harry isn’t one to order anyone around in bed. He’s too sweet. Coaxing. Normally one to bring you to the edge with loving tenderness rather than a command. The difference is — shockingly sexy. The rasp in his voice graduates to a growl that raises your skin in tantalizing goosebumps and spikes your blood with pleasure so shaky that you can’t help but obey.
His hips slap against the cradle of your thighs, loud, beckoning. Pushing him even more as he hammers into you like a man possessed.
The apartment rattles with the intensity of your hoarse cry when you cum, shaking under him with your legs wrapped around his waist, clinging to him and to the thin shreds of morning reality that are practically shredding by the most glorious wake up call you've ever had.
Instead of slowing down, rocking you through it, he keeps up the pace. Grunting and huffing as he pumps himself closer to his own pleasure. “So good, so good for me.” He pants out. “Perfect. You’re so fucking perfect baby.”
It’s too exquisite too be real, and yet Harry is perfection itself. Every moan and thrust hits you perfectly all the way to the core, prolonging that feeling of orgasmic bliss and rolling it into something not only overwhelming but too impossible for words. A second wave of your own climax hits with his, so the symphony of moans and crying out of each other’s names rattles the frames on the penthouse walls.
This time, Harry slows down. Well, he practically collapses on top of you and starts to kiss you as he catches his breath and comes down from the most intense orgasm he’s ever experienced in his entire life.
“Fuck—” A glorious, rasping giggle pours out of your mouth as you wrap your arms around him. “That was…I want you to get me pregnant like that.”
“You liked that, hmmm?” He’s not opposed to the idea at all. Softening cock twitching inside the heat of your walls in response.
“Maybe…” The wave of pleasure pulsing through you lingers and makes you shiver happily.
Once he manages to pull back, he is searching your face for any hint of displeasure. “Everything was good with that?” He asks, wanting to check in. Especially since that was the first time he had ever done something like that.
"Baby..." Both of your hands find his cheeks, cupping his jaw and holding his gaze so earnestly that it's like the breath coming out of him ends up rolling through you right after. "I loved it. But if you didn't, we don't have to do it again."
“No.” He leans into your touch, “I did like it, that’s why I was making sure you did too.”
“I know it’s new.” Leaning into him in equal measure, you sigh in the smell of him like oxygen. “I just didn’t want you to have second thoughts.”
“There nothing I wouldn’t do for you.” He reminds you softly. “And I know you feel the same. It’s new and exciting for us as a couple.”
“It is.” But checking in is good, and healthy, and respectful, so you’re glad that you both did. Another fierce kiss brings you together to be cuddling in bed again. “Are you ready to have a house full of people?”
“I’m looking forward to it.” He admits as he relaxes as he holds you. “Is there anything you need? From me? You’ve planned all this and I feel a little useless.”
“You’re far from useless,” you promise him, dusting his jaw with kisses. “Normally I would ask you to pick people up from the airport, but Stanley already has Chloe’s flight info, Perce has a favorite cab company, and Aaron told me he already has a company driver lined up for himself. Our friends are very well taken care of.”
“Then making sure we have enough ice and the wine is opened is my job.” Harry snorts as he leans in to kiss you again. “I bought a case of good scotch yesterday along with the case of wine.”
“None of this cocktail party nonsense,” you remind him. “Hanging out in the kitchen is half the fun. This weekend is just about being silly with our friends.” It’s also about asking them to be in your wedding party, and the small tokens of friendship you both found for them are wrapped and ready.
“Oh no, I know that it will be wine and wielding knives.” He pats your ass playfully. “Just don’t hurt yourself. I like not having scars on our hands.”
“Still lusting after a career in hand modeling?” You tease, laughing as you start to roll out of bed.
“Yes. My total ambition in life.” Harry snorts dryly, smirking as he watches you walk towards the bathroom. “You want to start trying?” He asks suddenly, still sitting on the edge of the bed.
Oh god…
Your heart skips and you turn back around, top teeth already worrying your bottom lip. “Is it selfish if I say yes?” You ask him quietly. Almost like you’re afraid to have the thought. “I know the business is still getting off the ground and the wedding is in a little over a year and everything is changing…but I can’t help imagining all these brand new, beautiful things happening with our baby right there in the mix.”
He shoots you a relieved grin. “That’s good.” He admits with a quick lick of his lips. “Because I want to.” He confesses. “It could take awhile.” He reasons. “But maybe we could see what happens?”
"We can't know how long it will take until we try." Instantly flying back across the room, you end up giggling in Harry's arms with wild abandon. "Let's start trying."
“Well….” He pecks your lips once, twice and then a third time. “After you have your IUD removed.”
"I'll call my doctor first thing Monday morning." One more kiss and then you bounce back off the bed. "Until then, we can practice."
He chuckles, noticing that you are very chipper about the idea, and he grunts as he gets up and stretches. “Just like we practiced this morning?” He asks as he follows you into the bathroom.
"Hell yeah we did," you're grinning like an idiot and swat at his ass like he likes to do to you. "And we're gonna do it again and again."
Harry smirks proudly, rubbing his face and picking up his razor as he turns on the hot water. “Good.”
******
Chloe is the first to arrive, having hopped on an early morning flight back to New York from her parents' place in Asheville. Thanksgiving was fun, but she had spent the whole day talking about the business that you and she are starting together with all of her curious relatives and she could use a break to just relax.
“Oh bless you.” She takes the very large glass of wine that Harry hands her and takes a first sip with a moan of happiness. “I need this.”
"Not a very happy Thanksgiving?" You ask, trotting across the kitchen with your apron already on and three things already working to give her a hug. She had opted to fly back from Asheville early this morning instead of rushing the holiday yesterday but it sounds like she might be regretting that decision.
“No.” She shakes her head. “Just busy bodies being themselves.” She snorts and rolls her eyes. “My parents are supportive, but my extended family seems to think it’s wrong for me to move to New York.”
"Let me guess?" After years and years of friendship, you know Chloe's family almost as well as Percy's or your own. "Your Uncle Michael thinks I'm brainwashing you."
“How did you know?” She rolls her eyes again. “I swear the man thinks everyone is trying to brainwash me.”
"He's the most paranoid optimist I've ever met." Squeezing her tight to your side, you plant a kiss in her hair and then slide over to steal one from Harry.
“I’m just hoping he can come around soon enough.” She snorts. “Especially since he wants to help us somehow.”
"He wants to help?" You raise one eyebrow at that thought, having no clue what he would possibly do.
“Yeah.” She giggles and shrugs one shoulder. “No clue.”
"Uncle Michael manages a farm supply store," you explain, when Harry looks offended that the man not be able to help. "Not the most helpful business in the middle of New York City, but if we get a client who wants a themed event you never know what can happen."
Harry chuckles. “Who knows?” He shrugs. “Perhaps you can offer one of those farmhouse chic weddings that seem to be so popular.”
Chloe groans, which only makes you laugh more, and you shepherd your friend back into the kitchen to keep cooking. "You're in charge of the charcuterie," you tell her, one hand in the air like a promise. "I know better than to let anyone but the expert handle that."
“Thank you.” She hums as she takes another sip of her wine and sets it down. “Where do you want the spread at?”
“On the island?” Normally reserved for your prep work when you cook, the marble topped island will be your appetizer table this evening. “I’ve got candied pecans in the oven right now and white bean hummus in the fridge. The veggies and pita are all cut up already. Do you want to do the brie at room temp or hot?”
“Ohhhh let’s do it hot and then let it cool down.” She decides with a smile. “Maybe if Harry can go get me a bottle of brandy, I’ll try my new recipe.”
Harry sets down his glass and departs with a flash of a thumbs up, disappearing into the next room to retrieve brandy from the bar cart.
“Brandy, brown sugar, ginger and pecans.” She tells you. “Topped with fig jam.”
Your eyes practically glaze over and you swear you drool just a tiny bit. "I have extra pecans," you promise immediately, pointing to one of the cupboards.
She grins at you and pulls out her bag. “I brought the candied pecans they sell at the Estate.” She giggles, shaking the bag playfully.
"Oh my gooooood." The drool is very real this time, but you're too busy doing a happy dance to care. "I fucking love you. Please tell me you brought multiple bags because I will eat them forever."
“Of course I brought you a bag.” She snorts, as if offended by the mere thought she might not bring enough. “And a back up bag for Harry so he can try at least one.”
“Smart woman,” you laugh, and blow Harry a kiss when he comes back into the room. “None survived the Great Pecan Massacre when we got back from our trip.”
“I swear that every bag disappeared in a day.” He snorts as he comes back into the kitchen with a bottle of French brandy. It’s good and he thinks it will be exactly what she wanted.
“I warned you,” you remind him. “I told you to hide a bag from me and you didn’t believe me.”
“No, I didn’t.” He hangs his head for a moment, but he’s grinning as he exchanges the brandy for the pecans. “I will go hide these now.” He jokes, knowing the moment you have a craving for them he will pull them out to give to you.
“I’m calling it now,” you tell his retreating back. “Those are going to be a pregnancy craving.”
His head snaps back towards you and he smirks. “I’ll invest in the company.”
Chloe looks at you with wide eyes as Harry walks away, but you just go back to your cooking as though you hadn’t just dropped a bomb with her in the room. “We’re going to start trying,” you tell her after a long pause, and after she throws a dish towel at you to get you to talk.
“Before the wedding?” She’s not judging. Not at all. She just knows that you had voice some pretty firm choices back when weddings were hypothetical dreams.
"I know." Leaning your hip on the counter, you pick up your own wine glass to take a sip. "It's not how I said I would do it. But I just..." You shrug, burying your face in one hand. "I think I've been thinking about carrying that man's baby since before we even slept together. It's just...I don't want to wait."
“Then you better enjoy that wine while you still can.” She winks playfully at you. “Because that man wants you full of his babies. I can tell.”
She's not at all wrong, and you're waggling your eyebrows at her when the buzzer goes off in the hallway. Harry's voice carries through the penthouse and you hear a laugh followed by a snorted curse. Must be Percy and Tam, you think happily.
“How the hell did you manage that?” Harry demands, grinning at his friends and shaking his head.
“It was Tam!” Percy defends, pointing at his wife while he belly laughs his way into the room. “All she has to do is insinuate that something sounds like fun and people bend over backwards to make it happen for her, I swear!”
“It’s the fame.” She’s grinning as she shrugs causally, although she is honestly overwhelmed by the adoration at times, in the best way. Knowing that there will be some negativity by some doesn’t affect her, it’s a part of the game and she just ignores it because she knows the truth.
“What did Tam Tam manage?” Once again abandoning your current project, you fly across the room to throw your arms around the new arrivals.
“Heyyyyyyy.” Tamara squeals as she rushes forward to meet you in a hug. “I managed to get the plane full of grumpy ass passengers to play ‘pass the baby’ so a new mother could get a break.” She admits with a grin as she pulls back. “Traded seats with her so she had first class and we walked the aisles with her fussy, overly tired and extremely cute baby.”
“That’s the cutest!” Chloe squeaks, looking dreamy at the prospect. She loves kids even if she’s far from having her own. “And that sweet mama is going to be telling that story for her entire life.”
“Chloe!” Percy has been focused on his wife and then in crushing you in a hug, but he lights up to see your college friend that had been around so much when you were all still kicking around North Carolina trying to figure out who you all would become.
“Perc!” She’s just as eager for a hug that she tosses down the slices of salami she had been folding to hurry forward.
“Hey Tam.” Your best friend’s wife — happily your friend in her own right — gets a tight hug even as the other two practically giggle through their reunion. “The tiny blonde currently being crushed in a bear hug is my college roommate, Chloe. When Percy remembers she needs air to breathe, I promise she’ll want to hug you, too.”
“Oh I’m sure that we will be fast friends.” She squeezes you one more time before she pulls back. “He has told me all about her and all the crap you guys got into.”
“We were angels!” Chloe huffs, only for you and Percy to immediately burst into laughter.
“Oh that just proves that you weren’t.” Harry snorts and shakes his head.
“Your soulmate got her nickname for punching somebody,” Percy reminds him. “We were normal teenagers. Bored as fuck and willing to make our own fun.”
“Oh I’m not judging.” Harry clarifies. “I just know that I’m already anticipating shenanigans this weekend.”
“I guess it all depends on Aaron.” Finally closing the oven on the last casserole dish, you pick up glasses of the counter and look around the room. “Tam, honey, what would you like to drink? Perce said you’re on a cranberry juice kick right now so I’ve got that and a bunch of other options.”
“Could I have a cranberry sprite?” She perks up happily. “And you know what? I need to have the ingredients delivered for a wonderful holiday punch. It’s amazing, I’ve been drinking it like a horse to water since I’ve learned about it.”
“Do you want to come take a look?” You motion to the refrigerator. “This thing is so jammed full that we might have everything already.”
“Do you have orange sherbet?” The look she gives you is almost so pathetic and pleading that Harry chuckles.
“Weirdly?” You dig into the freezer and come out with a plastic tub. “We do. Don’t ask questions, but it was destined for a bottle of chocolate sauce last week when I was still super sad.”
“Ohhhhhhh, Ohhhh.” She moans. “Okay. Cranberry juice, sprite, orange sherbet. It’s amazing and it would probably be better with some vodka in it.”
“Vodka optional?” The suggestion comes with a shrug in a small attempt not to rouse Chloe’s suspicion. The penthouse has been completely cleaned of all seafood for the weekend as it is currently the only thing that Tamara is having a real aversion to. “It’ll be nice to have one option that’s booze free. The bar cart doesn’t need to be stocked anymore than it already is.”
“Oh absolutely.” Tamara agrees.
“So where did Aaron decide to stay?” Percy asks, glancing over at Harry as both men become assistants to Tamara’s punch-making adventure.
“He decided to stay at the Plaza.” He rolls his eyes playfully. “They have now introduced the Kevin McCalister experience and he wants to make sure it lives up to expectations.”
“It’s such a bummer.” And you don’t mind pouting about it, either. “I was excited for a full house this weekend. Now Chloe is going to get smothered in all my attention.”
“Oh no, whatever will I do?” Chloe intones sarcastically, grinning as she rolls her eyes and bumps your hip. “If I didn’t think that you would cry, I would send Harry to stay with this Aaron dude so we could have a girl’s weekend.”
“We absolutely should do ahead girls weekend.” Tamara agrees, looking up from her science experiment of a beverage. “Maybe right after the New Year? Go someplace tropical?” She can’t exactly suggest next spring or summer, but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love a little trip with the girls.
“Ohhhhh somewhere warm.” Chloe agrees. “Because I’ll need to adjust a little to New York winters.”
“You guys should come out to SoCal,” she suggests immediately. “We can go down to Baja or out to Hawaii or something.”
“Hawaii?” Her eyes widen in delight. “I’m down.”
“We could do Hawaii…” When you glance over at Harry he’s giving you a thumbs up, encouraging you to live it up. Of course he is. The absolute sweetheart of a man would never deny you the chance to spend time with friends.
“Ohhhhh this will be fun!” Tamara coos. “Can we add some extra friends?” She asks. “We could make it an early bachelorette party.”
“It would be very early, since the wedding is still a year away.” Reaching halfway up into the cupboard with two hands full of plates, you look back over your utter shoulder at Tamara and Chloe. “Whatever you guys want to do, I’m in.”
“How about just a girls getaway?” Chloe hums. “We don’t need an excuse. Just the want to have fun.”
“Perfect,” Tamara agrees, lighting up when the apartment’s buzzer goes off again. “And there’s our last arrival.”
Aaron is always the last to arrive if it’s not his own party, and he comes bearing gifts. Several of them.
“I’ll get it.” You wipe your hands on a tea towel and hustle to the buzzer, happy to hear Aaron’s voice on the other end when you let him up. Soon enough he’s stepping off the elevator and into the foyer of the penthouse with a grin on his handsome face.
“I bring presents.” He declares as if he’s Santa Claus.
“You didn’t have to do that, honey!” He has a large travel bag over his shoulder which you assume must be chock full of goodies with his announcement. “You being here is the present. Harry’s missed you and I’m so glad you could come.”
“I am proud to be included.” He tells you, reaching out to pull you into a hug. “It’s good to see you again. Hopefully this time it will be for more than a few hours.”
"It'll be a few days this time, and we'll all be much happier for it." You share a tight squeeze of a hug and lead Aaron through to the kitchen. "Nothing formal this weekend," you tell him as you go. "We're just hanging out. No fancy dress or big parties or anything else."
“Thank god.” He rolls his eyes as he follows you. “I just want to relax with friends.”
"Well," you usher him into the kitchen just in time for one of the several timers you have set to go off. "You know Percy and Tam. And this is my friend Chloe. It's the six of us this weekend."
“Hello.” He nods politely and try not to look like his eyes are about to bulge out of his head.
“H—hi…” Chloe’s face is pink all the way back to her hairline and her smile has that restraint in it that means you’re going to get yelled at later for not warning her that Harry’s old college buddy is just as drop dead gorgeous as Harry is. “Nice to meet you.”
There’s a moment where neither one of them says anything as they hold the other’s hand and look deep into soulful eyes. The connection so instantaneous Harry nearly chuckles but catches himself with a slight cough.
“Hi…” Chloe breathes again, swallowing a nervous giggle. “So you’re…you’re me? But—but for Harry?” Her mind has just about short circuited and if he ever lets go of her hand it will be too soon.
“I’m you, for Harry.” He confirms, slowly letting the charmed smile spread over his face. It’s more like I’m me for you. He thinks as he watches her nearly melt in a puddle, yet she doesn’t pull away.
“Well that’s…that’s great…” Her mouth is never going to keep up with her mind or vice versa, but she can’t bring herself to care even for a damn minute.
“Apparently.” He manages to look away, but only barely. Shooting Harry a look that says Aaron will be chewing him out for not telling him about Chloe earlier.
“Aaron?” You manage to clear your throat gently but loudly enough to be heard over his brain fog. “Would you like a drink?”
“Huh?” He looks over at you for a moment before he registers what you said. “Oh! I- uh? I brought champagne!” He remembers.
“Fantastic.” You’re cackling in amusement in your head as he scrambles to take bottles out of his large bag. “Champagne and punch while we start in on appetizers? Dinner will be ready in just over an hour if I managed to time everything correctly.”
“What can I do to help you?” He’s not asking you that question, his attention already back on your best friend.
The other four of you smirk, diverting your attentions to let Chloe and Aaron flirt over the cheese plate immediately. “I think the rest of us can probably disappear,” Tamara jokes quietly.
“I’ve never seen Aaron so off kilter.” Percy chuckles as he wraps his arms around his wife and kisses her cheek. “Reminds me of me when I met you.”
You throw a smirk at Harry as you peak into the double oven built into the wall to check on dinner. "Aaron doesn't have any marks, does he?"
******
“Ohhhhh god, I can’t eat another bite.” Harry is glad he hadn’t worn anything restrictive today. Indulging far too much and now paying the price but everything had just been too good.
The platter of mini desserts is nearly demolished. The six of you really did a number on dinner and dessert and you’re all groaning happily at the dinner table. “We’re all going to fall asleep right here,” you groan happily.
“That doesn’t sound like a horrible idea.” Chloe groans. “Although that couch you have seems comfortable.”
“It is,” Percy confirms, having crashed on Harry’s couch plenty of times in his life. “Fuuuck I need coffee. But like…an IV drip.”
Harry snorts. “No IV but we do have espresso.” He reminds his friend. “Mack loves that machine.”
“And you love not having a grumpy fiancée.” The smile you flash him is genuine, and you push away from the table to go make coffees for everyone.
The small batch of macchiatos is done relatively speedily, but when you return there is more in the tray than just demitasse cups — there are four small boxes that are each tagged with the name of one of your friends. When Peter and Charlotte had told you that they couldn’t make it to dinner tonight because they had plans with her family, you had decided to ask them to be part of your wedding party at Thanksgiving. Peter had protested that he was not choked up, but Charlotte had privately confided later on how happy she was that the two of you get along. She’s never had a sister she didn’t feel the need to compete with before you came alone.
Harry smiles as you bring the tray over, everyone catching sight of the boxes and their expressions turning curious as you set them down and Harry stands to join you. “We had alternative intentions for inviting you this weekend.” Harry admits as he puts his hands on your shoulders and squeezing them gently.
“While we’re bummed that Peter and Charlotte couldn’t join us until tomorrow,” you pick up each box, handing them around the table. “We wanted to have a moment with our chosen family. To thank the four of us for how much you have done for us, and tell you how much we love you.” “We haven’t done anything yet.” Aaron huffs as he looks towards Harry. “We need to start plotting on taking this asshole off your hands for a weekend.” He jokes, motioning towards Percy. “Right, Perc?”
“I have ideas,” Percy promises, his eyes flashing with mischief. As soon as the proposal had happened, Percy and Peter’s text thread had gone straight to planning the bachelor party.
“There will be plenty to do before that happens.” You also hand out coffees, setting one cup in front of everyone. Tamara flashes you a smile when she smells cocoa from her cup instead of coffee and you wink subtly. “Everybody open up,” you insist, waving to the boxes they’re all holding.
“You didn’t have to bribe us to come.” Aaron jokes as he pulls the ribbon on the exquisitely wrapped box. “And I can tell Harry did not wrap this, so thank you Mack.”
“Harry picked yours out.” And a good thing too, considering you know nothing about watches. But you had gone to see Raphael at Tiffany for your girls. “But you’re welcome.”
Aaron’s brow shoots up when he sees the box. “Har- this might be a little excessive for a Thanksgiving present.” He says as he flips the Rolex box out of the gift box.
“Open it up and you will understand.” Harry tells him with a pleased smirk.
Aaron frowns a little in confusion but pulls the ribbon open and slides the top away from the body of the box to find a small card in Harry’s handwriting on top. Percy’s box looks identical. Tam and Chloe open their Tiffany blue boxes to find small velvet boxes inside with little cards in your neat script.
We would love for you to be a part of our special day. Will you be a part of our wedding party?
There’s a collective gasp of delight from both Chloe and Tamara and the boys look a little overwhelmed by the gesture. “Of course, if you cannot, we understand.” Harry tells them, aware that other obligations might hinder them from accepting.
“Don’t be idiots.” Percy huffs, positively weepy. He takes the vintage Cartier watch out of the red box it was nestled in and immediately swaps it for the Tissot he’s been wearing so long he’s had to replace the leather band. “We wouldn’t miss it for the world.”
The Rolex that Harry had chosen for Aaron was one that he had been searching for. His eyes lighting up when he sees the model and he shakes his head as he looks up at his friend. “You know that I would be there come hell or high water.” He promises, shifting up out of his seat to clap Harry on the back.
“Of course we would,” Chloe agrees. You did already give her a gift of jewelry when you asked her to be your maid of honor, but she can see now that you must bought matching earrings for all of your bridesmaids because she and Tamara have been gifted the same pair.
“We want to make sure that we know how much of a commitment this is and we appreciate it.” Harry murmurs softly, looking at you with a proud grin.
"Hopefully it can still be a lot of fun along the way," you agree. Just for the moment, even though you're talking to your friends, you can't tear your eyes away from Harry. It's one of those times that you really can't believe how lucky you are. Finding this man has been the most incredible blessing.
“Of course, we plan on paying for everything.” Harry promises, grinning at you.
"Now hold on--" Aaron huffs, having no problem paying for things himself. While his bank account might not be quite as fat as Harry's, it's definitely on par with Percy's and that is nothing to sneeze at.
"No arguments," you insist. "The only thing Harry's not cutting the check for himself is his bachelor party, and I'll be in on the discussion for that." You have every faith that his friends will spoil him, but Harry had spilled his beautiful dream of a ski-trip getaway to you early on and you want to make sure it comes true for him.
“This is our day and we want to make sure that you have everything you need to help us celebrate.” He explains. “Especially since we are hauling you out to North Carolina to get married.”
"Oh no." Tamara rolls her eyes playfully and her tone drips with sarcasm. "We're going to go to a beautiful estate in some beautiful mountains to our beautiful friends' beautiful wedding. How terrible."
Everyone laughs as Percy leans close and kisses his wife’s cheek. “Sounds horrible to me.” He teases. “So horrible we might have to stay an extra few days.”
You shoot Percy a smirk. "We've already got the contract signed to have our rehearsal dinner at the Alewife."
“You do?” His head pops up and he pumps his fist in the air. “Yessssss.”
"What's that?" Aaron asks, sensing this won't be the last time this restaurant or bar or whatever it is, is named.
“Oh it’s going to be amazing.” Chloe uses it as an excuse to touch Aaron’s arm, seat next to him and beams. “The Alewife is a restaurant that has some of the best food you could possibly imagine. If you take that place and plop it down here in New York, the wait list for tables would be months long.”
“So let’s do it,” Aaron encourages immediately, unintentionally succumbing to the oldest instinct in the world — trying to impress a beautiful woman. “I’ve been wanting to find a restaurant to invest in.”
Harry chuckles. “I offered, but they didn’t want it then. Maybe you can convince them.”
“I would kill to get a franchise location up here,” Percy groans. “And now I’m craving Cheesesteak Mac and Cheese. Goddamnit.”
“Cheesesteak what?” Aaron twists his head to look at Percy.
“You heard me.” The younger man smirks triumphantly, having piqued his friend’s interest. “Their mac and cheeses are the most insane thing you’ve ever tasted in your life.”
“How did that become a thing?” He asks curiously, noticing how. Chloe is nodding along with Percy and apparently drooling over the mention of the food.
“One of the owners,” you explain. “Sissy’s recipe is legendary, and so are her variations. The Cheesesteak Mac is what got her soulmate to propose, according to legend.”
That makes him laugh, amused that food could entice a soul mate more than the yearning of their souls. “Then I have to try it.” He snorts. “Are you going to do a Mac and Cheese bar?”
“Obviously.” Considering Harry had loved it as much as you when you’d had your surprise engagement party, there was no doubt. “Anytime you have a chance to get down to North Carolina, it’s well worth the trip. The whole menu is incredible.”
“It sounds like there is a hell of a recommendation for this place.” He looks eager to try it out and nods.
“You were too busy hobnobbing with nobles or whatever to make it to the engagement party,” Percy teases. “But you’ll love it.”
He snorts and shoots Percy a rude gesture. “When the King of Sweden would like to discuss having a hotel in their country, you take the meeting.”
Having just barely avoided a spit take by swallowing the last of her coffee, Chloe can only stare. “Is that…usual? That sort of meeting?” She manages to ask.
“It’s becoming more usual.” Aaron admits, although he’s not exactly bragging. “Hopefully it means the work I am putting in is paying off.”
“It sure sounds like it,” she agrees, awed and admittedly intimidated.
He chuckles and shakes his head. “Honestly, they are genuinely nice people for the most part. A few exceptions to that, of course.”
Percy tilts his head, looking at his wife. “Isn’t his son— the Swedish king, I mean — isn’t his son’s soulmate…someone you know?” He can’t quite remember, but he knows he read a gossip article about it not too long ago.
Tamara nods. “Yeah, she’s the daughter - adoptive daughter - of my co-star from Arcadia Strikes.” She had been so damn young on that set. Just starting out. “Well, I was her co-star. She’s the one that had that big ‘scandal’,” she uses air quotes to signify her thoughts on that as she rolls her eyes, “because come to find out she was soulmates with Marcus Moreno.”
“Oh that’s right.” Percy nods as he begins to remember the story. It’s not as though most of the world hasn’t heard about the Heroics. He’s just been lucky enough to never be around when they were needed. “That came out after their wedding.”
“Yes.” Tamara smiles softly. “We met up at a comic con a year or so ago and caught up. She’s very happy about it. The son, Eric, is crazy about Daisy.”
“That’s so sweet.” Though she may not have much of an idea who any of these people are, Chloe loves a love story.
“What about you?” Aaron asks Chloe, leaning in and looking very interested in her story. “Still looking for your soulmate?”
"Um...yeah..." She's a bit breathless at his attention, but the rest of the table quickly busies with another topic of conversation to let them have their moment. "Nothing so far, but that's okay. He'll turn up eventually."
He bites his lip and nods. “No reason not to make connections before then, right?” He asks seriously.
"That depends, I guess." In her mind she's screaming with nerves, but Chloe's smile only twitches as she blushes redder. "I just ended a pretty bullshit relationship not too long ago. But I could be persuaded to start dating again by the right person."
“I’m pretty persuasive.” He admits with a small grin. “I was thinking that I could invite you back to my hotel.” He holds up a hand so she doesn’t get insulted. “I’ve got this experience and there’s no way that I’m going to be able to do it alone, so you’d be doing me a favor.”
"Well." Without missing a beat, Chloe pushes back from the table and flashes you a grin and a wink. "Lovely night, nice to see you, catch you all in the morning, I have somewhere to be."
He’s caught off guard for half a heart beat before he is chuckling and standing. “Thank you for a lovely evening.” He tells you and winks at Harry as he settles his hand on the small of Chloe’s back. “We are- uh, see you later.”
"Be back here at nine for breakfast!" You call after her, laughing as Chloe snatches up her coat from the back of the couch and heads off for the door with Aaron beside her. She has to come back. All her shit is here. But, on the other hand, Aaron could easily do what Harry had done and just buy her new clothes.
“That was unexpected.” Harry snorts as he listens to the front door close. “I thought they would get along but that…” he shrugs. “That was surprising.”
"If he hurts her, I'll kick his ass." Percy huffs. "I mean it's Aaron, so it would be an accident. But still."
“I’ve never seen Aaron that interested in someone that quickly.” Harry admits, a considering look on his face.
“He’s got good taste.” Leaning back in your chair, you reach over for Harry’s hand and slide your fingers through his. “Chloe’s a catch.”
Harry glances at Percy and Tamara. “We are all finding those that complete us.” He admits. “Soon we will all be settled and having families.” He smirks slightly. “We are talking about starting to try now.”
“Well stop talking and get on that,” Tamara jokes. One hand floats to her stomach since she no longer has to keep her mouth shut on the topic with only you and Harry here. “We’re going to tell everybody tomorrow. Pretty soon I won’t be able to hide it with clothing anymore.”
Harry smirks and nods. “We were waiting for you to say something. Congratulations.”
Percy and Tamara beam, obviously overjoyed, and Tam does a little dance in her seat. “We didn’t want to say anything until the first trimester was past.”
“Of course.” Harry nods, he has read several books on pregnancy in anticipation of your own. He wanted to be prepared as much as possible.
"But..." Tamara and Percy share a significant look before Percy looks back at you and Harry. "Listen. Since it's the four of us? Um...you guys are my best friends. Both of you. You're my absolute best friends in the world. And--you don't have to answer right away. But we were hoping you would consider being the baby's godparents."
Harry swallows harshly, his hand squeezing yours as he turns his head to see the tears already starting to gather in your eyes. Chuckling at the irony of the ask as he sees you nod. He turns back towards them and clears his throat. “Only if you are godparents to ours.” He laughs. “We had already decided to ask you.”
"Oh, thank god," Tamara laughs through a flurry of sniffles and an oncoming sheet of her own tears. "I told him you'd say yes and we've wanted to tell you since we found out. It's just...we had to be cautious."
“We had an idea at your wedding.” Harry admits. “But we knew that you might want to wait to say anything. It’s your announcement.”
“Well, the time is here.” Percy beams. He already had so many plans. Dreams for his family. The fact that they’re starting to come true so quickly is a blessing he had never thought to look for.
“And who knows?” You grin. “Maybe I’ll be the next one not drinking at my wedding.”
“Ohhhhh that soon?” Tamara lights up. “We can raise them together!”
“Summer vacations could be pretty fun if we do some coast to coast visiting.” Your smile softens and you lean into Harry’s side, loving the idea of it all.
“I think it would be perfect.” Tamara knows that one day she might leave the world of acting but she will forever be grateful for it bringing her to the people that she is supposed to know and love.
“I think…” Sentimental or otherwise, you don’t care. The watery smile that paints your face as you cuddle into Harry’s side is full of pure emotion. “I think everything is pretty fucking perfect.”
“Fucking perfect.” Harry echoes as he hugs you closer. “That’s pretty much been my life since the moment you walked into it.”
Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand
Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+
Word Count: 13.3k
Warnings: Food/alcohol, cursing, flirting and sexual conversation, allusions to sex, polyamory, sugar baby reader. Reader's family is emotionally neglectful, domineering mother, other relatives who do not do enough. For anyone reading this who has difficulty with their families at the holidays, this is Oberyn reaching out to tell you that you are loved and worthy. ✨
Summary: As things get more serious with Oberyn and your relationship with Ellaria blossoms, it's a trip home for Thanksgiving that really changes everything.
Notes: Part two is here! It looks like part 3 of this story is going to be our Christmas fic this year, so enjoy this beginning and we'll be back again in December to find out how these lovebirds wrap up their story. 🧡💛 Also loves, there were a few errors in Part 1 that have been fixed. My apologies, I was half asleep after a long work day when I decided to edit.
Oberyn pants and slaps the ass of the man sprawled out in his bed, grinning when he jumps slightly as he walks towards the table where the carafe of wine rests. “Whenever you are ready to leave, the car will take you home.” It’s a very pointedly subtle reminder that he is not staying. He has a dinner with you tonight and doesn’t want anything to interfere with that. He pours the wine and looks over as the other man rolls over and pouts slightly.
The arrangement has been working so splendidly well that he almost wonders if some wrench might be thrown into the mix. Some unforeseen difficulty that would lure you from his bed. His home. But he ought not to worry. You have slipped into his life so easily and so well that he sometimes wonders how he had not found you sooner. You wonder the same sometimes, if you’re honest with yourself. But normally it’s a sort of bewilderment and giggling awe for you. Especially in moments like right now, as you bustle around the kitchen of your palace apartment making dinner.
The ringtone of your phone starts going off and it’s one that makes you wary as you glance towards the device. Your mother.
Popping the tray of little puff pastry appetizers into the oven, you take a deep breath before you pick up the phone and swipe the call open. "Hi, Mom."
“Did you know that you are in celebrity magazines?” She gasps down the line, not even bother to greet you.
Shit.
"Is that so?" You blow out a silent breath and reach for your wine glass. "I can't say I read those magazines very often."
“That man you are with. He must be important.” She doesn’t quite understand who he is, she didn’t bother to read the article, just staring at the face of her daughter on the cover of a tabloid.
Her lack of interest twists in your gut, making you frown. She must not have even read the damn headline. “He is,” you tell her. “Very.”
“Then you must bring him to Thanksgiving.” She tells you, sounding exited by the prospect of having an important person in her home.
“Mom…” Your shoulders drop and you pinch the bridge of your nose sharply. “He’s Dornish. They don’t celebrate American Thanksgiving.”
“All the more reason for him to come and celebrate with us!” She tells you, as if it’s the most reasonable thing in the world. “See what it’s like.”
“Mom…” What would he even say if you asked? Would the idea of a show of commitment horrify him? Would it be the turn of events that sours things for you? Or would he be so amused by the idea that he agrees just to have another life experience under his belt? There is no way to know. “I don’t know if he’ll be able to get away,” you lie instead.
“Oh nonsense.” She completely waves that away. “I will make sure the guest room is set up. I’m assuming that you are sleeping with him, so you’ll share?”
“Fucking hell, Mom.” You groan when you hear the footsteps coming down the hallway toward the kitchen. “I’ll ask, okay? But he’s allowed to say no for any reason he feels like.”
“Let me know!” She says a quick goodbye and hangs up, already ready to tell everyone that a famous person is coming to Thanksgiving.
“Shit.” You toss your phone down on the counter, barely registering that your music starts playing again when the call ends.
“It smells delicious in here.” Oberyn has showered and dressed casually for the dinner tonight, expressly told that it was to be low key. He smiles as he sees you, walking over and pressing against your back as he kisses your neck. “Oh and the food smells good too.” He teases.
“You do like this perfume,” you tease back. He’d bought you some Valentino scent he’d picked out as an early gift, and you’ve adopted it as an every day scent. Unfortunately for whole situation, your mother has just spoiled your mood. That’s probably the reason you turn in his arms and burrow into a hug the second he wraps himself around you.
He has learned you crave affection, especially when you are feeling vulnerable and right now there’s a bit of desperation in your grip on him. “What is the matter, Dove?”
“Nothing.” Your stomach flips at the lie, knowing that pulling off the band-aid sooner rather than later is a better prospect. Oberyn is particularly perceptive and he won’t let an obvious lie slide by.
He hums in obvious disbelief but he doesn’t press right now. Instead he leans in and kisses your jaw. “How long until dinner is ready?” He coos.
“Appetizers take about ten minutes, and dinner will take another fifteen or twenty after that.” You had made something comforting and now you’re glad you followed that instinct.
He hums as he kisses along your neck, his hands on your hips to hold you steady. “Ellaria should be along shortly.” He tells you, knowing his paramour will breeze in with a vague excuse as to why she wasn’t on time.
“Do you want a drink?” The pitcher of cocktails that you had made is chilling in your refrigerator, and even though you have no desire to leave Oberyn’s arms when he’s systematically making you melt, you still want to be as good hostess.
“Later.” He murmurs against your skin and smirks when you whimper. You love having attention lavished on you and both he and Ellaria love doing it.
She strolls into the kitchen not three minutes later, but Oberyn has your shirt half unbuttoned and has you pressed against the counter when she comes in.
“Lover.” She pouts prettily but there is a sparkle of amusement in her eyes. “You started without me.” She huffs. “Did Darmont not satisfy your lust earlier?”
“You know he’s never satisfied,” you remind her, gently nudging Oberyn.
The rhythms here took a little getting used to, but not in a bad way. Just learning Oberyn and Ellaria’s habits and making new ones of your own. Adjusting your expectations along with this knowledge. Oberyn is a creature of habit as much as he is spontaneously indulgent, so even his pleasures have a tempo to them that can be predicted if you pay enough attention. A favorite former lover — Daniel Darmont — was in the city for business. Therefore he was also in Oberyn’s bed. You thought you might have been jealous, but it’s actually a bit reassuring to see that he has favorites. According to Ellaria, you are the newest of them.
“I am satisfied.” He protests, but there is knowing smirk on his face as he reaches under your shirt and cups your tits. Humming in approval that you’ve stopped wearing a bra at home altogether. “When I get exactly what I wish.”
“Which is everything,” you point out, but don’t protest. There is almost nothing left in your life to protest about at all. “I made home cooking tonight. You both said you wanted to try American food.”
“What are we having?” Ellaria asks the question as she opens the cabinet to get a wine glass out. Your apartment is as much home to her as her own, because of how often she is here. You’ve been in her apartment, but most times that is a whirlwind of chaos with the girls running around. Your apartment is where most of your romantic evenings are spent.
“I made cheese straws for an appetizer.” You wait for their confused reaction and get exactly what you were hoping for — Oberyn’s eyebrow raises incredulous and Ellaria looks up with a start. “French onion chicken, my grandma’s mashed potatoes, and I’m about to throw green beans into a sauté pan.” Those will, of course, be made with thyme, white pepper, and garlic. Your dad’s specialty.
“That sounds delicious but I am not sure about the appetizer.” Ellaria admits, sauntering over to the drink station in your bar.
“There’s a pitcher of Sauvignon blanc punch in the refrigerator,” you tell her, gladly letting Oberyn overlook you for another minute or two with his hands and lips and sheer presence.
“Ohhhhhh.” She’s immediately veering towards the large industrial sized refrigerator that you had been wide eyed when you had seen it in your kitchen. “Perfect. I’m parched.”
Any kind of wine punch is Ellaria’s favorite cocktail, and you’d chosen it on purpose. Just like you’d made mini pecan pie tarts for dessert because Oberyn loves to munch on nuts.
“Oberyn?” He hums, distracted by his desire to make you melt into his arms. Ellaria snickers. “Shall I pour you one?” She asks and he sighs softly. “Pour one for both of us, love.” He tells her. “I need to let Dove finish our dinner before I make a meal out of her.”
“Which, while tantalizing, would only make us hungrier.” The nip you get on his jawline is a promise that you’ll be dessert instead, and you move back to the stove just in time for the oven timer to go off. The tray of cheese straws will hardly be anything Ellaria is imagining, but you hope they both like them.
Oberyn watches you work for a moment before Ellaria slides into his arms and it’s her turn for a devastating kiss from your shared lover, holding the wine glasses precariously.
They’re so ethereally happy that your mother’s voice echoing in your head seems like an unfair insult to the night. You take the tray of appetizers out of the oven and the large casserole dish of chicken smothered in onions and cheese, and return your focus to making green beans. Maybe you won’t ask him tonight.
Maybe you won’t ask him at all.
******
Sex hangs in the air, drips from every surface and clings to your sweat stick bodies. Ellaria pants next to you, Oberyn humming as he curls around your body and watches as you stare up the ornate ceiling, a bemusedly dazed expression on your face. “So….” He draws his fingers up your arm slowly, soothingly. “Are you finally going to tell me what had upset you right before I arrived?” He asks, making your other lover shift automatically to her side and prop her head up with her elbow as she watches you with a slight frown of concern.
His eyes are holding on you steadily, and when you finally lift yours to meet them you’re caught between being annoyed with him and being relieved that the ice is broken. “Must I?” You deflect for the moment though, burying your face in his chest.
“Is it so bad, Dove?” He asks, brows furrowed. “Are you…unhappy with our arrangement and wish to leave?” His voice catches slightly, hating the thought but he would never force you to stay.
“What?” Shocked by that question, you practically shoot up in bed beside him. “No! No— it’s Not that at all. God no.”
“Then it is nothing that cannot be easily handled.” He relaxes, his own worries fading easily.
“I don’t know about easily.” He relaxed so utterly that you almost get tenser on principle. Ellaria tuts, coaxing you back down to the mattress, but you don’t relax. “My mother called,” you tell them after a long silence. “Apparently the tabloids back home have picked up on the fact that the prince is seeing an American and she saw us on a magazine cover.”
“And she does not approve?” Your relationship with your mother is contentious and complicated, so he had not pressed. Just listening when you make the odd comment ever so often.
“Ummm…” Squeezing your eyes shut and counting to three, you let out a long breath. “She wants me to bring you to Thanksgiving,” you blurt out in one small breath. “But you absolutely can say no it’s not even a holiday you celebrate and it’s only a word holiday with crappy origins to begin with and nobody teaches the history right anyway—”
“When do we leave?” Oberyn interrupts you, smirking slightly in delight at being invited to the very American holiday.
“Oberyn…” Your chest tightens, heart squeezing, feeling not for the first time but for maybe the most definitive time, that the way you’ve fallen in love with this man is not only beyond your wildest expectations, but beyond your wildest dreams as well. It just still surprises you, somehow, when he shows you that he loves you too. “You do not have to say yes.”
“Would you prefer that I not come?” He asks, unsure of what, if anything, you have told your parents and if they would give you a hard time about the nature of your relationship with him. He doesn’t care what people think, but he has that luxury.
“No.” The truth of it twists your face. “But I don’t want you to feel obligated. I have no idea how my family will react to meeting you.”
“I would like to come.” He admits, reaching out and taking hold of your chin gently. “And if they do not approve, I can leave.”
“If they don’t approve, we would leave together.” The resolution in your heart is as stern as your tone, though you lean into his touch instinctively. “We don’t need their approval. I just hope my mother remembers that manners exist.”
He chuckles and leans in to kiss your lips right as Ellaria kisses your shoulder. “I have dealt with ill-mannered people before.” He reminds you. “I am an ill-mannered man at times.”
“Just because you can deal with it doesn’t mean you should have to,” you murmur, but you know Oberyn by now. His resolutions are firm.
“Lover.” Ellaria’s voice is soft, slightly chiding as if she was scolding one of the younger children. “Everyone has to deal with it sometimes.” She huffs. “He will not hold your mother’s behavior against you.” She understands some of your unease and wants to soothe you. “Perhaps he will charm them, and he will love your Thanksgiving. He does love to eat.”
“I’m not worried about him liking the food.” You both smirk when you look over at Oberyn. “It’s that…introducing your family to the person you’re seeing at a holiday like Thanksgiving…in the US it’s seen as a mark of commitment. And our relationship…it’s not like other people’s. They’ll ask invasive questions and assume things.”
“Let them ask.” He’s downright amused by the idea of what questions they might ask and how he would respond. “Let them assume.” He winks at you. “They might be shocked by the answers but as long as you are comfortable, I will be fine with whatever they assume.”
"They will assume a whole hell of a lot." And that is a promise, not just a statement. "My Dad is just about the only normal member of the family."
He chuckles softly, shooting Ellaria an amused look. “That is perfectly fine, Dove.” He assures you. “What can they possibly say to you?” He asks. “You fuck a prince.”
"Yes, I do." And rather than point out to him that to your mother fucking a prince but not becoming a princess will mean you're basically selling yourself, you decide to simply kiss him and sink down into his arms again. Because, as much as you hate it, this time your mother is sort of right. She just had no idea that the choice was made with dignity and autonomy.
******
“Your Highness, we will be landing in ten minutes.” The intercom beeps in the bedroom, rousing you from his chest where you had been sleeping. Oberyn leans up, he had been awake, just pondering, and kisses your head. “We are landing.” He tells you, smiling at your sleepy confusion. Fucking you into exhaustion had been a good distraction for your nerves.
“It’s not too late to kick me out of the palace and just fly back to Dorne so you don’t have to meet my mother and older sister,” you joke wearily, but it’s really just to cover a sigh.
He snorts and shakes his head. “If they give you too much grief I will just kill them.” He winks when you give him a startled, wide eyed look of horror. “I have diplomatic immunity.” He’s teasing of course, he wouldn’t do that to you.
"This is going to be such a weird weekend," you huff, shaking off your surprise with a stunted laugh. Even though the whole thing has been stressful due to the dozen or so demands from your mother over the last two weeks that you haven't told him about, you're secretly – selfishly – so glad he's doing this with you. The idea of three days Stateside without him or Ellaria had made your heart ache.
“We will make up for it.” Oberyn promises. “Perhaps some shopping and sightseeing after the parental obligation ends?” He smirks. “I am quite interested in your Black Friday shopping.”
"I thought if you wanted to, we could brave the crowds and find some things for the girls?" His youngest daughters, the ones he shares with Ellaria, have quickly become a constant part of your life as you've settled in at the palace. You've only met his older daughters once or twice each, but the young ones live in Ellaria's suite with her so you see them every few days without fail.
“That sounds like a fun outing.” He watches as you climb out of the bed and start to pick up your clothes. “We will be fine, Dove.” He moves to the edge and strokes your back.
"I know." It might be a partial lie. While you know eventually it will be over with and you'll feel better, your stomach is flipping sickeningly over the uncertainty of how your family will act this weekend. "I know." Firmer. Surer. With more than just a hint of the old mask you wear at home as it slips back into place. It seems to be automatic, like as soon as you're within a specific square mileage of them.
The two of you dress as the plane lands and you take your time gathering your things. Flying privately has advantages and you aren’t rushed to disembark. The car will be waiting when you are ready.
The drive from the airport takes about an hour, but the SUV that had been rented for you is comfortable and safe. While Oberyn had wanted something flashier — and to drive himself — you had reminded him that it would be much more low key to get a discreet car and let you be the driver since you know your way around. It’s the first time he’s ever been in a car with you driving and he spends half the ride fiddling with the radio and commentating on American radio commercials.
“I forget how far everything is in America.” Oberyn hums as he looks out the window. “Have you ever rented one of those sleeper vans and done a road trip?”
“My Dad and I did.” Cruising down the highway is an oddly familiar feeling, and you reach over to slip your hand into his as you drive. “After I graduated high school. We drove up and down the east coast that summer.”
“That had to leave a lasting impression on you.” He squeezes your hand. “What was your favorite stop?”
“We were at a Subway in Williamsburg, Virginia.” The smile that blooms on your face is unintentional, happening so automatically that you don’t even notice. “Sitting, eating our sandwiches at a table by the window that faced the parking lot. And the song Kiss from a Rose comes on the radio. That Seal song? Anyway, I didn’t think anything of it until this brighter purple sports car pulled up right in front of us with the license plate BATMAN and a Bat Symbol cut out of the leather cover on the nose of the car. The dude that got out was gigantic. So I guess the real Batman lives in Virginia.”
He laughs at that, amused by the thought of it. “Purple is a beautiful color, but I would prefer red.”
“Well,” you shrug one shoulder, glancing over to smile at him as you drive. “You’re the Red Viper. Not Batman. Gotta make sure we can tell you two heroes apart.”
Oberyn snorts. “I doubt very much anyone would consider me a hero.” He confesses.
“I don’t know about that.” Lifting his hand to your lips, you kiss his knuckles softly. “You saved me, at least.”
He shoots you a crooked grin and looks back down at your joined hands. “It has been very blissful.” He tells you. “Now we will face our first challenge. What to tell your parents.”
“I thought we were sticking with the truth?” Your driving hand flicks on your blinker to take the exit for your parents’ house. “That we’re living together but not exclusive.”
“If that is what you are comfortable with.” He had been thinking about it and he doesn’t want to cause family issues for you.
“Lying to them only makes it complicated.” And pretending there was any sort of commitment in the air would only cause a tumbleweed effect that can’t be contained.
“I agree.” He squeezes your hand again. “Then we will tell the truth, but only as much information as you wish them to know.”
“I appreciate that.” And as much as you have been aching to say it for a few weeks now, you don’t yet add the fact that you love him. It feels like asking too much of him.
It’s only a few more minutes until you are pulling into your parents driveway and Oberyn leans forward, interested. “Is this where you grew up?” He asks.
“See the second floor window on the left?” From the driveway, you point up to the white windows frames set deep in the little blue-painted house. “That’s my room. White walls and painted daisies and all.”
He nods knowingly, his own daughters decorating their rooms for years in the palace. “It’s charming.” He tells you, “looks like quintessential America. All you need is that white picket fence everyone speaks of.”
He isn’t wrong. The horses on both sides of yours have them. It’s just that your own mother preferred hedges to white paint. “It wasn’t a bad place to grow up,” you tell him, though you shut off the rental car and unbuckle your belt slowly. “It just wasn’t right for me.”
“What is right for you, Dove?” He asks curiously as he unbuckles his own. Not wishing to move faster than you.
“I’m happy in Dorne.” As if to prove it, you reach over when your seatbelt is off and press a soft kiss to his lips. “I’m happy with you.”
“Good.” He wraps his hand around the back of your neck to keep you close for another kiss.
You walk up to the front of the house with Oberyn toting both suitcases — he had tried To take your purse too, but you’d huffed. His defense was that Princes are gentlemen, too, but he’d smirked when you told him he wasn’t your pack mule.
Here we go. Two knocks on the front door. Polite, and definitely with the feeling that this isn’t your home anymore — which sticks in your throat more than you had expected it would.
Luckily it’s your father that opens the door. His expression immediately softening to one of absolute delight as he says your name and opens his arms for a hug. “I’m so glad you made it, sweetheart.” He tells you.
“Hi Dad.” He’s probably the only one who could have opened the door and made you feel welcome, and even after a while day of traveling it doesn’t seem so daunting anymore. You hug him tight before stepping back to Oberyn’s side to introduce the two most important men in your life.
Despite his royal status, Oberyn is not unaware that most American think nothing at all about royalty in their country. So he sets a bag down and extends his hand. “Oberyn Martell.” He introduces himself. “Thank you for inviting me to come experience an American Thanksgiving.”
"It's our pleasure." Your father says, reaching out a hand to shake your beau's. He doesn't know what to think about his baby girl going around with a prince, but he does know one thing. "The happiest our Scout has sounded in years in when she talks about you."
“Scout?” He tilts his head, eyes cutting back towards you curiously and he finds you flustered. A nickname. “I was unaware she was talking about me.” He admits with a smile as he turns his attention back to your father.
"A little." You huff, feeling like your father is ratting you out to your crush.
"More than a little," he chuckles, and waves you both inside. "Come on in. My wife's just about got dinner ready and Scout can show you where everything is upstairs before we set the table."
You shoot him a look to please not ask right now and he just shrugs his shoulders as he picks up the bags again. “Lead the way, Dove.” It’s almost on the tip of his tongue to call you Scout but he gets the feeling you would think he’s making fun of you.
Once you’re upstairs, temporarily bypassing seeing your mother, you relax slightly and roll your eyes at the smirk on his face. “It’s from a book,” you explain, shaking your head as you lead him to the end of the hallway. “To Kill a Mockingbird. It was my favorite for a long time, and the main character is a girl named Scout.”
“That’s…charming.” He admits with a soft smile. “I have no intention of teasing you, Dove.” He has eight daughters, after all.
"You can tease me for my very poor skills as a painter." When you shove open your bedroom door, the plaster-white walls have all clearly been decorated with painstaking love by a child's hand. A garden has been created all around the perimeter of the room, with tulips in every state of bloom in every possible color of the rainbow standing tall at an adult's hip height. They aren't the work of a spectacular talent, or even a mediocre one, but they've all been done with care. "Clearly," you laugh, taking your suitcase and practically tossing it onto your bed. "I did them myself."
He should be insulted by your belief that he would belittle you, but he has come to understand that when you are feeling vulnerable, you turn on yourself. Self deprecation and comments about yourself are routine and most of the time, he just overlooks them. This time, he looks around the room with a father’s eye. “My youngest two would love being in here.” He tells you as he walks around to examine the painting. “They would beg to paint their rooms to match.” He pulls out his phone and starts taking pictures to send to them.
"I'm a little better than I used to be." Not by much, but you shrug one shoulder and stoop to pick up his suitcase to set down beside yours. "I could help, if they wanted to." Even when you aren't feeling particularly wonderfully about yourself, you've come to always put Oberyn's daughters in the forefront of your mind.
“They would love that.” He sends off several photos and stands to move back over towards you. “They enjoy the time they spend with you.” He hums as he pulls you close.
"And I love spending time with them, too." Normally it also involves Oberyn himself or Ellaria, and the time spent with the younger princesses is as comforting as your place in his arms right now.
“How are you feeling?” He asks as he folds you against him.
“Anxious,” you admit quietly. “I’m mostly glad they didn’t make a fuss about us sharing my room.”
“If they had, we would have simply checked into a hotel if you wished.” He tells you with a smirk. “Or you could have banished me to a pull out couch.”
“Never.” If they had protested, you simply would have told them that neither of you were coming. You’re not a child, even though you’re their child, and you refuse to be treated as such when it comes to your relationship.
“So no sneaking into your bed after your parents are asleep?” He nudges your cheek with his nose and chuckles in your ear. “I would take it as a personal challenge.”
“You mean what you did to me and Ellaria two days ago?” Your laugh is more of a giggle, but it lightens your mood immensely just to have that happy thought.
“Why would I now crawl into bed with two gorgeous creatures, such as yourselves?” He huffs, smirking. “Asleep and wrapped up in each other. I was entranced by the sight.”
“We were napping between rounds.” The low, indulgent chuckle the two of you share morphs into a hum as you share another kiss, but you can’t let it linger. “We should go back downstairs, handsome.”
“As you wish.” His sigh is a touch dramatic, but he squeezes your waist and steps back. “You look beautiful.”
“Let’s revisit that thought at bedtime,” you tease. “Come on, let’s see if my mother has made her traditional pre-Thanksgiving meal of ordering pizza, or if she’s trying to pretend we’re fancier than that because there’s royalty in the house.”
“I will be disappointed if there is not pizza.” Oberyn snorts. “You know how much I love it.”
“Dornish pizza is a little different.” Of course, you’re fairly addicted to the stuff now, with its flatbread-like crust and harissa laden tomato sauce. But that’s not the point for now. The point is that you’re headed downstairs to introduce your lover to your mother. The most you can be grateful for right now is that your perfect sister with her perfect husband and perfect son won’t be here until tomorrow.
“You know I have had American pizza before?” He snorts, slapping your ass as you walk in front of him. You turn and shoot him a look and he just lifts a brow at you playfully.
“You’ve had pizza everywhere they make it.” Because not only does he love it, but his girls do, too. Unfortunately for his craving, you distinctly smell beef coming from the kitchen when you reach the bottom of the stairs.
“Of course. What else is there to do?” He doesn’t smell pizza, and that is disappointing but he wonders if your mother is trying to impress him.
“Sweetie?” The sickly honeyed sound of your mother’s fakest voice floats out into the hallway. “Is that you? Dinner’s ready!”
Oberyn reaches for your hand and laces his fingers with yours. Squeezing firmly for support, he looks into your eyes and nods.
The urge to telling him just how much you really do love him has never been stronger, unfortunately this is just about the worst ever time to actually choose. So instead you squeeze his hand and walk into the dining room with your fingers laced through his. “Hi Mom.”
“Sweetie!” Your mother, a reasonably attractive woman in her late fifties, maybe early sixties, lights up when she sees you and flies forward to pull you into a hug. “I’ve missed you so much!”
Able to count with both hands the number of times your mother has hugged you as an adult, your face's subtitles amount to a What the fuck? expression before you reluctantly pat her back and step away again. It's all your father can do to hold in a chuckle at your obvious confusion but you both shake it off. "Uh...Mom, this is Oberyn..."
“Oberyn.” Your mother’s eyes shift towards him and he can see that she has figured out exactly who he is and is wanting to make an impression. “It is so good to meet you!” She pulls him in for a hug and he doesn’t resist, almost amused at this turn of events.
At this point you're honestly surprised – and a little grateful – she didn't attempt a curtsy, but Oberyn is gracious as ever in politely returning the greeting before releasing your mother. "You kids must be starving," your Dad interjects, motioning you over to the table. "Let's have some dinner."
Oberyn doesn’t mention the food on the plane, at this point, it would be rude to refuse. He smiles and disentangles his hand from yours to put it on your back. “Darling.”
You have to give your mother points for the deception. She’s got pans on the stove and the dishwasher running as though cooking created a maze of dirty everything, despite the fact that the beef roast, mashed potatoes, and glazed carrots on the table — and the rolls! — all come from her favorite restaurant. She’s making noises about how she hopes Oberyn likes American home cooking but she’s sure he’s never had it before, and you pause with a pitcher of iced tea in your hand. “Actually, Mom, I cook a lot at home.”
She blinks and looks back at Oberyn, who nods. “She does. She is a wonderful cook.” Your mother shakes her head. “I could have sworn I saw you out dinning often.”
"Have you been checking up on us in the tabloids?" You ask, as cool and as casual in your tone as possible while you pour your drink, then Oberyn's, and waffle between amused and mortified.
She looks like she’s been caught with her hand in the cookie jar. “No! I— the magazines are at the checkout stand and it’s- you’re on the cover.” She explains.
That's a yes, you think, glancing over to see complete amusement lacing Oberyn's expression. The gravy dish you usually only see once a year – tomorrow, at Thanksgiving – is sitting in front of him with a red wine gravy and while it all looks and smells great, it's definitely not your mother's cooking. You learned your casseroles from her, not your fancy cooking. "Paparazzi can't take photos of us having meals at home, so the only meals you're going to see in magazines or on line would be when we're out," you remind her. "I cook a couple of times a week."
“So you live together?” This question comes from your dad, and it’s sounding like he’s trying to figure out how serious you are about the man you’ve brought home.
Oberyn picks up his wine and nods. “She has an apartment in the palace.” He answers with practiced nonchalance. As if it were a routine thing.
Your father's wide eyes shoot to you and you stifle a laugh. "That means yes, Dad. My suite is in Oberyn's wing of the Water Gardens. That's the palace in Sunspear. My student housing was going to expire after graduation anyway, and it lets us see each other more often."
“His wing?” Your mother gasps. “How big is the palace?” She can’t help but blurt out her question.
"Um..." While the four of you pass around serving dishes and help yourselves, you try to come up with the closest approximation of size you can possibly think of. "Do you remember when we visited Hearst Castle?" As an aside to Oberyn, you add, "My sister went to college in California, so we did a trip to visit schools." You hand the mashed potatoes to your mother. "It's about...ten of that? Like the size of Versailles or so."
Oberyn swears that he would be able to hear a pin drop in the silence that stretches as your parents stare at you as if you started speaking in Klingon. “We might have to add another wing.” He jokes. “My nephew has been talking about breaking my record on having kids.”
"Ho–" Your mother clears her throat. "How many children do you have?" She asks carefully.
“Eight, so far.” Oberyn answers proudly, his delight in his daughters evident as he speaks. “My Sand Snakes. All of them beautiful and talented. Girls, every one.”
"You must be very busy," she blurts out before she can stop herself.
He chuckles after a moment, taking a sip of his wine. “I suppose that might be why I have eight daughters.” He jokes, looking over at you and winking.
You snort, shaking your head at him, and can't help the way your expression softens even as your face burns. Ellaria says he has been talking about number nine to her quite a lot lately, but he hasn't brought it up to you more than a handful of times in throw away comments. You suspect he's testing the waters to see if you are interested in motherhood so soon. "We're never bored, that's for sure. Lots of sets of little feet to run after."
“And…” your mother is about to ask another question but your father interrupts. “Pass the rolls, dear.” He hums softly.
"So how are things around here?" Changing the subject seems prudent, despite how much fun you're having flustering your mother.
“Oh you know, can’t complain.” That’s probably the best way to describe your father, he doesn’t complain. Always just one to take things head on and deal with them.
"Work's good? All the usual suspects coming tomorrow?" Your mother hadn't been forthcoming with details on the phone, being more apt to make demands of you than to answer any of your questions when you tried to ask them.
“Oh yes, everyone is coming.” Your mother turns a wide smile on Oberyn. “They all just love my cooking.”
"Some of the family recipes go back...two or three generations?" Your father chats, never once considering your mother might be trying to claim all of it was original. "We like our traditions, you could say."
It’s almost like watching a balloon deflate. Her shoulders slump down and he had to take another sip of his wine to keep from laughing. “Traditions are important.” Oberyn agrees.
"And that's exactly what you wanted to show Oberyn, right Mom?" Her reaction was so blatant that you have to bite back a laugh. "A traditional Thanksgiving."
“Yes.” She recovers after a moment and shoots Oberyn a smile. “He should experience some of your culture.”
******
“Don’t expect food like that tomorrow,” you warn him a few hours later, when you’re back in your room and away from the relentless chattering small talk from your mother. “But if you want, I will take you to the restaurants had dinner catered from, before we go home.”
He chuckles and shrugs. “Whatever you would like to do, Dove.” He promises. “What should I expect tomorrow?”
“Less seasoning.” You snort, shrugging one shoulder. “I got my penchant for strong flavors as a direct result of how bland my food was growing up. But anything my grandma brings will be killer.”
“Oh.” He smirks. “You do like flavor.” He teases, waggling his brows at you.
“Dirty.” A playful shove is aimed at his ribs even as you laugh with him. “But accurate.”
“I always play dirty.” He coos, grabbing your hand and drags you closer for a passionate kiss.
Oberyn has a nearly magical ability to make the rest of the world disappear when he kisses you. Your legs bump against the frame of your old bed and he lays you down gently, climbing on with you to hover in place over your body like a prowling jungle cat waiting to strike.
“You look too innocent to be in bed with me.” He growls, eyes raking down your body and noticing how your tits bounce with your breathless anticipation.
You snicker. "You're only saying that because you saw my doll collection in the corner."
He chuckles, knowing that you aren’t wrong. He has noticed the dolls. But you aren’t a child, something he appreciates right now.
Your fingers graze down the side of his face, tracing his defined cheekbones and jaw and dusting over the thin line of his beard. "Thank you for coming here with me." It's not what you want to say, but at least it's honest.
He seems just as surprised as you are by what you say, but his eyes soften. “Dove, there is nowhere else I would be.” He promises.
"I still have trouble believing that sometimes," you admit quietly, knowing that even after what amounts to the best month of your life, things have moved so fast and changed so drastically that it's reasonable to have a little emotional whiplash now and then.
He waits for a moment, his hips lowering to press against you and he shifts to cup your cheek. “Dove, I have a confession.” He admits softly. “I love you.”
"What?" Even as small as the word is coming out of your mouth, that is how wide your eyes grow. Tears prick at them and your chest clenches, but instead of your hands going to your mouth in shock or anywhere else on your own body, they wind around Oberyn's waist instead like you're afraid the dream of him will simply float away unless you hold on tightly. "You–really?"
“Really.” He would shoot you a smug look, but it’s not that kind of moment. This moment is intimate and raw. “You have slid into a missing slot in my heart, my life. One that I did not even realize was there until you filled it.”
"I love you, too." Inexplicably. Completely. And oh so immediately. "I–" A watery smile lights up your face underneath him. "I had no idea I could be this happy."
The moment has shifted, but Oberyn doesn’t mind in the least. “You deserve to be this happy, Dove.” He murmurs softly, leaning in to kiss you.
It might be the only time you and Oberyn have ever been intimate and quiet. The rolling flow of lovemaking last deep into the night until you collapse in a pile of exhausted and desperately happy limbs.
******
Morning is almost lazy brought in. The house stirs gently, none of the chaos of the palace with shrieking children and running and laughing. It’s the sounds of the kitchen, muted downstairs through the doors and floor. Oberyn grunts as he cracks an eye. “What time is it?”
"It's eight..." The clock on the wall has been adjusted for daylight savings time even though you weren't home. One of your father's habits. "We've already missed part of the parade..." But you're not sure you care. Not when it means you would have to move from his arms.
“Parade?” He’s not fully awake yet, and not thinking straight.
"There's a parade on tv on Thanksgiving morn–" A yawn cuts through your sentence and you laugh softly at yourself. "It's fun. There's floats and marching bands. My Dad makes cinnamon rolls from the can and we make fun of the lip syncing singers."
He lifts a brow but doesn’t comment on your cinnamon rolls in a can comment. “Then we need to dress and go downstairs.”
“Don’t look at me like that.” But you’re stretching and rolling out of bed right after you poke his shoulder. “Not all of us are palace pastry chef caliber bakers.”
“I have not said a word.” He reaches out and swats your ass playfully. “While I am here, I want to try all the things you love.” He smirks. “I’ve been told by the girls we are to bring back American foods, so there is another shopping trip in our future.”
“The size of American grocery store compared to the markets in Dorne will give you plenty to tell them.” Not a family that believes in dressing up for holidays, you reach for clean underwear and jeans, and start hunting through your bag for a bra. “We can make that the last stop before we get back on the plane.”
“I have already instructed the crew to have the hold outfitted with freezers and another refrigerator.” He tells you with a grin.
“We’re all eating like Americans for a week, aren’t we?” You tease, finally locating a bra and clean sweater. The weather is far colder here than it is in Dorne.
He chuckles as he dresses. Dark brown slacks that are tailor fitted and a dark mustard colored sweater. You had told him that it would be cold and you weren’t wrong. He decided to put a shirt on under the sweater and shivers. “How the hell did you live here?” He huffs.
“Why do you think I love Ellaria’s dresses so much?” Half your closet is now filled with designs made by your mutual lover and you adore every one of them. “Dry weather where the coldest it ever gets is forty-five degrees Fahrenheit? It’s balmy compared to here. Around here you just freeze half the year.”
“Definitely prefer home.” He agrees, reaching out to hand you a pair of the thick socks Ellaria had packed in his suitcase for you. They are some new ones she had found that had built in heat.
“This is warm compared to how winters were when I was a kid,” you tell him, just to see the horror on his face.
He curls his nose and shakes his head. “A man’s cock would disappear into his body, retreating for warmth, never to be seen again.”
“I thought that’s what my pussy was for,” you joke, sending him a wink right before you pull on a sweater and head for the stairs.
He chuckles as he follows after you, ambling down to the stairs to the smell of rich coffee.
“Hey kiddo.” Your father is in the kitchen with a fresh pot of coffee, which explains the divine smell that drifted upstairs. “I made extra cinnamon rolls.” He glances over at Oberyn. “Has she told you about this little tradition of hers yet?”
“Of hers?” He side eyes you in amusement but shake his head as he comes towards the coffee. It smells Dornish and he wonders if your mother found some and bought it to impress him. “She gave me the impression it was your tradition.”
"I never asked you to–"
Your father chuckles and points at the platter of pastries beside the coffee pot. "Have some breakfast while I talk to your partner," he teases, waving Oberyn over to hand him a mug. "I had to make it a tradition, because after the first time I made cinnamon rolls for her, she became a little monster about them. It was the only thing my baby girl wanted to eat. So I had to make them special."
Oberyn grins as he holds his cup out to have your father pour him some. “We have discovered she loves sweet things.”
“If she ever tells you that she doesn’t want anything for her birthday, it’s a lie,” your father advises conspiratorially. “She wants cinnamon cake with cream cheese frosting.”
Oberyn tosses you a small, victorious smirk. “Noted.” He hums, thinking about having the chef at the main kitchen come up with an elaborate confectionary creation for you.
“Dad.” Your palpable annoyance with him for unveiling your secret makes both men laugh.
“Sweetheart, I’m allowed to impart some wisdom, aren’t I? He’s a father of daughters. He knows you have them.”
Oberyn takes a sip of the coffee and smiles. It is Dornish. Not the crap they try to pass off as Dornish. He hums happily and takes another sip as you huff. “Dove, I appreciate that, so I can properly plan your party.” He admits with a wink.
“I do not need a party.” And with your birthday approaching rather quickly, there is especially no need to make a big deal out of it.
He scoffs, knowing that Ellaria is already planning an event for you. The intimate family gathering will be in the family wing, but the party will be open to hundreds of people.
“Oberyn…” you tut, knowing his silence is telling.
“What?” He asks innocently, bringing up the coffee mug to cover up his smirk.
“If I ask Ellaria and she tells me what you’ve been planning, am I going to be embarrassed?” At most you figure it might be dinner out or something with the kids, and if that’s the case you won’t mind too much. His girls are sweethearts.
“You don’t need to worry about what I’ve been planning.” Oberyn promises. “She is the one who loves to throw parties.”
Your father looks confused, but also like he’s trying not to show it. “One of your daughters?” He asks Oberyn, considering he has eight and there’s no way he learned all their names overnight.
Oberyn pauses for a moment, his eyes flickering towards you, letting you take the lead on this. You know what you should tell your parents or keep vague. You might just say Ellaria is a close friend.
“She’s the girls’ mother. The youngest four.” After doctoring your coffee and dropping two heavily frosted cinnamon rolls on a plate, you come to sit down at the kitchen table with your father and your lover. “She lives with us. Or, I guess it’s more accurate to say that I live with them. Her apartment is down the hall from mine.”
Oberyn can see the wheels turning in your father’s head. Questions flickering across his face as he slides his eyes from you to him and back again. Gauging if it’s a joke and quickly dismissing it.
“Things in Dorne are a little different.” That is a deep understatement, but you have no desire to rankle Thanksgiving too early on in the day. “Families are bigger, and a lot of them are what we would consider blended.”
He is quiet for a moment and Oberyn can see that he is struggling to understand but your father nods after a moment and says, “as long as you are happy, I’m happy for you.” He tells you as he looks at Oberyn.
“The happiest I’ve ever been in my whole life.” That promise can be made without hesitation or restraint. “Come on, love,” you nudge Oberyn’s shoulder with your own. “Let’s watch part of the parade and have our breakfast before family starts showing up.”
Oberyn nods to your father as he picks up his coffee and follows you out. He knows there will be questions, but that can wait.
“Later,” you promise him at a bare murmur. “I just figure I should tell Ellaria that I love her too, before I tell my family.” Your eyes, so naked with uncertainty, find Oberyn’s in the doorway before you pass into the living room. “That’s fair, right?”
“She knows.” Of that he is certain, but he nods. “But she will be very happy to hear you say it out loud.”
You're leaning in the doorway with dishes in your hands and Oberyn's lips on yours when your mother reappears from wherever she has been fussing all morning, and if you could see her face you'd think she had just swallowed a lemon.
Oberyn hears the huff of disapproval and he doesn’t stop kissing you. He deepens it, taking your waist and pressing in.
There's no way your mother could know that disapproving of Oberyn just spurs him onto his behavior like a defiant child, but that's exactly what she has done. She has challenged his birthright as a prince to do whatever the fuck he wants, and you're bearing the brunt of the consequences by having the breath kissed out of you.
He pulls back with a satisfied grin when you are dazed and a little off kilter from his kiss. “Good morning.” He hums, not even turning to greet your mother. “Beautiful day.”
"Hmm." The pitch of her hum is decidedly unhappy and judgmental – a thing which you didn't even think was possible but right now you've had the Give-a-Shit kissed right out of you.
"Morning, Mom," you mumble pleasantly, plopping down on the nearby couch and depositing your breakfast on the coffee table.
Oberyn sets his coffee down and then returns to grab a cinnamon roll. Having to try it since it’s your favorite.
"Your sister is on her way," your mother informs you, clipped expression laced with obvious distress. As if she doesn't know how to process a man – a prince – being willing to kiss her younger daughter. "Now that you've finally graced us with your presence, I expect you'll be helpful in getting things ready."
Oberyn lifts his brow and looks at you as he brings his plate back into the room.
If it wasn't the morning after you'd told Oberyn that you love him – and had him say the same to you – you might be riled by the expectation. Or at least react. But you're so relaxed that you feel like you could flick her across the room with your mind so you just finish chewing your bite of food before shrugging carelessly. "If you have an actual job you'd like me to do, I'm happy to help. But I'm not interested in the arrangement where you expect me to read your mind, communicate nothing, and then get upset with me for not doing things exactly the way you want them."
Every jaw on the room drops, except for Oberyn’s. His remains firmly hinged, curved into a proud smirk as he continues to amble back to his seat next to you and drops down on the sofa. “That sounds like a perfectly reasonable boundary.” He comments as he picks up the cinnamon roll off the plate to take a bite.
"Well I never!" Your mother huffs, ever the product of her strict, repressed upbringing.
“Obviously.” Oberyn snorts as he dismisses her ire with a causal shrug. “Your daughter is grown and demands respect. You should be proud of that.”
"She should respect her elders!" Your mother practically yelps, performative waterworks leaping into her eyes and one hand literally clutching her string of department store pearls.
"Mom." Careful. Measured. And looking her right in the eyes. You really don't know when you got this brave with her, but you know it has everything to do with Oberyn and Ellaria's support. "I am happy to help, if there is something I can do that will be actually helpful. I want to help. Actual help."
She pauses and listens for a moment before she wipes her eyes. “Perhaps you can crimp the pies for me?” She asks.
"Absolutely." You pop the last bite of your cinnamon roll into your mouth, chew quickly, and pop up from the couch. "Are there more than three this year?" Sometimes there are up to a half dozen depending on who is coming and special requests, and there are always two of your great-grandma's Dutch apple pie because everyone wants an extra large slice.
“There are eight of them this year.” She admits with a sheepish look. “One apple pie is for you to take back to Dorne with you.”
"That..." You pause from where you were following her back into the kitchen, feeling a sharp, hollow spike of shock in your chest. "Is actually really sweet of you."
“I know how much you love it.” It’s not an apology, but it kind of feels like it.
"I really do." For just a few sentences, it might be the nicest moment you've had with your mother in years, and you're not going to push it any more. You're just going to take it for what it is, and be grateful that there might not be more arguments in this morning.
Oberyn finishes the cinnamon rolls and makes a note to buy as many of these cans as you can find. Coming back into the kitchen and watching you as you are working.
“Kiddo, do you want to give me a hand setting the table after you finish those?” Your father is getting ready to clear out of the kitchen so your mother can focus on the rest of the meal. His jobs are the turkey, breakfast, and setting the table. And those have always been his jobs.
“I dunno Dad,” you quirk an eyebrow to your left. “I think Oberyn should help.”
There’s a pause where every head turns towards Oberyn and he tilts his head in amusement. “Formal, informal or causal?” He asks.
“Informal?” Your father answers after a moment of curious pause. “What the difference between informal and casual?”
“The dinner ware used.” Oberyn says. “And often a charger is under the placemats at informal table settings.” Your father looks fascinated that he knows about this and the prince shrugs. “Etiquette training and then refresher courses when my daughters go through it.”
“Then I’ll follow your lead,” your father decides, sounding delighted at the idea. He hadn’t expected that response out of your partner, but apparently there are multiple things he hadn’t expected from the people you spend your time with these days.
“Show me to your butler’s pantry and I will get started.” Oberyn decides he will impress your parents with his napkin folding skills.
Your father looks confused all over again, and you tuck a grin up into the corner of your mouth with nothing but amusement. "We don't have a butler's pantry, babe. But the closet in the hall right there," you point behind where your father is standing, "has tablecloths and the good dishes."
“Ah.” He takes it in stride, snorting softly at himself and walking over to the door to inspect what he is working with.
With the parade in the background, the work moves forward. Pies are readied for the oven to be baked in rotating batches, side dishes start to come into being at alarming speed. The table is set by Oberyn's exacting hand, and your father is starting to talk about opening the first bottle of wine when the doorbell rings.
“Company is here.” Oberyn moves back to your side and leans in to press a kiss to your shoulder.
"Auntie Deb and her wife Karen are always first. They pick up Grandma from the nursing home," you whisper back, but tip your head back for a kiss. While your family is nowhere near as large as his is, there are still plenty of new people to meet and you can't know how all of them will react to him or what your mother has been saying.
“Is Karen….actually a Karen?” Oberyn asks in amusement.
"Thankfully, no." He nudges your nose with his and grins when you giggle. "She's great. They were college sweethearts. Inseparable Aunt Karen knows every obscure movie ever, you'll love her."
“Interesting.” He already likes the idea of meeting this Karen. “We will have to see if we can tangle wits.”
"Hey ho, the gang's all here." The woman who rolls through the front door first is bright and jolly with short cropped hair and about three sweaters layered on. Her arms are loaded full of tote bags and directly behind her are an older woman wearing a jauntily tilted purple hat while she pushes her walker, and an equally sunny brunette with vast swathes of gray in her hair.
"We've got rolls, we've got spiced nuts, and we've got the best cheese plate I've made in ten years," announces the brunette proudly.
“I like them best already.” Oberyn whispers in your ear, always eager to eat nuts and cheese. “Let me help.” He offers, walking over to relieve them of their burdens.
"Hey Aunties!" Bouncing up onto your feet to hand out hugs, you make sure all three women get equal hellos. "Glad to be sprung, Gram? Or are you already itching to get back for Bingo tonight?"
“Depends on how much bitching happens over dinner!” The woman is blunt and Oberyn is immediately charmed. She looks around and spies him grinning. “Who is that handsome man?”
“That…” Your grandmother might be one of the funniest people you know just by virtue of Not Giving a Shit Anymore, and you’ve been stuck between wanting to know what chaos would erupt once she met Oberyn, or worrying how much they might spur your mother into craziness together with their chaotic energy. “Is my partner, Oberyn.” He has wasted no time in getting to your side and you smile to have him bow low to your grandmother. “Oberyn, this is Grandma Rose.”
“Charmed.” Oberyn promises as he takes her leathery hand and kisses the back of it. “Boy, if I was forty years younger…” she snorts, giving him an appraising grin. “I think I’d crawl into the viper pit you came from.” Oberyn belts out a laugh, instantly pulling her closer. “I see you and your granddaughter are like sisters.”
“Best Thanksgiving ever,” you laugh, barely under your breath, and shut the door behind your grandmother.
“Is that the fucking Prince of Dorne?” Your Aunt Deb grabs your arm and hisses the question in your ear. “Like royalty? In my sister’s house?”
“Hi Auntie, happy Thanksgiving, nice to see you too.” The smirk on your face is practically glowing, but you have to tease her a little first. “And yes. Mom wanted to meet my guy, so I brought him home.”
“Your guy….” She shakes her head. “I thought her cheese had finally slid off her cracker, talking about a prince was coming.” She snorts. “Good for you.”
“Unfortunately for us both,” you hum, rolling your eyes a little. “Your sister is just as sharp as ever. But thanks. He’s…really fucking incredible actually.”
She glances over at her mother currently being charmed by the man in question. “And he has an equally gorgeous lover.” She hums with a smirk and a wink towards you. “I know that didn’t hurt your decision.”
“The fact that I can even function around the two of them is a miracle,” you admit. Thank fuck there is at least one member of your family you can really be yourself around.
“I don’t blame you.” She giggles. “I don’t know if I would be able to function and I am strictly team vagina.”
“Team Why Not Both? Is a really fucking good place to be.” It is, without contest, the happiest you’ve ever been. Even if you were trying to hide it, you probably would have failed miserably. “They’re the best decision I’ve ever made.”
“You’re in love.” She melts and drags you in for another hug. “How do they feel? I’m assuming it’s both? It has to be both, you’ve always had such a big heart.”
“It’s…” With your face burning and a smile so wide it feels like your face will split, you hug your aunt back and steal a glance over at Oberyn. He’s helped Aunt Karen unpack the first round of appetizers and you know he’s going to eat most of that bowl of her sweet spiced nuts all by himself. “It’s like I finally found where home was meant to be,” you admit quietly, looking back over at Auntie Deb. “They encourage me and ground me, support me and even push me. It’s a privilege to love them, and an even bigger one to be loved by them.”
“It sounds like you’ve found your place.” She loves that for you. Knowing that it’s lonely to feel different, to feel like you don’t fit in until you do. Then it’s the best feeling in the world.
“I hope so.” Right now you have no dearer hope in the world.
“Dove!” Oberyn’s eyes light up as he motions you over. “Tell me you know how to make these nuts!?”
“I knew it.” Cackling immediately, you give Deb a squeeze and move back to Oberyn’s side. “I knew you’d love these. Yes, baby. I know how.”
“Thank god.” He snorts. “I thought we were going to have to kidnap her back to Dorne.”
“Oh no,” Karen laughs heartily at that suggestion. “I’ll go willingly, thanks.”
He smirks slightly, but it is you that he is pulling close and kissing. “I’ve already beguiled two of your family.” He teases you softly.
“Trust me, love,” you snicker against his lips. “Karen isn’t beguiled by you.”
He huffs playfully as he looks over at the other woman. “You are right.” He admits. “But only because I am not her type.”
"You are very much not." He seems vaguely distressed by that but you just laugh. "That's okay, handsome. You're pretty much everyone else's type. You don't need everyone."
“It would be awkward for you.” He decides with a smirk and wink.
"Right. This is totally for my sake." But you're still laughing as he hugs you to his side and pressing a kiss to the side of your neck.
Everyone settles in and Oberyn is constantly at the bowl of nuts, grabbing some as visiting continues.
It takes another hour before your sister rings the bell twice in quick succession and a third time more slowly, because only she would have a trademark way to ring a doorbell, and you tense slightly in your seat. Just because you had a vague apology and moment of respect with your mother earlier doesn't mean she won't revert once her perfect six-figure-earning doctor older daughter is back in the house with her lawyer husband who just made partner and their genius toddler who just got into the best preschool in the state.
Oberyn glances over at you immediately when he feels you stiffen beside him. His arm had been casually draped over your shoulder but now his hand comes up to stroke your bicep as he shoots you a concerned look.
It’s the same greeting she always gets. Even though she visits your parents every single weekend and your mother babysits her grandson. It’s cooing, fawning, starry-eyed adoration. It’s the favoritism that had you moving into your first dorm building the second it was open on freshman weekend. It’s the complete ignoring of your existence that had made you remorseless in moving halfway across the world. “I’m fine,” you murmur back, making a conscious effort to unclench. “I’m used to it.” At least Auntie Deb and Aunt Karen are here to chat with you and Oberyn. Even your father — protest though he might — gives all his attention to Amy whenever she comes through the door.
He chuckles softly, even though there is nothing funny about the situation. “Remember,” he whispers in your ear. “You fuck a prince and have met world leaders at our table.”
“I know.” And you turn your head slightly to press a kiss to his cheek. “I know, love.” But even your Dad loves Amy more, despite whatever he might protest. And as happy as you currently are with your life, being the eternal-student sugar baby of a prince isn’t what will make them brag about you to their friends. Of course you know that shouldn’t matter — but it still stings when you’re in the middle of situations like this.
It doesn’t make you feel better and Oberyn hates to see the way that you are completely pushed aside. He pulls you closer and sighs softly. “Perhaps we should take a vacation for Christmas?” He suggests. “Bali or the Maldives? You, me, Ellaria, the girls?” He talks to distract you. “Or do you wish to have a Christmas in the palace?”
“I don’t want to put you out.” The familiar sense of deflation squeezes your chest when your sister has been in the house for a full ten minutes and no one has even bothered to look at you since. “Whatever you normally do is more than enough,” you assure him.
“I want to make your first Christmas with us special.” He insists. “The girls love the water, you know that. And my brother is talking about hosting the festivities since he is feeling up for it.”
“Oberyn,” you take his hand but your eyes stay down, feeling too self-conscious to meet his now that he’s seen his little your own family thinks of you. “You really don’t have to do anything for me.” After all, no one else does.
Twisting in his seat, Oberyn takes your jaw in his hand and urges your chin up. His eyes dark and piercing as he stares at you. “Dove, you mistake obligation with desire.” He chides. “You are my beloved. Just as much a part of me as Ellaria.” He leans in and kisses you softly. “There is nothing I wouldn’t do for you.”
The certainty of it, the grave honesty in his voice and his eyes, fills your stomach like a rock and pushes on something too earnest for words. “Then…” Despite yourself, you snuffle a little. “Tonight let’s pack up the rest of my stuff and as soon as we’re done let’s go to a hotel? I want to enjoy this weekend and I think I have my proof that nothing here has changed.”
As if sensing the shift, your sister finally turns and says your name. Almost surprised to see you on a couch with a startlingly attractive man that seems so familiar. “You came.” She says as she walks over to hug you.
“I was invited.” The same as every year, via a demanding phone call. She barely touches your shoulder when she puts one arm out for a performative hug, and you reach gently for Oberyn’s hand as he stands beside you. “Amy, this is my partner, Oberyn.” The introduction feels like armor. “Honey, this is my sister Amy.”
His gaze is almost dismissive as he looks her over once and then turns back towards you. “Dove, do you wish to pack?” He asks, not bothering to introduce himself.
“Pack?” Amy frowns in confusion.
“After dinner.” Fast as lightning, you’re shaking your head and squeezing his hand tighter. “There’s no need to make a big deal.”
“For accommodations that will not embarrass her.” He smoothly smirks and pulls you closer. “I believe that your parents would be shocked at the sounds she makes when she’s not trying to be quiet and I prefer her to be natural under me.”
“Oberyn…” The reason your face is burning is absolutely not pleasure this time. Mortification is threatening to swallow you whole.
“Apologies, Dove.” Contrite, he leans in and kisses your cheek and then your forehead. “I forget that not everyone is as blasé about such things as I am.” He squeezes your hand back and hums softly. “Forgive me, love.”
“Uh…” Amy looks between you awkwardly, stammers out a “Nice to meet you” and quickly extracts herself from the interaction.
“Love…” All your attention is on Oberyn now and you can’t tell if that was part of his goal or not. “I just—” You curl around him and hold on, grateful that his arms twine around you in return. “I don’t want to give them any ammunition. Any reason to say I did something wrong. Like their treatment of me — or lack of treatment, I guess — is justified. This is…” You sigh, squeezing your eyes shut briefly. “This is one of the reasons I wasn’t sure about asking you to come. I didn’t know if I even wanted you to see any of this.”
“Dove….” He sighs softly. “You are not lacking.” He promises you. “They are.” He is glad that you brought him, even if you weren’t sure. “They cannot focus on more than one at a time and that is to their own faults. I took one look at you and knew that you were someone special and I’m delighted every day to discover how correct I was.”
“You’re very sweet.” They’re the words of someone who just can’t find a way to believe even though the desire is there, but you still sigh into his shoulder. “And I’m glad I already told you that I love you otherwise I would blurt it out now and that wouldn’t have been right.”
“Anytime you tell me you love me is the right time.” He promises. “Especially because it is true.”
“Let’s just get through dinner,” you say again, reminding yourself as much as him. “And we’ll enjoy the rest of our weekend before we go home.”
“Whatever you want to do.” Oberyn decides to have Ellaria fly over and kisses your lips. “Let me check for hotels around.” He urges you.
"Pick whatever you like best." Wherever he decides to go to, whatever he chooses, the important part for you is that the two of you get some rest and positivity.
“I’ll take care of the details.” He promises with another kiss as he pulls out his phone and steps into the hallway.
Dinner is exactly as excruciating as you expected. Even with as fawning as your mother is to Oberyn, she abjectly loses interest whenever he brings the topic of conversation to you. Auntie Deb and Aunt Karen do their best but they're both a little tongue-tied to be sitting at dinner with a prince.
It takes all of his self control to not cause the scene you so desperately don’t want. He can tell your grandmother and your aunts care but for some reason, your parents are completely oblivious. It’s on the tip of his tongue to ask about the bankruptcy, or to reveal the affair is nearly a year long at this point, but he keeps his mouth shut. Offering you bites of his food from his own plate even though you have the same thing. Waiting for this to be over so he can take you away from here.
Hugging your aunts goodbye at the end of the night feels so final. That’s probably why you hold on a little too tightly to your Auntie Deb until she squeezes you back and gently pulls back to look into your face
“Let us know when you want company.” She murmurs quietly, understanding when she sees the quiet resignation on your face.
“Any time.” It feels so strange not to want to cry. To be so sure of the decision that you don’t feel the regret you were sure would come after. “Plenty of room for you and Auntie Karen to come visit at the palace.”
“We love you,” she reminds you softly, squeezing your shoulders as she looks at you proudly.
“I love you, too.” She isn’t responsible for her sister’s behavior, and you know your aunts have always tried their best to circumvent the favoritism. But the time really has come for you to be done with it. “Any time you want to come visit, just give me a call.”
“Oh absolutely, honey.” She smiles. “And it’s not a palace, but you are welcomed at our house anytime.”
“I don’t know if I’ll ever get used to the palace,” you admit quietly. “But I love him enough to try.”
“It’s not bad is it?” She frowns slightly, as if offended that they might mistreat you in a royal palace.
“No!” You rush to assure her, shaking your head. “No! Not at all. It’s…I’ve spent my whole life taking care of myself, ya know?” That was a part of being ignored by your family growing up. While Amy had everything done for her — laundry, favorite meals, not even having to clean her own room — you were doing all of your own chores and more from the time you hit ten years old. “Making the change to a lifestyle where there are servants on hand to take of everything any I only cook meals when I feel like it is…it’s weird. But I genuinely think Oberyn would be happiest if I never lifted a finger except to indulge.”
“He wants to spoil you.” That makes her soften, her smile bright and loving as she looks over at your partner checking his phone.
“He’s a good man.” Your heart aches for the way he must miss Ellaria and his girls, but you’re so grateful to have his support this weekend. “Unconventional, certainly. But better than I ever could have hoped for.”
“He is exactly what you needed.” She tells you. “Especially now.”
“I hope so.” With your voice hushed you sound positively dreamy. “I really do.”
“Honestly, you look so happy, I’m so proud for you.” While she’s guilty of not reaching out more than once a month or so, she will make more of an effort going forward
“I think we’re going to leave sooner than later.” One last squeeze of a hug comes when Karen steps over to say goodbye and you offer both of your aunts a smile. “I’m glad I got to see you both.”
“Us too.” Karen shoots you a grin. “You got the recipe, right? You can’t deny that poor man your spiced nuts.”
“I have the recipe, auntie,” you promise her, and gave Karen a kiss on her cheek. “He’ll be pouting endlessly until I make them, believe me.”
She chuckles and glances towards him, “somehow I still think that he could make that look elegant.”
"Oh, he does." Smothering a fond laugh, you just shake your head. "He doesn't have eight kids by accident."
“Oh I can see why the man has eight kids.” She snorts, shaking her head. She might not be sexual attracted to your lover, but she can see the appeal. “Might have a ninth on the way soon, the way you look at him.” She teases.
“It’s only been a month,” you remind her, but your cheeks burn and your heart aches at the idea.
“It only takes one time.” She reminds you back, smirking slightly when you have a wistful look on your face. You want it more than you would admit right now and that’s enough for her.
“We’ll see.” For now, that’s all you can really say. Because the decision isn’t up to you alone, and you’re fairly certain that you don’t have the emotional fortitude to bring it up to Oberyn this weekend. You’ll end up in tears and that isn’t how you want to talk about the idea of having a child with the man you love.
“You are brave and strong.” She touches your arm as she looks towards Oberyn. “He is perfectly matched for you.”
"Thank you." The quiet acceptance is enough for now. It isn't worth reminding her that you shouldn't have had to be brave or strong, you should have been able to rely fully on your family.
******
“The Waldorf Astoria?” You sound shocked and Oberyn rolls his eyes at you playfully as he watches you stare at the elevator car as it takes you up to the penthouse. “Dove, you live in a palace.” He teases playfully. “The hotel is what impresses you?”
“I’m never going to be used to living in a palace.” Somehow even the elevator of the Waldorf Astoria is luxurious, which makes no sense but it’s undeniable all the same. “All of it impresses me, love. That includes the hotels where you have a usual suite and usual requests.”
He chuckles and lifts a brow. “You don’t think that I stay in the embassy when we come to New York, do you?” He asks playfully.
“Of course not.” The elevator climbs and climbs. “You would much rather be pampered.”
“You don’t feel like a massage would cure all that ails you right now?” He asks with a smirk.
“Maybe,” you smirk right back, knowing it’s still relatively early and the whole rest of the weekend lies ahead of you. “Or maybe we order some room service for lunch and see how many times we can cum before it gets here.”
He chuckles as the elevator doors open right in front of the only door on this floor. He looks over his shoulder right as the door opens to reveal Ellaria. “I think that sounds like an excellent idea, my love.” He coos.
Oberyn Martell x female reader x Ellaria Sand
Co-written with @absurdthirst
Rating: E for Explicit! 18+
Warnings: Food/alcohol, cursing, flirting and sexual conversation, allusions to sex, lingerie, sugar baby reader
Summary: A job interview at the American embassy in Sunspear goes awry in the very best way possible.
Notes: A three part Thanksgiving fic for anybody who's got shitty family to suffer through on the upcoming holiday 🧡💛
"No, Mom, I'm not at the gym." Walking down the streets of Sunspear at a brisk clip, you can see why she would think that. But if you're lucky, you're not walking quite briskly enough to work up a sweat. "I'm on my way to a job interview—" She cuts you off and you work not to roll your eyes. "No, I did tell you about it. The receptionist position. I told you three days ago when I got the appointment."
“I don’t remember that.” She promises. “I swear you tell me that you tell me things all the time, and you don’t.” She huffs, sounding slightly offended.
"I apologize if I wasn't clear enough for it to stick in your memory," you tell her, though you don't see why she should start remembering a thing about you now when she never retained details when you were a kid, either.
“What kind of job interview is this?” She asks, turning the channels on the tv rapidly in the background as she checks for something to capture her interest.
"Receptionist," you repeat, which now makes it the third time she's asked. "At the embassy."
“Very respectable.” She hums. “Although you should aim higher than a receptionist.” She councils, although she’s had her own job for the last twenty-two years with no change.
“Okay, Mom.” The exhausted sigh you breathe the words on won’t penetrate her thought process and trying to explain to her that any job that helps make ends meet while you’re in the last year of your graduate program is plenty good enough would just be falling on deaf ears. So you don’t bother. The impending façade of the American Embassy in Dorne is like a nightmare of Federalist whitewashing amongst the stunning and ancient architecture of the country’s own architecture, and that thought is enough to call you to attention as you approach the steps. “I gotta go.”
“Okay.” Her tone is distracted, like it always is. “Love you.” She promises before hanging up.
“Sure.” You mumble, shutting off your phone and shoving it into your one low-end designer purse to fall haphazardly between your wallet and your lipstick as you climb the steps and pray this job isn’t shit that’s been gift wrapped for show.
The inside of the Embassy is surprisingly beautiful. Examples of Dornish art and American sculpture graces the walls and the beautiful tables in the entrance and along the halls.
You give your name at the desk and receive a judgmental eye raise from the secretary in return. A moment later she is picking up the phone and murmuring down the line to whomever is on the other end. You can catch your name in the quiet rumblings so you have to assume a hiring manager or human resources person is the recipient of the unhappy woman's call. "Second floor." She tells you after she hangs up, motioning toward the enormous grand staircase. "Turn right, go down five doors. Room 205. The ambassador's assistant is expecting you."
There are embassy working scurrying about, whispering frantically behind hands and there are way too many giggles for it to be anything other than something ridiculous. A lot of activity is centered towards Room 205 and a small crowd of four women are standing in front of the door.
“Good morning…” The gathered women are whispering in English and dressed in typically American fashion so you lead with that instead of Dornish. “I have an interview with the ambassador’s assistant?” It comes out more like a question though you didn’t mean it that way.
“The prince is in there!” One, the tallest of the group tells you, almost squealing the news.
"Really?" Although everyone seems to be making a very big deal about it, you straighten a little instead of doubling over into giggles with them. This is a chance to make a truly professional first impression. "I take it that that he isn't a frequent visitor?"
“Doran, sure.” The shrug is almost dismissive, as if the presence of the actual prince ruling Dorne was common enough that it didn’t matter. “But this is the Red Viper. Oberyn.”
"Oh, I see." The hot one. Resisting the urge to ask more questions, you smooth one hand down your shirt and extract the folder with the hard copy of your resume from your bag before approaching the assistant's desk. The older woman seems exasperated by all the activity in a very maternal way and you can appreciate that. "Good afternoon," you greet her with a smile and give your name.
“Oh thank goodness.” She huffs slightly, relaxing her defensive stance since she’s not going to have to beat another eager admirer away from the door. “We are just slightly behind schedule.” Her eyes drift towards the door leading into the ambassador’s office. “Would you mind waiting for a few minutes? I’m sure it won’t be long.”
"I don't mind at all," you assure her. "I imagine that there are out of the ordinary things going on here often enough that adaptability is key."
She nods sagely. “When one of the Royal family arrives at the Embassy, all hell breaks loose.”
“Is there anything I can do to help?” Despite being there to interview, you’re willing to dig in and ease some of the load even without the employment. It’s in your nature to be helpful and you don’t mind in the least.
She seemed surprised that you would even offer, before her face softening. “Just your patience.” She promises, but she’s giving you a very motherly nod of approval.
“Of course.” You agree, and step toward the chair she had indicated for you just a moment ago. “Take your time.”
The minutes drag by but the giggles behind the door leading into the hallway makes it obvious the fan club hasn’t left.
You sit with your ankles crossed and patiently thumb through the notes section of your planner as though it held something more important than a scheduled haircut and brunch with a few friends this coming weekend. You could always pick up more tutoring shifts at the university helping undergrads with their English skills, but the lackluster pay is less than enticing. In fact, you’re about two heartbeats away from discouraged when the door to the ambassador’s office opens.
“You must join me at the club.” Despite the formal suit of the man behind him, the first person to exit the ambassador’s office is dressed to impress anywhere but a board room. Brown leather pants that are not skintight, but attractively cut, a pale yellow linen shirt that is open to reveal half of a bronzed and hairless chest. Over that is a darker, almost mustard-colored tailored sports coat that is embroidered with orange radiant suns. Part of the familiar symbol on the nation’s proud flag. The dark-haired man is looking behind him, talking to the flustered ambassador as he exits.
"Of course." The middle-aged man in his nondescript black suit and white shirt with thinning hair and an enamel American flag pin in his lapel is nodding as he comes out into the anteroom behind the prince. Not that he much likes walking behind anyone, but this is a prince. He knows his etiquette. "Anything to get away from the mindless shopping trips," he chuckles. "My daughters are visiting their mother for her birthday and it seems like all they do is shop. Always so needlessly expensive."
Oberyn chuckles knowingly. “I have eight.” He reminds the ambassador. “I can never keep up with the bags and boxes, so I do not even try.”
"They would all be in boarding school." The ambassador states definitively, and with so much derision in his voice that you know you might be able to keep your mouth shut to not scoff at the man you're interviewing to work for — but your goddamn face does have subtitles. Shit.
Oberyn’s face doesn’t change much, just a slight hardening of his smile as he turns and spots a lovely creature sitting in a chair near the door. Her own face reflecting his inner feelings about that statement. “But if you send them away, you don’t have the pleasure of having your daughter’s presence everyday.” He nods towards you, “isn’t that right, missus……” he leaves off, wanting your name.
Careful not to correct a prince about even something as small as your honorific, you stand when he speaks to you and give him your name.
When a bare tinge of recognition flickers in the ambassador's eyes, his assistant purses her lips slightly. She already knows, as she hopes you do, that Ambassador Franklin won't agree to you being hired to his office now. Not after you were apart of embarrassing him in front of the prince. Franklin's ego is far too fragile for that. She leans over her desk toward you, where you stand in front of your chair. "Thank you for coming in," she dismisses quietly.
Shit.
Oberyn had turned, but he has the ears of a man used to his enemies sneaking up behind him. “Oh she is for hire, hmm?” He asks as he extends his hand towards the suddenly sour looking ambassador. It’s a mild pleasure to watch him grit his teeth as he capitulates to niceties. “She’s far too lovely to be working here.” He nods once and turns back towards you. “You shall work for me.” He announces.
Frozen on the spot because shock has essentially stopped your heart and all the rest of you right where you stand, you barely manage to be functional for about three seconds before eking out a confused, "Your Highness?"
Oberyn seems amused by your reaction and nods. “Yes, perfect.” He hums as he glides back over to you with a swagger of a man used to getting his way. “Come, we will discuss the terms of your employment.”
Royalty, they say, does not often hear the word 'no'. As the man extends his arm to usher you out beside him, you can understand exactly why. Nothing about Prince Oberyn's bearing in this moment is a question. These are orders and instructions that he gives with the expectation that his iron will applies to others, and that his wishes will be easily followed. And you, as with all the people around you, simply find yourself doing exactly what he wishes out of pure awe that he has even deigned to acknowledge you at all.
Before you know it your purse it back on your shoulder and you are walking beside the second-born prince of Dorne through the halls of the American Embassy. Whatever the fuck job he's got to offer you, you already know you're going to take.
“Do you speak Dornish?” He asks curiously, although all but the most stubborn of his people speak English. He guides you by the crowd of simpering women without even glancing their way as his eyes are turned to you to weigh your answer.
“Fluently, your Grace.” The only things you know about dealing with royals are from watching period movies and tv, and from living in Dorne. Hopefully you’re getting it right. You heard a tv reporter call him your Grace during an interview last week at some charity red carpet. “I have lived in Dorne for the better part of three years and started learning before I came here.”
“What brought you to our beautiful land?” He asks. “The sun, the heat? The beautiful people?”
“Graduate school, actually. The University of Sunspear has one of the best programs in the world.” And, truth be told, getting as far away from your family as humanly possible had sounded like a great idea.
The fact that a literal royal seems to have no attendants around him whatsoever is only the vaguest point of concern that taps at the back of your mind as you take long strides to keep up with him. Does he not have security? An assistant? A servant or something?
“Yes, Sunspear rivals the Citadel for education.” Oberyn agrees with a grin as he escorts you out of the building and onto the street of the city. The guards are motioned to vaguely and the gates opened without fanfare. “What were you studying?”
“Linguistic anthropology.” The words are relatively straightforward, but the field isn’t very well known. Most people don’t even know your field exists. “My research focuses largely on music.”
“Intriguing.” His eyes are sharp as he turns to look at you and then back towards the street. Guiding you away from the embassy and the waiting sleek red Viper that he was famous for driving and towards a small coffee shop. “Have you read Dr. Shamlan’s paper on ‘Linguistics and the Art of Love; how words have shaped Romance’? He asks. “I found it fascinating, my own hobbies including poetry.”
“I have.” Your jaw works, but only so it does not gal open in surprise as you walk beside him. “Dr. Shamlan is my advisor. I find her work remarkable.”
“Really?” He’s intrigued by that as well, impressed, considering that Dr. Shamlan doesn’t routinely take students on in an advisory capacity. “So what takes you from the classroom to the embassy?” He asks. “There isn’t much work in your field there.”
Wincing slightly, you stick to honesty and let him move you toward the end of the city block. “Work in my field is generally scarce and even when it’s available the competition is fierce. But I have rent and bills to pay. I thought this would at least keep my language skills sharp.”
He nods, although he doesn’t relate to that. With his standing as a prince, even when he was estranged from his family, he had opportunities. “Then you will enjoy the palace.” He tells you. “Most of the staff speak Dornish routinely.”
“With all due respect, your Grace…” He didn’t taken exception to the title the first time so you guess it must be acceptable. “You don’t have to offer me a job just because I can’t keep my facial expressions to myself. I got myself dismissed from that interview all on my own.”
Oberyn snorts and steps forward to open the door to the shop. “I never do anything that I don’t want to.” He assures you.
That seems to put the question to bed for him completely, and as you are swept into the shop by the sure and certain presence of him, all you can do for the moment is accept it.
The little cafe seems to accept his entry graciously but with little fuss, and you wonder as he leads you to a table in the back corner, if he is a regular here. He must be, you think a moment later when a waiter arrives with an espresso no one ordered but the prince seems to expect.
"Thank you." He nods towards you with a slight smile. "What will you have to drink, dove?" He asks kindly.
It seems right to order in English, since he is speaking it and most of the Dornish population is bilingual, so you simply order a cortado with a polite smile and don’t get fussier than that. The waiter has a lingering eye for the prince when he leaves but you can’t blame him. Oberyn Martell is even more handsome in person than he is in photographs or on TV, and you didn’t think that was possible.
"You are gorgeous." Oberyn hums as he lifts his espresso cup to his lips. "Are you involved with anyone?"
Straight to the point is a part of the prince’s reputation, but the question makes you short circuit slightly and the three seconds it takes you to recover are probably far too long. “I—” You clear your throat and fold your hands in your lap. Flattery is not what you had expected, even from the most famous — and infamous — lover in the world. “No. I’m not.”
"Good." He hums, although he is frowning slightly. "Although I must ask if my countrymen are idiots." He tilts his head. "Unless you prefer the touch of a woman instead of a man?"
The question startles a small laugh out of you, though you can’t think why. It’s a natural enough progression. “I don’t have a preference either way,” you tell him. “I’ve just spent most of my time studying and working.”
You are more intriguing by the moment. "I see." He smirks slightly as he sips his drink and wonders if he has found the perfect solution to his current boredom.
“I’m curious…” you venture, watching him study you like a fascinating new toy. “As to why that matters?”
“I like to know how to approach playing with my lovers.” He tells you matter of factly. “If you prefer solo play or group sessions. Men or women, or both.” He shrugs as if that should be obvious.
"Your—" Spluttering under your breath as your drink arrives, you wonder if you'll ever be able to get more than a few words out to him at a time. It doesn't look very likely right now. Once thanked for his delivery, the waiter departs again with another lingering glance for the prince. "Excuse me?" You look up at the man sitting across from you in disbelief.
“Lovers.” He tells you plainly again. “You are not chaste? One that does not care for fucking?”
"N-no—" Just surprised, that's all. "I thought you wanted me to work for you? I guess that...isn't on the table anymore?"
“It is.” Oberyn nods with a charming smile. “But what is better than mixing business with pleasure?”
"What...erm..." Suddenly the only thing you can look at without your whole face setting on fire is the cup in front of you, so you wrap your hands around it and try not to imagine what he would look like on top of you in the darkness of night. "What would the job entail, if you don't mind my asking?"
He contemplates that for a moment, honestly not giving it much thought before this very moment. Doran calls him impulsive, but he is just decisive. “Your job is to be available when I need you.” He shrugs. “It does not need to be more than that.”
“Available for…what? Exactly?” Your coffee smells divine and the wafting scent is calling your name every second, but you’re a touch too gobsmacked in this instant to sip it. “For…sex?” That can’t be right. He has a lover — you’re certain you’ve heard he has kids with Ellaria Sand. Didn’t you?
He tilts his head. "Sex, comfort, conversation, attending functions, shopping, time spent." He shrugs. "You do not like sex?" He asks curiously. "I could fuck the day away if given a chance to do so." He smirks, raising a brow and taking a sip of his espresso. "I have actually, many times."
“So you…want to pay me…to be your companion?” That’s a rather old fashioned term for it — you’re sure you read it in some romance drama — but it seems accurate. Or at least accurate to your understanding. “Like a — a high class sugar baby?”
“If you would like to look at it that way.” Oberyn looks amused by the term. “I prefer to look at it like a mutually beneficial adventure.”
“I’m…confused,” you admit, after a few moments of flabbergasted silence. He motions for you to drink your coffee and you take an obedient sip without even realizing you’ve done so. “There’s no way you can’t find someone to sleep with you and go out with you. Why are you willing to pay me to do it?”
You are one of two women who have asked him that question. The other one has born four of his eight daughters. He smiles with a charmed bemusement. “Because I am a man who prefers things his way.” He admits with zero shame. “Having a job would prevent you from jetting to the Maldives a moments notice or staying up late for the delightful orgy.”
“And…” As much as you hate to admit it, that’s a fair answer. Or at least it’s honest, which is good enough. And better than most other employers you’ve worked for. “Everyone else in your life would be just fine with this?” The more you put your mind to it, the more you’re sure you’ve read about the fashion designer being his partner.
He chuckles now. “My paramour has been chasing after me to expand our circle.” He explains. “I do not limit pleasure or love.” He tilts his head. “Although I must ask if you would be accepting of polyamory?” He asks. “My Ellaria will always have a place in my bed and heart, even if you are also there.”
Okay, well, at least you know you have your facts correct even if your head is spinning. “I’ve…never really thought about it,” you admit, taking another ship off your coffee. It is good. You’re just very distracted. “I don’t have any sort of moral objection to it, if that is what you’re asking.”
“And you enjoy women.” It’s not a question, more of a statement since you had already said that you had no preference. “Ellaria will love you.” He predicts with a small smirk.
The woman you’ve seen in advertisements for her business is equal parts elegant and fiery, a combination the Prince also has in spades. The idea of being the focus of so much obvious passion sends a chill up your spine. “I have…” You swallow the lump in your throat. “A few questions? If that’s okay?” Something in the back of your head says you’re not supposed to ask royalty questions, or something like that. But sensibly…Royalty doesn’t usually preposition strangers. So it seems like a breach of protocol might be acceptable.
“You may ask any questions you need.” Oberyn is encourage by the idea you would question him. That means you are curious and intrigued by the proposition.
“Would I be expected to give up my studies? My research?” You ask, carefully weighing your options. Literal Prince Charming is sitting across from you offering you luxury and passion, you’re not immune to the offer — but you’re also not stupid to agree to just anything. “A job would take up some of my time, but my research does too. And for that matter…I love it. I shouldn’t like to give it up at all.”
“The pursuit of knowledge is to be admired.” Oberyn shakes his head. “I could not expect that of you when I enjoy my own studies.” He smirks. “Besides, all the professors in your school will extend your schedules if I need them to.”
“Just because the prince told them to?” You ask, utter skepticism inherent in your voice and raised eyebrow.
He chuckles. “Because my family founded the school and funds it.” He answers smugly.
Lips pursed, you take him in for a minute and decide that whole smug suits him — there is a bratty part of you that wants to push back. “So yes,” you observe. “Prince’s orders.”
He arches a brow at the attitude in your voice. Finding it refreshing that you aren’t just bowing down and placating. Molding yourself into whatever you think he wants. “Basically.” He snorts.
Since being a little fresh with him seems to intrigue him rather than make him grumble, you shelve that knowledge for the future and take the last sip of your coffee. “You like to have things your way.” That isn’t question. It doesn’t need to be. “Am I ever allowed to say no?” Because if you’re not, you’ll walk out of this cafe right now.
He frowns slightly and looks offended. “Of course you are allowed to say no.” He huffs. “I am not a monster like those Lannisters.” He sneers, lips curling in disgust as he thinks about the noble family from Casterly Rock. Scandal followed them, more than even Oberyn would tolerate. “If you say no simply because, I will merely find someone else to amuse me for that time.” He tells you. “If it is because you are sick or hurt, I will pamper you.”
“I’m just trying to wrap my head around what you’re offering.” It stings that you seem to have accidentally offended him, but you won’t apologize. Boundaries are imprint to know before entering any agreement, especially one like this. “Twenty minutes after meeting me you offered me a situation that sounds way too good to be true. I just…I guess I’m wondering what the catch is.”
“There is no catch.” He promises. “If you ever decide to part ways with me, I will be very generous, but I do expect loyalty.” He warns. “Do not sell memoirs of our time together or go on trashy talk shows.”
“I’m not that kind of girl,” you promise just as readily.
“I did not think that you were.” He assures you. “I tend to be a good judge of character. And when you didn’t like the Ambassador, I knew I liked you even more than my split second first impression of a beautiful woman. I thought ‘this woman has brains’.”
Warmth flares in your chest, making your cheeks burn in the process. “Well,” you hum quietly. “I hope I don’t disappoint you, then.”
“I very seriously doubt that you would be able to do that, dove.” He chuckles as he winks at you. “What other questions do you have?”
“Is there some sort of contract for me to sign?” It seems like there ought to be, but you really have no point of reference here. The only things you know about situations even remotely resembling this are from stories you’ve read.
“Do you want there to be?” He hums, smirking slightly. “Negotiations and hard limits? I am more free spirited than that, but we can always compromise. A Bugatti for anal? No fisting or water sports?” He wrinkles his nose. “I’m not into either of those anyway. And most of the time, if I am buried in an ass, my hand is also wrapped around the cock on the other side.”
“I was thinking more of things like rent. Cell phone payments. Tuition.” You shift in your seat, wondering if he’s ever known the cost of a single thing in his life. “A sports car is all well in good, but I can’t live in it.”
“Oh.” He shrugs slightly. “Would you prefer your own penthouse or would a suite in the family wing of the palace? There is not as much privacy, but there is always something happening and you will have easier access to me if you wish.”
It’s a good thing that you don’t have anything in your mouth otherwise you would have spit it out. “I’m sorry, the palace?”
“Do you have an objection to the Water Gardens?” He asks, tilting his head and wondering if you are someone who opposes royalty. That would not be pleasant in the long run.
“N-no, I just—” This man is just relentless with surprises. It’s going to make your head spin which is probably why you’re laughing. “I expected you to ask what my expenses were, not offer me a suite in the palace.”
“If you would prefer a penthouse apartment, I can arrange that.” He promises. “You will be given a credit card for any other expenses you might have.”
With the dam of laughter breaking and the sense that this is somehow the most bizarre reality you could have ever stumbled into but it is real, you shake your head. “Fuck that,” you say after a moment. “If I can live in a palace, even for a little while, I wanna do that.”
“Do you prefer an apartment with a kitchen or would you rather have your meals sent up by the main kitchen?” He asks, curious if you cook or if you are like Ellaria and despise it.
“There are choices?” It just keeps getting weirder but at this point you’re going to roll with it. “I love to cook, but I have a feeling your kitchen is way better than my meager abilities.”
“Then you shall have an apartment with kitchen.” He promises. “We will have to have family night one evening.” He chuckles. “My paramour despises the domestic arena.” He admits. “It is not often I have a meal that is not from a restaurant or from the palace chefs.”
“Then I’ll have to make sure it’s very good.” He’s a warm presence, if imposing, and the rounded sound of his low laugh feels like a promise. “I’ve seen her work…your paramour.” That’s the word he used so you’ll use it, too. “She’s a very gifted artist with cloth. I just use food as art.”
“She is delightfully talented in many areas.” He teases. “And you will learn that first hand if you wish.”
"Somehow I feel the two of you are endlessly talented." They have that reputation, anyway, and after a mere half hour in Prince Oberyn's aura you have no reason at all to doubt it.
“We have our areas where we shine.” He jokes as he finishes off the last of his espresso and settles back in his chair casually. A bowl of fruit is brought to the table and he immediately reaches for the berries. “Anything else?”
“Considering this is the oddest interview I’ve ever had for the most unconventional job?” Your cup is empty now too, and you set it down in the table and fold your hands in your lap. “I can’t think of anything else at the moment.”
He smirks slightly. “Oh, I guess we should discuss payment.” He snorts.
“Right…” you murmur, cheeks burning.
“Would you be insulted by ten a month?” He asks curiously, popping a blackberry in his mouth and humming over the crisp, tart flavor. “That would be on top of your credit card, of course.”
“Ten…what, exactly?” Ten dollars a month can’t be what he means. Unless he’s about to make a banana joke.
He pauses before he understands what you mean. “Thousand, of course.” He clarifies and reaches for another grape.
You snort, practically rolling your eyes. “Very funny,” you drawl, shaking your head and picking up a blackberry from the bowl. “I’ll give you an itemized list of my expenses, minus rent and utilities since I’m apparently moving in.”
He pops the grape into his mouth and tilts his head, a little perplexed by your reaction. “Do your expenses require more?” He asks curiously. The black Amex he will give you has no limit and you could use it, but he had expected that to be used for your frivolous shopping and splurges.
“My expenses are maybe half as much.” And even that is only because of tuition. Without university expenses? It would be a quarter.
“Then ten is not acceptable on principle?” He asks, confused why you would be refusing.
“It’s just…” You fidget in your seat again, folding and refolding your hands in your lap. “I don’t think I’ve ever had ten thousand dollars in my entire life. And you want to give me that plus all this other stuff…just…to date you?”
“Isn’t that what a sugar baby contract is?” Oberyn gets the idea that you hadn’t expected much and that is disappointing. You should expect the world. “If we had a contract.”
“I’ve…only read about them in stories,” you admit quietly. The boldness you felt just a few minutes ago is gone and you feel silly again. “So I actually…don’t really know.”
He smiles at your honesty. “Then let me enlighten you.” He hums with a proud sense of self importance. “In return for your time, your body, your adoration - which will come.” He shoots you a confident wink. “I will set you up in my wing of the palace, pay you ten thousand dollars a month, and give you a shiny black Amex card that has no limit to buy whatever your heart desires.” He chuckles. “I think that it is a good deal, but I’m enough of a whore to just want the orgasms I guarantee you.”
“I hate that people make liking sex into a bad thing,” you tell him honestly. “It sucks. And it’s one of the things I was glad to escape when I left home.” His eyebrow raises again and you shrug. “Just because I haven’t had a lot of sex doesn’t mean I don’t like it.”
“You will be having plenty of sex from now on.” He promises. “Do you have a method of birth control?”
“I was considering going off of it.” Which sounds ridiculous now. “I suppose I’ll get a refill instead.”
“Do you prefer a pill or would you like an IUD?” He asks. “The royal physician will take care of your health screenings and things like that.”
“Why don’t I talk to your doctor?” Years on the pill have not always been easy. If you’re going to stay on birth control, you might want to explore other options. “I don’t suppose you have palace movers too?” You joke.
He snorts and shoots you an amused look. “Of course the staff can handle anything you need moved.”
“I’m teasing,” you assure him, having visions of uniformed staff showing up at your apartment complex in formation. “I can manage it. Just…I guess…let me know when I should plan on moving things over? And when you want to, um…” Test drive your newest investment. “Go out.”
“Today?” He asks. “Tomorrow? What day is best for you?” He asks. “To move and to …go out.” He shoots you a teasing grin of his own.
“If you want to go out tomorrow, I should go home and pack tonight.” It all suddenly feels very immediate, and you’re as nervous as you are filled with anticipation. “Or maybe…” you half-frown. “We should go out first? Make sure that we actually…are compatible?”
“You don’t think we will be?” He surprised by the notion and it shows on his face.
“It’s not that.” It’s just that you’re about to change the entire way you live for him and before you do that, it might be good to make sure that the chemistry is right. “I just can’t afford to assume anything.”
He has to admire your honesty, the way that you speak your mind. You are going to fit in far better with his group that you realize. "I can respect that." He spreads his hands. "You decide." He tells you.
Gulping down a nervous breath, you try very hard to look more certain than you are. “We should go out tonight, then. Just to be sure.”
"Where shall we go?" He asks. "What shall we do?"
“You don’t want to choose?” Whatever it is, you assume it will end in sex. Which seems like a fair assumption.
"I would rather see what you would like to happen." He admits, smiling as he plucks another grape from the bowl.
“My favorite first dates have always been concerts.” Not that you know of any going on tonight specifically, but it’s a Friday afternoon in a big city renowned for its night life. Surely there’s something?
“Concerts or a play?” He asks. “They are running the Wicked performance here at the Sunspear Conservatory.” He informs you. “Tonight is supposed to be opening night.”
“I didn’t think you would be a musical theater guy,” you admit, but there is a grin immediately splitting your face at the suggestion. “That sounds great.”
“Good.” He agrees. “I will reserve the box. The doors open at seven but we will show up at seven-twenty.” He smirks. “Give the crowd something to gawk at.”
“Isn’t that—” The thought starts before you can stop it, forming a deep frown on your face, and he raises an eyebrow when you close your mouth abruptly. Go on, it says, as if he’s wondering if you’ll challenge him. “I was just—isn’t that rude? To the performers? To show up after they’ve begun and interrupt them with a spectacle?”
“The performance doesn’t start until 7:30.” He promises you. “My eldest daughter is working on the sets.”
“Then being rude is the farthest thing from your mind. I understand.” For someone whose career is built on the use of language, you sure do miss the mark sometimes. But you’re only human.
He is charmed by the way you seemingly process things. “Do you need to go shopping for tonight?” He asks, reaching to pull his wallet out of his jacket pocket and opening it to pull out a black credit and sliding it across the table.
“Considering I’m wearing the nicest thing I own?” Your cheeks burn with light embarrassment. But you haven’t been to any event that required a cocktail dress in years, so you’d sold or given those things away when you moved last time. “Probably.”
“Then I want you to treat yourself.” He checks his watch and smiles. “Go to the Dueling Suns Boutique.” He tells you. “It’s Ellaria’s exclusive line.”
This is probably going to be the strangest shopping trip you’ve ever gone on, but you nod your understanding and decide you’ll splurge on a cab to bring you back to your place after so that you’re not carrying a garment bag and whatever else through the city. “Should I meet you at the theater or would you like my address?”
He pull his phone out of his jacket and announces your full name, date of birth, your address and your phone number with a smug smirk.
“That’s…” you frown again. “Concerning. Though I suppose you have access to my visa information if you want it, don’t you?”
“My team just did a precursor background check on you.” He assures you, nodding towards a very unassuming man in a casual Henley and jeans, his glasses and messenger bag making him look like just another patron.
Given his subtle head nod, you don't swivel your neck or anything to see where he's looking. You shift in your seat, leaning forward, and adjust your position to get a look at where he has indicated. "Oh," you murmur quietly. "I wondered why you didn't have a security detail."
“My brother insists.” He rolls his eyes. “As if I cannot protect myself.”
"If you are always looking over your shoulder, how can you ever relax?"
“I am always relaxed.” Oberyn assures you. “Today is not the day I die.”
"Good." A small tucks into the corner of your mouth. "Because you have a date tonight."
“Then I should probably let you go shopping.” He is reluctant to let you go, but he knows you will be less inclined to get it done if he is there. “I shall pick you up at six-thirty.” He winks as he stands. “Expect to not come home tonight.”
You might be more bothered about how very certain he is of that, except that you've literally agreed to it already. To spending time with him. Sleeping with him. Going anywhere and everywhere he wants. And if you're honest? You can't even say that you wouldn't go home with him if he had just been a random hot guy you met out in the world. He is as magnetic as he is confident, and you're not going to pretend to be unaffected by it.
******
The short walk does little to clear your head but the cool air feels nice in your overheated skin. November in Dorne is by no means cold, only there is the barest crisp being carried by the wind today and it is doing you a world of good.
By the time you arrive at the door of Dueling Suns’ flagship boutique shop you’re feeling windswept and anticipatory, and maybe even the first pangs of excitement.
The moment the door opens, Ellaria knows this is the woman Oberyn had called her about. Watches as you pause in the doors and look like a helpless doe, startled by the sudden change of scene. Her lips curve and she knows this will be fun. Pushing off the lounge she had been draped across, she lifts a bangled hand. “Welcome in.” She calls breezily.
“Oh!” Startled by the musical voice in such an otherwise quiet space — music is playing but only very softly — you jump a little and spin on your heel. “Hello?”
“Hello yourself.” You have that starstruck quality everyone who first meets Oberyn has and she tucks her smile back as she glides towards you. She can see why he immediately decided on you. Even as impulsive as he can be, his instincts are good. “Anything I can help you with?”
“I—“ She’s stunning. That’s the honest first thought you have about the elegant, confident woman who walks up to you. She’s definitely Ellaria Sand — you’ve seen her in advertisements and magazines. “I need an outfit, I suppose? A—a dress. For tonight.”
“Ohhhhh a dress for the evening should always be one that is easily removed.” She smirks and quirks a brow at you. “By a or multiple lover’s hands, of course. How formal do you need?” She knows, but she is curious to see what you tell her.
“I’m not entirely sure?” You admit, feeling a bit silly about it. “He’s taking me to the theater, and his daughter is involved in the production so I’d like to look as nice as possible. Out of respect for her hard work as much as for him.” Did he tell her? You wonder, shifting your leather tote bag a little higher on your shoulder. Does she know who you are? Who you’re seeing? Or is it conceited to think he would find you important enough to tell her about so soon?
“Very exciting.” She murmurs as she reaches out to take one of your arms and curls it around her own. “Have you fucked him yet?” She admires your statement about Obara’s work on the production, deciding that she is going to absolutely love having you around.
“Oh gosh no.” You giggle a little, not able to stop yourself. “I just met him…maybe an hour ago?”
“So he moves fast.” She chuckles. “Or maybe you do.”
Feeling momentarily brave — or perhaps crazy — you offer her a smile. “I think you would know far better than I would, Ms. Sand.”
She looks impressed that you would call her by her name. “I have spent more than a few years with Oberyn.” She admits with a matching smirk. “And I admire and hate that he saw you first.”
“If I understand the offer he made to me correctly,” and you suppose you do. He was not exactly subtle. “I am…meant to be shared.”
Ellaria chuckles. “That is only if it is agreeable.” She admits. “You are not a whore from the brothels in ancient times. You have a say.”
“I would have already told him no if I had a strong objection,” you assure her, but you wrap one arm around your front and use both hands to hold onto the strap of your bag — far more insecurity showing in your body language than you intended. “I would be very grateful if you would help me choose something for tonight. He told me to come here, so I have to think it was because he wanted us to meet.”
“Of course he did.” She smirks as she affirms your theory. “He would want to know my opinion and how I like you.” She leans in. “He called to tell me all about you as soon as you walked out of the coffee shop, darling.”
The heat in your cheeks burns, but not in embarrassment. Much faster than you had believed you could be, you’ve warmed to the idea that this entire arrangement might not only be beneficial but pleasurable. “Then I hope not to disappoint either of you.”
“It is hard to disappoint a man who finds pleasure in everything.” She remarks, “but it makes it sweeter to find things that delight him. And you will find yourself wanting to do just that.”
“I don’t find that very hard to believe at all.” No, you really don’t. Not when you’re already wondering what his favorite color is so you can wear it tonight.
She sees you looking around, she knows exactly what you are thinking. “Yellow and red are his favorite colors.” She surveys you professionally. “I am thinking red lingerie under a new burnt orange dress I have designed.” She decides. “It will look fabulous.”
You grin, biting your lip. “Was I that obvious?”
“Every new lover wants to impress the one undressing them.” She assures you, already knowing you will be lovers with her too. She understands why Oberyn offered for you instantly. “Do you wax or shave?” She asks. “Or are you natural?”
Apparently there is no such thing as a personal question with these two, you think, holding back an amused smirk. Maybe it's more like a teasing grin. Something that is both together that curls up in the corner of your mouth and makes you feel lighter with each passing moment. "I used to shave, but I stopped," you tell her, letting her lead the way across the boutique's showroom.
“Perfect.” She chuckles. “Oberyn prefers exploring the jungle in exotic lands.” She jokes.
Before you can stop yourself, you burst out into a snort of laughter and then cover your mouth immediately. "Good to know," you laugh, deciding that telling Ellaria Sand why you came to her shop was very much the right idea.
“Now, we will strip you down and get you all ready to entice.” She titters playfully, knowing that she is going to tease Oberyn about seeing you nude first. “Most importantly, do you prefer heels or flats? I cannot stand heels, but without them I would have no ass at all.”
"I usually wear heels." It's become habit over the years, and you've come to like the way they help your posture.
“So we can have a slightly longer hem.” She nods. “I have just the thing.”
"Oh?" You follow after her, surprised when she pauses slightly to loop her arm through yours. "Already?"
“A dress I just finished.” She admits. “Apparently I was making it for you. It will look fabulous with your skin color.”
She ushers you toward a back room — a sort of private area that you presume is for specialty clients or for meetings — and drops you onto a buttery soft leather sofa before slipping away through a doorway that you can't see behind. Presumably she has workspace here, if something she just finished it already in the building, and you try not to wonder what Oberyn might have said to her while she is gone.
It takes her a few minutes but when she comes back, she is holding a beautiful creation on a hanger. “What do you think?” She asks with a smirk.
The floor-length gown is strapless, with dramatic peaks in the bodice to draw attention to your chest and a gathered, rouched waist that erupts in an elaborately beaded sun reminiscent in the emblem of the Sun of Dorne. From the sharp line of one of the sun ray's, the voluminous skirt slits cleanly open. It will reveal almost the entirety of your left leg, about halfway up your thigh if you're gauging correctly.
It's a stunning work of art. It's also intimidating in its elegance and would be, by far, the fanciest thing you have ever worn.
"Oh, wow..." you breath softly, eyes blown wide.
She smiles at your reaction, imagining the dress on you and she thinks that it would fit over your curves perfectly. "Take off your clothes." She orders, aware that the staff will not come back here with the door closed.
“I—” Right away your face is burning and your expression turns bashful. There is a decent set of well-fitting and even matching underwear underneath your current clothes, but you hasn’t planned on undressing in front of anyone today. So much for that plan, you think, seeing your purse down on the sofa beside you and standing again. “You two really prefer the direct method, don’t you?”
"Is there any other way?" Ellaria snorts and shakes her head. "It cuts through the bullshit."
“There are lots of other ways. But I appreciate that neither of you will leave me guessing your intent.” And possibly because of that very thing, you reach for the zipper on your dress with the knowledge that this moment is something quite normal — trying on clothes — and something powerful — crossing a small line of intimacy with the partner of the man who made you a deal just an hour ago.
She doesn't look away. Ellaria Sand doesn't have a modest bone in her body and her eyes aren't shy as you pull the zipper of your dress down and shrug it off your shoulders. The bra is plain and serviceable, but she hates bras overall.
“I wasn’t planning on anyone seeing these,” you remind her quietly, rather self-conscious about the cheaply produced mass market underwear set when you remember a couture fashion designer is the one studying you in them but you fold your dress neatly and set it on top of your purse without shame. Self-consciousness is different than shame, and you’re not embarrassed of not being rich. You just wish you had nicer things to show off to a potential — future — lover.
"There is nothing wrong with that," she shrugs slightly. "I have found that basic cotton is better than the finest lingerie." She pauses. "When you wear underwear."
“Which tells me that you don’t.” It would be an odd thing to say if she, like most people did. So you have to assume otherwise.
"Most of the time I do not." She admits shamelessly. "It's easier to fuck that way. Fewer barriers."
“And your appetite is as voracious as Oberyn’s?” It must be, you figure, and step forward when Ellaria beckons you closer and starts unzipping the gown in her hands.
"He says that I am more so." She chuckles as she works. "But I would have to say he is the one that can go all night fucking without sleep." She hums. "I need my beauty rest."
Ellaria holds the dress up for you to step under, and you hum quietly. “If rest is what makes you beautiful, I’m surprised to find you awake.”
She's a little surprised by the compliment but she smiles. "You are very sweet."
“It’s not difficult to give a compliment when it’s the truth,” you tell her honestly.
“Beauty is relative, but then again, you are also stunning.” She hums, straightening the dress before she starts to slide the zipper up.
“That’s very sweet of you to say.” She could easily hate you. Or dismiss you. Or worse still, not care at all.
“I don’t say things that I don’t mean.” She promises.
“Then I’m very flattered.” And not just by her words. The dramatic reddish sienna color of the dress’s fabric is accented by the amber and gold beads that make up the sun at your hip and waist. It turns your waistline into something eye catching and entrancing, and even you can’t look away from the mirror.
“You should be.” She hums in approval as she looks over your shoulder. “I was right. This is your dress.”
“It’s a work of art…” The peaks of the bodice draw attention to your chest, of course, but then sends it out to your shoulders and décolletage. The slit in the skirt hits your mid-thigh and drags the eye away by force to the length of your leg. And still, every look returns to the sun.
“Clothes are art.” Ellaria agrees. “It can display our personality.”
“I don’t know that I’m this bold,” you admit, finding her eyes in the mirror. “But I like that you think I could be.”
“Sometimes you only have to be bold on certain occasions.” She admits with a tilt of her head. “But this dress is the one for tonight.”
"What would you think..." Biting your lip as you look at your reflection again, you play with the skirt where it slits over your thigh, and tilt your head in thought. "About stockings? Like...a garter belt and stockings? I feel like this calls for it."
Her smile starts slow and grows to a wide smirk. “Oh you are going to drive him crazy.” She predicts with an approving laugh.
The two of you work in a flurry of laughter, and by the time you leave Ellaria's boutique she has outfitted you with not only the gown, but a full set of red lace undergarments, a pair of amber-gold heels that match the sunburst beading on the gown, and a clutch purse made of the same material as the dress with a sunburst clasp. She tucks you into a cab with a kiss to each of your cheeks and sends you home to get ready with a pleased smirk on her face.
Ellaria hums to herself as she walks back into the boutique and chuckles. Things are about to become very interesting.
It's about two hours later, after a cup of tea and a snack followed by the most intense everything shower of your life, that you dress in everything Ellaria had deemed perfect for you. Going on faith, because your little student's apartment doesn't have a full length mirror, you're still trying to make sense of the make up tutorial you found on YouTube and praying you did up the whole garter-belt-and-lace-bodice situation correctly when your phone rings.
The number registers but it’s not one that you recognize. “Dove, are you ready?” Oberyn’s voice comes over the line as soon as you pick up. “Ellaria said she had found you the perfect dress and that you had been sent home to get ready.”
"Ellaria found me a masterpiece," you tell him, letting the warm rush of first-date anticipation roll through you. "Let me get my purse and I'll be right down."
“Do not rush.” Oberyn hums. “We will be here until you arrive.”
One more check in the mirror. One more time rooting through your clutch to make sure everything is there. He had said to not plan on coming home tonight but you weren’t sure how you were supposed to pack an overnight bag to match an evening gown, so you’d carefully put a few things in your tote and hoped you would be able to leave it in the car during the play. By the time you make it downstairs you’re nervous as all hell and a small crowd has gathered in the lobby of your building.
Oberyn had been recognized, not that he was trying to be discreet. He talks with the men and women that have gathered around him. Playing the elegant Royal and concerned diplomat despite Doran complains that he doesn’t take his role seriously. The man complains when Oberyn often maintains the country when his brother is ill.
When you first catch sight of him from the end of the hallway, your breath catches immediately. He's wearing an exquisitely cut black tuxedo with a Dornish sun emblazoned in embroidery and beads exploding outward from his shoulder. The reddish-orange shirt he has underneath is just a shade darker than your dress, but all the same you have to wonder if Ellaria had told him what to wear tonight.
It half occurs to you that you're not sure if you ought to curtsy to him, but by the time your feet have brought you within just a few feet of Prince Oberyn, your mouth has already opened. "You look wonderful."
He turns and his eyes sparkle in delight as he lets his gaze rake up and down your form slowly. “Dove, words do not begin to describe how enchanting you are.” He promises as he takes your hand and brings it up to his lips.
In a room full of people who hush and then immediately begin to whisper behind their hands, you do curtsy now — but more of a gesture of thanks and accepting his compliment than anything else. "I would hate for you to go a whole night without anything to brag about. So I made it me," you tease.
He chuckles, a smirk of approval on his face and he nods. “Then I will have plenty to brag about.” He assures you.
It's just a show, of course, but he seems to enjoy it. Hopefully you'll have a chance to thank Ellaria for allowing you to be a frame for her art to hang on. "Shall we?"
He shoots the crowd an amused look, but he tilts his head as he offers you his arm. “Our evening awaits us, Dove.” He hums. “We should not be late for it.”
He leads you out to the curb where his gleaming sports car is waiting and opens the door to help you inside. When he spies your tote bag in addition to your purse, he raises an eyebrow. "You said to plan not to come home," you remind him, hoping you hadn't made some kind of faux paus.
He chuckles as he takes the bag to stow. “And I see you took me seriously.” He hums. “But you wouldn’t have had to prance around naked unless you wish to.”
"I thought as much," you admit, having spent quite a while thinking of how he has such endless reach and bottomless resources. "But I'm a creature of habit. Besides, if all goes well, I'll be moving soon enough. I can simply leave some things behind at the palace." And what a bizarre fucking sentence that is to say out loud.
He smirks as he closes the door and rounds the hood to climb in beside you. “I must commend Ellaria for her choice of dress,” he hums as his hand briefly touches your thigh.
"When I saw your choice of suit, I thought she must have picked out you clothes for tonight, too." His hand is hot, radiating burning desire right from his palm. "We nearly match."
“My sun knows what I had planned to wear.” He snorts. “She knows me well after so many years together.”
“You’re a formidable duo when you’re apart.” For the last few hours you’d found yourself thinking about both of them and you’re not afraid to admit it. “Together must make you utterly magnetic.”
He chuckles as he pulls his hand back to drive. “You will find out, I am sure.”
Most of the drive is spent listening to and talking about music. Oberyn’s appetite is voracious in all things, including the arts; and he seems to listen to just about everything. Or at the very least, he has sampled it.
By the time he pulls up in front of the theater you have listened to a dozen different things together and enjoyed talking about all of them.
“Don’t be nervous.” He tells you. “Everyone here will wonder who you are and be envious.”
"I very much doubt anyone will be looking at me when you look like that," you murmur, shaking your head at him in what is already a fond exasperation.
“You underestimate your power.” Oberyn snorts as the door is opened for you as soon as his car comes to a stop. His security was already in place.
No, you think, sliding as neatly out of the car as you can manage in a gown larger than you've ever worn before. I just know the power of celebrity.
And yet, when you step out onto the side walk in front of the theater to join the throngs of opening night guests walking on the short-but-bustling red carpet, it is you that the cameras are pointed toward. Oberyn slips in beside you, winding his arm around your waist, and smiles in an 'I told you so' sort of way.
He doesn’t answer questions, just smiling and nodding at the clicks of the camera and guides you into the theatre. “You are doing great.” He promises.
It would have been scary if you didn't have him there as an anchor. The heat of his broad palm on your back is a guiding light, and you take his cue to simply smile and not try to engage with anyone around you. By the time he sweeps you inside the lobby of the theater you feel a little breathless from the attention. "How often do you face...that?" You ask, leaned into his side as the two of you pause in the great, ornate, open room. It is all marble and frescos and gilding and your eyes don't know where to settle to take it all in.
“Only every time there is an event where they think I might attend.” He snorts, leaning in to whisper in your ear. “But they knew I would never miss opening night for Obara.”
“Your daughter has an extremely cool career.” One that makes you wonder, in the moment, exactly how old she actually is. You’d looked up Oberyn’s age while you were getting ready and he’s not significantly older than you, but enough that you started to wonder how young he was when he had his first child.
“Yes she does.” He is every bit the proud father and it shows on his face. “All of my daughters are amazingly talented. And that is not just fatherly pride talking.”
Not wanting to be impolite, you put aside the question of Obara Martell’s age and figure you can consult the internet for that later. “Were you a theater lover before she started working in the industry?” You walk with him in what seems to be an automatic path. He knows the way through this theater and so does the man in the black suit about six feet in front of you that you seem to be following.
“I have attended the theatre since I was a small child.” Oberyn tells you, “but I find myself wondering how I would react to the drama.” He admits. “Probably far more violently than most plays would allow on stage.”
“You were a soldier, weren’t you?” In your head, the image you have of him can’t quite reach that relation he has. Sure you saw pictures of him in his uniform, but the man you know is far past his Army days.
"I was." Despite honorary military service, Oberyn had gone beyond that. He had served and led the Second Sons. The legendary special forces unit in the Dornish Army. A honor that had never been handed to him, it had been earned and he had done it despite his mother's numerous objections. He had only left the service when she had unfortunately passed away, he had come home with four children - each by different mothers - and a paramour in tow.
“Then I doubt stage fighting would be very much your style,” you observe.
“But when I was younger, the sword fights captured my attention.” He chuckles. “I prefer a spear as a weapon now.”
“I can’t say I’ve ever fought with anything besides words.” At the base of the stairs he switched places with you so you can be closest to the railing and he takes your other hand in his to steady you.
Oberyn doesn’t rush you, watching as you carefully pick up the front of your dress so you don’t trip. “Well, hopefully, we will not have to change that anytime soon.” He hums before shooting you a grin. “Unless you want to learn to spar.”
Casting a glance down at him over your shoulder, you smirk. “Why do I think that would just be foreplay to you?”
“Because you have already had some inkling into the way I work.” He smirks back at you, not even trying to deny it. “Fucking and fighting gets the blood pumping so why would they not go together?”
“I suppose if you like both, they absolutely do.” Not that he’s been antagonistic with you, thank goodness. Smug? Sure. But his flirting didn’t hit combative.
“It is not for everyone.” He agrees, sensing you would not be one that would care for it. On the landing, an usher guides you towards a private box. “Prince Oberyn, we are delighted to have your company this evening.” He murmurs as he bows towards the Prince.
You know he wouldn’t have missed this, but it feels like something special to get to experience it with him. Oberyn chats amiably with the usher for a minute, during which he introduces you and the usher bows low out of due respect and apparent glee that the prince is here before scurrying off to goodness knows where.
He thinks he might have fucked that one before but he doesn’t say that right now. Just guiding you towards the best seats in the entire theatre. “Let me know if you would like a drink.” He leans over to murmur before he sits down. “We have a waiter for the box.”
You chuckle quietly. “Of course we do.”
He chuckles and looks over the theatre as if he was overlooking his kingdom. Which is true in a way. “Have you eaten or were you too nervous?” He asks.
“I managed a snack,” you admit, feeling a little called out. Or was this what all his first dates were like?
He chuckles. “I have bought out the Table of Dorne for the cast and crew after the play.” He explains. “My gift for Obara tonight.” He grins. “I figured it was better than flowers.” He admits. “We can join them or we can go back to the palace to eat.”
“That was very kind of you to do.” He settles you in your seat and takes the one next to you, making the empty box rather intimate. “Why don’t we see how we feel when the show is over?”
It’s a very sensible idea and it makes him grin as he agrees. “Of course, Dove.” He coos as he slides his hand back to your thigh as the lights start to flicker.
After the opening number, the waiter appears silently on Oberyn's other side to hand you each a full champagne glass and leave the bottle in an ice bucket at his side. The atmosphere of luxury is as unmistakable as the feeling of Oberyn's fingers heating the skin of your thigh as he toys with the slit in your gown. It's a miracle, then, that he makes it through the entire first act and two glasses of champagne before he discovers the lacy top of your stockings just as the house lights are coming up for intermission.
“Fuck.” His head snaps towards you, eyes darkening as he looks from your face to your thigh. “You—”
"I..." Even though his reaction is obviously positive, your face is burning with potential embarrassment. "Ellaria helped me choose a set. I thought you might like them."
“Like them? I love the idea of such elegant wrappings awaiting my discovery.” He smirks. “Would you like to ride my cock during the second act?” He teases boldly.
"I don't think I'm quite ready to add exhibitionism to my list of accomplishments," you tease right back. Though through the course of the first act the heat of him beside you has been as intoxicating as the champagne. "Besides," you hum, "we haven't even kissed yet."
“I suppose you require that before, hm?” It’s a joke, but he winks at you playfully.
"I'm afraid I do." And you aren't willing to bend on that particular rule.
“That is perfectly acceptable.” He agrees, not quite as picky but he can understand why you would want the intimacy of kissing before other acts.
"Call me old fashioned," you murmur, shrugging one shoulder.
"There is nothing wrong with that." He smirks. "Sometimes the old ways are best. I prefer the old gods over the new."
"My first boyfriend was the worst kisser in the world." Years later, the fact of it makes you smile. You were just a kid back then and so was he. How could either of you possibly be expected to know what the hell you were doing? "But I thought it was me doing something wrong. Like I was the one who didn't know what I was doing. Until the first time he tried to feel me up and ended up pulling my nipple so hard I screamed." You snort, shaking your head. "And...not in the good way. Since then I've used kissing as my barometer. If my date isn't a good kisser it's generally a good indication that I won't enjoy the other stuff with them, either."
“That is a good gauge.” He smiles as he pulls you close when he helps you stand and smirks as his eyes flicker down to your lips. “I am an excellent kisser.” He promises.
“I would expect nothing less,” you tell him honestly. His body against yours is like a promise licking through you in anticipation. “From a man with eight children.”
He chuckles and lifts a brow. “You make me think of having number nine.” He admits shamelessly. “Especially in this dress.”
“Is that so?” Sliding your hands up the lapels of his suit, you’ve forgotten everything else in the world but the man in front of you. Even if he’s only teasing you, it’s a surprisingly sweet sentiment. “Then I suppose you’d better kiss me.”
It’s completely spontaneous, but it feels perfect. He doesn’t worry about the photos being taken as he leans in and captures your mouth for a first, devastating kiss. Completely taking charge from the moment that your lips touch his, Oberyn makes sure to show you how skilled he is.
He starts simply, letting it build naturally to a crescendo that — while not indecent from the outside — has your knees buckling and your thin-as-air panties soaked all the way through. Dizzy well before he pulls back to inspect your reaction, your hands grasp his lapels that much tighter so you don’t lose your balance.
He watches your eyes as they start to clear, cloudy with lust and he smirks. “That is just a sample of what is to come.” He promises.
“Dammit.” You mumble under your breath, but with that same breath you giggle, too.
“Disappointed?” He knows you aren’t and he’s a bit smug about it, but no more cocky than normal.
“I really thought I was going to be able to hold out a little,” you admit, dissolving into an amused and slightly giddy laugh. “Rather uncharacteristically cocky of me.”
“You assumed that you would sleep in my bed tonight and remained untouched?” It’s his turn to grin. “How unrealistic.”
That’s not precisely what you meant, but that smile looks so good on him that you don’t argue. “I thought I would at least hold out on being a pile of goo until after the play.”
“Then you have not understood the complete delight I have in those thigh high garters.” He coos in your ear, pulling back to wink sinfully at you.
“If they weren’t my idea, I’d say I was set up.” But you do remember the delight on Ellaria’s face when you suggested in, and now you understand why. She knew how he would react.
“Then I must thank you for the pleasure of the discovery.” He had assumed Ellaria had chosen it, but now he knows that there is a delightfully naughty streak inside you.
"Think there's room enough in this box to stretch our legs a little before act two starts?" Somehow leaving the relatively privacy of this little oasis sounds unnecessary almost to the point of being unpleasant, even though you're technically on full display up here. No one is going to barge in or bother you. It's just you and Oberyn here.
“Of course.” He motions to the back of the box. “Through that panel is a private rest room.” He tells you. “So you don’t even have to leave.”
"The perks of dating royalty, huh?" There are, you're finding, many of those. But it seems to you that Oberyn likes to be teased so you're not going to pass up the chance.
He chuckles and shrugs. “I guess there should be a few.” He jokes as he smirks at you.
"But not too many," you tease, pressing a kiss to his cheek before you step away to go toward the bathroom. "We wouldn't want to show off or anything."
“No, showing off is frowned upon.” He snorts, knowing Doran wishes he was a little more discreet but he can’t help the tabloids love him.
"I'll remember that," you promise him, and make a mental note to make sure that all of the reading up you do on him and on Ellaria stays just on your electronic devices. No buying of magazines or looking up things at the library.
He smirks as he pulls you close again. “Never said I followed any rules but my own.” He reminds you before pressing his lips to yours again.
******
The applause after the final bow is thunderous enough to shake the building, and you and Oberyn are on your feet with the rest of the audience. It doesn't die down for long, explosive minutes, and when it does he loops one arm back around your waist to draw you into his side.
“Would you like to meet the cast?” Oberyn asks as he leans into you.
"Would you still like to have dinner with your daughter?" He had set up a party for them after all. You're more than happy to be on his arm for the evening.
He looks around the theatre and then back at you to shake his head. “Unless you would like to go?” He asks. “I’ll let Obara celebrate without her father watching.”
"I want to do whatever you want to do." More than just feeling very amenable to his whims tonight, you feel soft and fuzzy and you're enjoying just being with him far more than you expected.
“Then why don’t we go back to the palace and we can tour your apartment?” He hums with a smirk.
"That sounds very...intimate..." You hum back, moving easily with him when he turns toward the back of the box toward the exit.
“We should test the bed.” He chuckles. “And the chaise, perhaps the table, and the tub.”
"Is there a sofa? Surely we ought to test the sofa. And closely inspect the rugs." The two of you laugh as you walk out together.
“I see you understand.” He approves as the cameras flash, capturing the teasing grins and the delighted humor between the two of you.
******
The so-called apartment is nearly as big as the house you grew up in. The sprawling space that has been designated for you is made up of six rooms where each one is spacious enough to be its own studio apartment just based on square footage alone. The parlor, bedroom (with balcony, of course), kitchen, bathroom, miniature library (which he assures you can be restocked with anything you desire from the larger palace library) and spare room ("For anything you wish", Oberyn promises) are yours to decorate, redecorate, and inhabit as you see fit for as long as you and Oberyn continue to see each other. He calls it a courtesy. You call it the utter definition of luxury.
“What do you think?” Oberyn asks as he glances around the living room as he watches you examine the space with a sense of awe. “Will it do?”
"Will it do?" You huff, reeling back around to look at him with your eyebrows raised. "Oberyn, this is...it's an entire fucking house! It's stunning and so much more than—" When you laugh in disbelief it comes out breathy and blustery. "It's beautiful, and it's so much more than I could have hoped for, let alone imagined."
“Good.” He looks extremely pleased with your approval and nods. “Then it is yours.” He tells you as he spreads his arms. “Welcome home.” He coos. “The Water Gardens awaits your arrival.”
“I’d like to see them in the morning light, if that’s okay?” Looking around you, you drift closer to Oberyn without effort.
“They are particularly beautiful in the morning light.” He muses, watching as the light in your eyes shift to something needy.
“I think it’s all beautiful,” you admit. When he opens his arm to offer you a place at his side, you slip in easily.
He hums as he feels you relax and it’s surprising how comfortable you feel with him. He had expected some growing pains but it had been relatively simple. “Now what shall we do with the rest of our evening?” He teases. “Are you hungry or shall we work up an appetite?”
“I think,” you murmur, slipping your arm around him just like he’s holding you. “I’d like to share that first meal when we’re both good and exhausted.”
“Then we shall.” He hums as he turns you towards him and grips your chin in his hand. “Take off your clothes.” He orders, although it’s his own hand that is reaching for the zipper under your arm.
“So you both say that, hmm?” Ellaria’s voice is still in your head saying the same words, and you wonder which of them taught the other the tone they now share.
He chuckles and smirks proudly. “I taught my lovely paramour that one.” He confesses. “I said it to her ten minutes after meeting.”
“Ten minutes, mm?” His hand is burning hot at your side as he draws the zipper on your dress down and you stuck in a breath of anticipation. “So you’ve been moving quite slow with me today?”
“To be fair….” He leans in and ghosts his lips over yours. “You were not about to sell yourself to a brothel to eat.” He knows that some of Ellaria’s story has become public, but not all of it.
Your eyes widen to double their usual size and your lips purse, holding in a shocked gasp. “No,” you shake your head quickly. “No. Nothing like that.”
He hums and as he moves to slide the straps off your shoulders to let them drop down. “No, we have a different story.” He teases as he runs his fingers over your skin.
He moves the straps aside, beginning to peel the gown off of you in tantalizing steps, but stops short when he spies the snapped edge of your red lace bralette appear.
“What is this?” He asks, voice brimming with coy delight.
“Some more…intricate wrapping for your gift,” you tell him, sucking in a breath as his fingers brush your skin.
“You are a gift.” He deduces and his eyes dance in excitement. “One that I am most eager to unwrap.”
******
He looks divine when he’s slick with a thin sheen of sweat, purring contentedly into the crook of your neck like an oversexed house cat. Your hands still wander over each other as you catch your breath, limbs tangled in each other and in the sheets in equal measure.
“Now I think we have worked up a sufficient appetite.” He rumbles playfully. “What would you like to eat?” He asks. “I believe the main kitchen was serving lamb, but they can make anything you wish.”
"I'm not picky." Nuzzling your nose into his shoulder, you sigh deeply and let the satisfaction roll through you like another wave of pure pleasure. "As much as I'd like to, I can't have you for dinner."
“I think that there is a way to make that happen.” He teases. “But I think it will take a while to fill you up.”
"Lover." A dulcet voice tsks from the doorway. "Do not be greedy. She needs real food with the way you make her scream."
Oberyn’s head lifts and he smirks as his lover props against the door lazily, watching the two of you in bed. She is just missing a cigarette in her hand to complete the unbothered look. He nuzzle back into you possessive and squeezes your breast. “She is a screamer, isn’t she?” He is proud of that and squeezes again. “The halls echoed with her bellows of pleasure.”
“I’m right here, you two.” To your own surprise, you don’t hurry to cover up or get bashful in front of Oberyn’s long term partner. Maybe you would have if you hadn’t met her already, but this woman had literally dressed you in order that he could undress you later on.
Oberyn chuckles and kisses your cheek before he drags himself up to one elbow. “We have our own delivery service, Dove.” He muses as he motions towards the door. “My paramour has brought you fuel for the next round.”
Ellaria emerges from the shadow with a tray laden down with all manner of things she managed to cajole the kitchen staff into accumulating for her to bring upstairs.
She loves him so much and it is so obvious that you smile at the glow of it instead of feeling out of place between them. There’s just something very welcoming in how they behave with a third partner. Or maybe they particularly like you?
Well, a girl can hope.
“Are you delivering?” You ask her when she steps up to the bed. “Or…staying?”
“That depends on how you feel about it.” She admits, eyes roaming greedily over the flesh on display by both of you. “I would love to stay, but understand if I shouldn’t.”
“Shouldn’t?” You look to Oberyn, wondering if he has some kind of objection to sharing a new lover so soon.
He can tell you don’t understand so he explains. “If you feel uncomfortable, Dove.” He clarifies. “Some don’t like to play as a group right away.”
“Well…” Reaching out, you pick up one of the water glasses from the tray and take a sip. “We can’t know until we try.”
“She is magnificent.” Ellaria coos as she slips the tray onto the bed. “I had the kitchen make lamb sandwiches and there is a crock of French onion soup to soothe your throat from screaming.” She teases as she swipes a finger through the cream on a dessert cake.
“I wasn’t that loud, was I?”
Oberyn climbs out of the bed with no shame to saunter into the bathroom. Ellaria watches his ass as he walks out before turning to you with a grin. “Our youngest kept asking why someone was praying so loud.” She teases.
“Oh my God…” For the first time since arriving at the palace, you cover your face in embarrassment and giggle so hard you almost snort. “Oops?”
She laughs with you and picks up a date out of a bowl. “She knows her father has lovers.” She tells you. “Even if the mechanics of what that means doesn’t quite compute yet.”
“It’s not my goal to speed her education,” you assure Ellaria. “Especially since I assume she’s…quite young?”
“Six.” She pops the date into her mouth and smirks. “That might be why Oberyn has been making noise about having another baby.”
The grapes in the fruit bowl look perfect. Too tantalizing to ignore. You pull one from the bunch and pop it in your mouth. “Does he just like having young kids around? Or is it a pregnancy kink?”
“Both.” She giggles. “The man has been a father since he was fourteen years old.” She tells you. “He was born to be a dad. And he loves a pregnant body.” She sprawls out on the bed. “It is why we have four together.”
“I really thought that was an exaggeration,” you admit, popping another grape into your mouth. “Fourteen is so young. But…he really loves them all, doesn’t he?”
“Every single one of them.” She tells you proudly. “Refuses to let them be sent off to boarding school.” It had been a custom to be educated abroad but he had flat refused to have his daughters sent away. It is why Dorne has built up amazing schools.
“I read that he did away with having a palace nanny, too?” Another grape. But the sandwiches Ellaria brought are too enticing, and you reach for half of one next. “They said it was because he wanted to spend as much time with them as he could, but I can’t believe you don’t have some help.”
“Oh we did.” She admits. “But the nanny the palace wanted was too strict.” She grins. “Plus his third daughter was the last nanny’s child.”
This time you really do snort. “Is she really?”
She nods and takes a grape for herself. “You think that she could resist Oberyn?” She jokes.
“Considering I’m sitting up in his bed wearing just my stockings?” You shrug one shoulder unapologetically. “I certainly can’t judge.”
“He left those on?” Nosey and with zero sense of personal space, Ellaria lifts the covers and chuckles when she sees them, slightly skewed from activities. “Marvelous.” She hums, smirking at you. “Wear them as often as you can, it will drive him mad.”
“Thank you.” It might feel a little odd to say, but the circumstance is unconventional and everyone here has given their consent to whatever this moment of madness will lead to. “For taking care of me this afternoon.”
“Anytime,” she waves away your thanks as if dressing a woman to sleep with her partner was nothing but a Tuesday. “I think that you will need to come in and pick some other things.” She tells you. “Plus I can introduce you to my other designer friends. They make fabulous clothes.”
Sounds daunting, you think, chewing a bite of the the remarkably delicious — or maybe you’re just starving — sandwich. It does sound daunting. Like you’ll be instructed. A spectacle, potentially.
But won’t being seen with Oberyn make you that already?
Of course it will. So why get hung up on it after you’ve already agreed? “Absolutely,” you tell Ellaria. “I’ll have plenty of time outside of my research.”
“Good.” She looks delighted that you accepted, like she had been anticipating you declining. “We will have lunch, get drunk and spend a small fortune shopping.”
Seeing as the only time you’ve ever shopped recklessly was today, with her, you nod through another bite of your sandwich and laugh in quiet disbelief — so you’re sitting laughing with a delighted Ellaria when Oberyn reappears in the room.
“You two seem to get along.” He observes with a smirk of happiness as he saunters over to the bed. He’s not bothered to cover his nudity and his lean body is on display. “Gossiping about me?” He teases as he leans in and plucks some fruit off the tray. “I love to hear about myself.”
“Actually?” He solicits kisses from both of you and gets them, temporarily cutting off your thoughts. “Ellaria was just offering to take me shopping.”
“She so enjoys it.” He chuckles, reaching for his paramour’s hand and pressing a kiss to the back of it. “She will dress you up like a doll.” He warns. “Speaking of that, I have bought Loreza a new doll.” He tells her mother. “One of those she has been begging for.”
“The American doll?” Ellaria hums in amusement. “That seems fitting, now that we have an American in the house.”
He hadn’t really thought of it that way but he chuckles. “She will be haunting you.” He explains. “She loves Americans. So expect a million questions.”
“You got your daughter an American Girl doll?” The thought of being a novelty in his household amuses you, but the sweetness of the gesture is what really impresses itself upon you. “I had one when I was little. Felicity. The Revolutionary girl.”
“Really?” He looks at that in interest as he manages to stretch himself out between you and Ellaria, immediately beginning to graze on the food in front of him. “Do you still have it?”
“She’s at my parent’s house.” He eats at a dizzying slow pace, while you have annihilated your sandwich as if under contract for its life. “I didn’t bring a lot to Dorne when I moved.”
“Anything you wish to bring over, we can have a plane sent.” Oberyn tells you as he picks up a cup of wine and takes a sip.
“Maybe I’ll bring some things back after Thanksgiving,” you muse, pouring another glass of water for yourself and topping off Oberyn’s.
He frowns for a moment before nodding. “Yes, the day you eat so much you fall asleep.” He jokes, smiling to show you he’s kidding.
“It’s my mother’s favorite holiday,” you tell him, shaking your head despite laughing. He’s far too fucking charming for his own good, really. “She invites the entire family for the whole day, and I haven’t been since I moved out here so I promised I would make the effort this year.”
“I see.” He knows that he would not stop you from going. “Family is important, Dove.” He tells you, feeding a date to Ellaria and the offering you a grape since he has observed you like the purple ones best. “No matter how they come.”
“It’s an excuse to see my dad.” The grape is a welcome sweet treat, and you smirk when Oberyn’s thumb drags on your lip. “I won’t stay long. The weekend at most.”
“Then spend as much time as you like.” His own parents are both gone and while he was closer to his dear mother than his father, he misses them both. Just like he misses his beloved Elia. “We will be here when you return.”
“I can’t take my mother for more than a few days,” you admit, leaning back in the pillows.
Ellaria laughs and nods. “I understand completely.” She snorts. “My mother turned me out at fifteen because she said I was trying to seduce her husband.” She curls her lip in disgust. “The bastard was trying to crawl into my bed.”
“My mother isn’t quite so vile.” In fact you sort of regret bringing it up since Ellaria’s experience was so dreadful. “She just…has a favorite. And it definitely is not me.”
“I see.” Ellaria shakes her head. “I don’t know if I could love my children any more than the other.” She admits. “Every relationship is different yet beautiful.”
“Anyway.” The pointed word cuts through the conversation, cutting it to a different direction. “All that is to say, I think I’ll bring some more things back with me, if that’s all right.”
“There is plenty of room for you bring back whatever you wish.” Oberyn gestures around and smirks. “Decorate away. This is your space to make your own.”
It’s yours for as long as he decides to keep you, you think, feeling anxiety twitch at the edges of your smile. But however long that is, you already know you’ll cherish every minute.
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: 7.7k
Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* (Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking.) Fashion/clothing talk, some body image mentions, workplace conflict, drunk reader, emotional responses.
Summary: One single day is full of so many ups and downs that it might give you whiplash. It's a good thing that there is no shortage of support in your life as you step up to the bat to deal with major changes.
Notes: Wedding dress gif for vibes not character details! Forgive me any errors I have surely missed. It is late when I do this and we are officially in the holiday season at work which means extended hours. Ya girl is officially wiped.
Going into the office has felt particularly odd this week, knowing that you'll be leaving soon. Morning meetings -- the architect on Monday, Harry's building manager on Chloe's behalf on Tuesday, your athlete client's top catering choices on Wednesday and cake bakeries on Thursday -- you head into Midtown to meet with the woman who will be designing your wedding gown knowing that when you go into the office afterward it's time to properly hand in your notice. You're in no rush, and plan to give them a month more to make sure all of your clients are well settled with new planners before you go, but it is time to let your boss know.
You take a deep breath when you step out of the subway into the sunlight, grateful that Tamara is in town this morning. She promised to extend her layover in the city to be here for you before she heads off to Croatia on some kind of modeling shoot and you couldn't be more grateful.
“You know your fiancé has been complaining to my husband about you not taking the car often.” She snorts as she adjusts her sunglasses, enjoying the relative anonymity of New York. She’s not hassled here as much by the paps.
"I know..." you admit, shooting her a guilty grin. "And I love the new car. But the idea of driving in and out of La Guardia this morning to pick you up sounded anxiety-inducing."
“Oh I completely agree.” She snorts and shakes her head. “I will take L.A. traffic over New York’s any day.”
"And weirdly, airport coffee hit it just right this morning. I swear those baristas know some kind of magic they keep just for themselves." You had both left La Guardia for the subway with enormous coffees and now the empty cups just needed to be deposited in the first trash bin you pass.
“Yeah New Yorkers know their coffee.” Tamara grins. “I wasn’t even offered no fat anything. I love it.”
"So much the better," you agree, grinning at your friend. You had kept your mouth shut when she ordered decaf and just filled away the information for next month -- still drinking coffee, put decaf in the house. "Oh, here it is!" The building is all modern glass and steel, rising up and up into the city skyline like New York should be grateful it chose to be built here. "Fifteenth floor."
“I know that you will love her. Are you nervous?” Tamara asks as she takes your arm and shoots you a reassuring glance.
"I'm terrified." And you don't mind admitting that at all. Not to Tamara. You've become so close in the last few months, even within living on opposite coasts. "I mean, I know she does incredible work. You looked amazing.' Even though that's not hard to achieve. Tamara is always stunning.
“And you will be stunning.” She assures you with a quick squeeze of your arm. “Gigi loves working with real women. Love stories. It’s her happy place.”
“Gigi?” You ask, not having heard the nickname for the woman before.
“We all started calling her Gigi.” Tamara shrugs. “Her cousin is pregnant and she wants to be ‘Aunt Gigi’ so she’s become Gigi to everyone.” She explains.
“Got it.” That’s a sweet reason, and you nod once before the building’s doorman opens the steel-and-glass panel wide to allow you inside. Murmured thanks pass between you, and the receptionist at the desk asks about your appointment before calling up to the right office and pointing you toward the elevator. It’s all very civilized and organized, but you can feel your own anxieties rising.
The office space is rented, not designed and slightly utilitarian in its decor but Gigi had brought some examples of gowns she had designed, large mock ups and draped every available surface in all the bolts of silks, satins, tulles and every other fabric you could possibly want.
Walking into the office space is like walking into some kind of fantasy. Vincent Minelli is just dying to stage an overlong, sweeping ballet sequence amongst the luscious fabrics and vivid colors. It's beautiful in its honesty -- just vibrant and beautiful offerings everywhere.
"Good morning!" Gigi has a mug in her hands when she comes eagerly around the corner, but she sets it on the top of a table as she passes so she can sweep Tamara into a tight hug. The curvaceous woman is wearing a shock of bright red lipstick to perk up her beautiful face and a flattering sweater with a perfectly tailored pair of pants. Her hugs are just as comforting and perfect as her appearance, you can tell.
After she lets Tamara go, you are pulling into just a friendly a hug. “I am sooooo thrilled and honored you called me!” She promises, pulling back after a long moment and beaming at you.
"I'm the one who is honored," you promise her. "I'm so grateful that you're willing to do this. You know as well as I do that if you're anything but a petite size two it's hard to find just the right thing when it comes to clothing."
She smiles and nods. “We will just have to make you something stunning that is exactly what you’ve always dreamed of.” She tells you. “While I’ve brought potential sketches, I want to sit down with you and talk about what you have always wanted.”
“I would be lying if I said I didn’t have a few thoughts,” you admit, and end up shaking your head with laughter when Tamara practically claps with glee. “Maybe we should sit down? Chat a bit first?”
“Would you like some coffee, tea?” Gigi offers with a smile. “I also have some juice and water.”
“Tea, I think?” After having just had an enormous coffee, another cup seems unwise. But tea has so little caffeine that you don’t think it will make a difference.
“I’ll stick to water,” Tamara smiles as Gigi nods and waves you over to a nearby set of couches. The media console beside them sports a Keurig machine and the most miniature mini fridge you’ve ever seen.
“I have to apologize about the space.” She hums as she selects an oolong and honey flavored tea pot and slaps it into the Keurig. “It is not quite as opulent as I would want for you, but the space was available and I desperately needed space to meet you.”
“I’m really not an opulent kind of girl,” you promise.
“Every girl has a little opulence in her.” Gigi twists her head and nods towards your ring. “Your fiancé certainly believes you do.”
CalamityConnie — 10/15/2025 6:04 PM
"My fiance believes in grand gestures." But still, your hand flexes and you look down at the gorgeous, generous diamond ring on your finger. It's beautiful, yes, and quite showy. But the reason you love it is that it echoes the size and the purity of Harry's heart. The way he loves you is brilliant enough on its own. "I want to make sure that my wedding dress is a gesture to him," you tell Gigi, smiling a little when she hands you a cup of tea and waves you over to the couch. "Elegant, beautiful, and maybe a little showy." When you feel Tamara start to vibrate excitedly next to you, you laugh. "I said maybe, Tam."
absurdthirst — 10/15/2025 8:21 PM
“Honey, you’ve got a figure that would make anyone jealous when styled correctly.” Gigi snorts. “We will make you look like an angel and a vixen if you want.”
CalamityConnie — 10/15/2025 8:24 PM
"Somewhere in between, I think." You do laugh, though, because Gigi has a way of putting you at ease. "Harry did toss out the idea of two dresses, but I'm not sure."
absurdthirst — 10/16/2025 5:38 PM
“A reception dress?” She immediately perks up and looks excited. “Oh that would be stunning.”
“We don’t really want to do a full theme but we are taking inspiration from Art Deco as well,” you tell her, starting to get more enthusiastic just from her own contagious excitement. “He bought me this stand of pearls that just…it’s maddeningly beautiful and I’d love to wear it at some point that night.”
“Did you bring the pearls with you?” She asks, handing the bottle of water to Tamara and going back for your tea. “Or have a picture of them?”
“I have a photo of us where I’m wearing them.” You fumble with your phone for a minute but come up with an image of you and Harry dressed up on a date night. He’d taken you out for dinner and then to your first Broadway show afterward. You’d worn the green dress of yours that he loves, and wrapped the stand of Tiffany pearls around your neck. They were the only thing he left on you when he’d fucked you that night.
“Ohhh they are gorgeous.” She coos. “Harry Winston or Cartier?”
“Tiffany, actually.” Your cheeks burn, not liking to brag. “I never realized how different jewelry designers could be before I was suddenly being gifted different pieces.”
“Ohhhhhh.” She smiles softly, a dreamy quality to her expression. “I love Tiffany’s.” She admits shamelessly. “Javi loves watching Audrey Hepburn so it works in my favor.”
"Percy pretends he likes the manliest man movies," Tamara giggles conspiratorially. "But he would watch Audrey Hepburn over Steve McQueen any day."
Gigi laughs. “Now Javi might be horrified at not watching The Great Escape at least once a year.” She jokes. “Especially since Nick wants him to write a script for something similar.”
"I would watch anything they made together," you promise, smiling at the thought as you sip your tea. "I loved their first film, even before I met so many people that were involved in it."
“Everyone still believes they are joking when they say it’s based on true events.” She tells you with a shake of her head. “But it’s real.”
"You have to come out and see Hazelwood House," Tamara insists. "Seeing it on film doesn't do the place justice."
"The place you filmed the second movie?" You ask, and Tamara and Gigi nod eagerly. "Oh, I'd love to. It's gorgeous and I love old houses."
“It’s gorgeous.” Tamara promises. “And they have built a house that is slightly smaller, yet matches Hazelwood.”
"You have your own Hazelwood?" Your gasp is disbelief is equally delighted.
"Javi and Harry have something in common." Gigi tells you with absolute certainty. She is rummaging in a large tote bag and comes out with a pack of thick sketching pencils. "They both favor very big grand gestures."
Tamara chuckles. “Harry bought Mack a building.” She tells Gigi. “A large historical five story building in Tribeca. Percy was telling me allllll about it.”
"Oh?" Gigi grins, loving that her theory was proven right on a whole new level.
"It's..." You fluster, though, cheeks burning hot. "For a business."
Your friend completely ignores the embarrassed flapping hands you wave at her and grins back at Gigi. “Wants her to open her own event planning business. Maybe even have events there. We went to see it this morning, it’s fucking gorgeous. Perce said Harry hired the best historical architect in the city. Someone who can modernize and keep the historic charm of the building.”
"Well." Gigi grins as she puts down her own drink and shifts forward on the couch again. "I know where I'll be having all of my events whenever I come to New York."
“What a lovely idea.” From the faux surprise in her voice, it’s obvious Tamara has plotted this. “An award winning designer setting up exclusive shop at a fabulous event center? It’s like- a match made in Heaven!”
"Tam," you huff, not even managing to scold, but shake your head to let the laughter roll away gently. These lovely, meddling people in your life are so kind and so generous that you really can't be anything but grateful. Maybe bemused. Grateful and bemused. "As soon as the building is ready and the business is up and running, we'll be glad to have anyone who wants to hire us. Right now, we have to--"
"Focus." Gigi nods. "Of course, you're right. We're just very excited for you, honey."
“Okay.” She throws you a playful pout. “Back to wedding dress planning.” Everyone laughs and she reaches out to grab your hand and squeeze. “You’re gonna be such a beautiful bride.”
"That won't be difficult, when two of the most important pieces of the puzzle are accounted for. I have the perfect soulmate who makes me happy, and I have the most talented designer making my dress." If it's flattering, that is only a byproduct of it being true, which is a happy coincidence for all of you.
Gigi waves the compliment away, but there is a slightly proud glint to her eyes. Proud of the reputation she has built. “What are you thinking about?” She asks as she opens the sketch pad. She has some mock ups, but she is more interested in what you have envisioned.
“I’d like sleeves.” That’s something that is for your own mental well-being as well as for warmth, and you’re only willing to compromise up to a point. In your whole life of being overweight, your arms have always been a particular point of hatred when it comes to your body. Covering them will make the day so much less stressful for you. “And I’d like there to be some kind of beading. Those are the only two real design things I have in my head. If we end up doing two dresses, then being able to dance in the reception dress will be the main focus.”
“Sleeves and beading.” She nods as she jots down notes under the date, wanting to keep records of your meetings. “Any preference on skirt?”
“The venue is formal, so full length, I would think?” Thinking about all the trouble Harry went to for you makes the corners of your mouth turn up subtly. “I love the Art Deco nods we’re talking about, but I don’t to look like I’m wearing a costume.”
"Something elegant, sleek." Gigi nods, her brow creasing as she starts to sketch. "I think with your figure we should draw into your waist and let the lines of the beading flatter."
“I will happily defer to your expertise.” Especially since you’ve seen what she’s capable of creating, you would never pretend for a second to know better than Gigi does.
"I have brought a few sketches that I have worked on. Just ideas. Why don't you look through them while I give a rough sketch to this new idea?" She suggests, nodding wards another book.
You pick up the sheets carefully, seeing several different styles, and motion for Tamara to come sit beside you and look. Each drawn gown is more beautiful than the next, but none of them quite grip you the way you might have hoped. No sighs or yearning except over a detail here or a detail there.
"What do you think about a plunging neckline?" Gigi asks as she draws. "Nothing scandalous, of course."
“I don’t mind.” It’s just that you hadn’t considered it for one very good reason. “It wouldn’t…interfere with being able to wear shape wear, right?”
"Not at all." She looks up and grins at you. "You'd be surprised how many actresses wear shape wear under their red carpet gowns."
“Well that’s a relief.” The huff escapes you on a laugh.
“Believe me, I thought the same thing when I joined Javi for my first red carpet.” She tells you seriously.
"With all those sheer dresses and cut outs and high slits and every other thing, it's easy to think so." The tea that Gigi made you is soothing and warm, and you sip it contently. "I don't mind showing a little skin for myself, but my arms are a...we'll call them a trouble area."
“Your wedding day should be the one day out of all others that you feel absolutely beautiful.” Gigi tells you. “Even if others tell you that your arms are perfect, if you want them covered, you cover them.”
"Thank you." It's such a straightforward promise that you sink back in your seat a little in relief.
She smiles up at you for a moment before looking back down at her drawing.
"Are you thinking about veils yet?" Tamara asks, grinning as she rifles through the drawings with bright eyes. She's so damn excited for you.
"Not yet." You shake your head, looking down again at one of the drawings that has a handkerchief skirt. It looks like it would be so much fun to dance in. "I figured the dress needed to come first."
“But you will definitely want one.” Gigi smirks. “Especially if you have a tiara.”
Your eyebrows raise at that. “Don’t tell me…Harry’s idea?”
She snickers slight and shrugs. “He might have said something.” She admits with a casualness that says he definitely did say something.
“Which means he already bought it…or at least picked it out.” Maybe you ought to have expected it. It’s a very Harry thing to do. It’s the epitome of a grand gesture, that’s for sure.
“I think that it is awaiting your approval.” Gigi tells you. “At least that was what I was told.”
“Then I suppose…let’s not think about introducing any color or metallic tones in the dress’s beading until I know what sort of headpiece it is?” The flush of warmth in your blood is bashful pride, you decide. Harry is a wonder. And he’s your wonder, which makes you lucky as well as proud.
“We will keep everything white for now.” She winks at you and nods.
******
Walking into your office feels almost surreal after the morning you spent with Tamara and Gigi, but work is work. There is paperwork to do and you want to make sure that your threads are all tied up very nicely for whichever of your coworkers picks up each of the weddings you are currently planning. Once you put in your formal notice — a meeting which you are dreading but only because it will be awkward — you will contact your clients and let them know that their events are in good hands even though those hands won’t be yours anymore. You’re already looking forward to getting home and dropping into Harry’s outstretched arms and the day isn’t yet half over.
“Hey.” Chelsea, a tall blonde who has a bright smile and an incredible work ethic waves you over. “The Chaisson wedding, do you think that ivory would look better than bone?” She holds up two swatches of fabric. “The mothers are squabbling over it and the bride is stressing.”
"They're using light colors, aren't they?" If you recall the swatches you had seen with Chelsea's client work lately, they are. "Sage and butter yellow?" Chelsea nods. "Ivory will lighten it beautifully. Make it a little brighter? Bone has darker undertones."
“I was thinking the same thing.” She nods eagerly and shoots you a grateful smile. “Thank you.”
"Go with your instincts, Chels," you encourage her, giving her hand a squeeze when she reaches out to you.
“Thanks.” She glances around to make sure she’s not overhead. “You manage to encourage without cutting down, I really appreciate that.”
"Any time, honey." She seems out of sorts today but you know she's been under a lot of pressure from several angles lately, so you don't press. "Chin up, okay?"
She shoots you a wobbly smile and nods before she turns back to the list of things she is working on and scribbles herself a note.
You drop your purse at your desk, ready to plop down in the drab gray chair that matches every other desk set up in the open-concept office suite, when you see your boss crossing the room.
“Hey, Mack.” She shoots you a smile and motions towards her office. “Come talk to me. I’ve got another project for you.”
Oh god. That's not necessarily what you wanted to hear when you're planning on putting in your notice, but you smile back and stand up from your chair again to file into Theresa's office.
She walks back into her office, swinging back into the high back luxury seat. More expensive than the chair out there but this was the boss’s office. A few perks are in order.
“How are you, Theresa?” Since she’d granted your request to have the morning off, this is the first time you’ve been in the office all day.
“Busy with new work.” The publicity from the celebrity wedding has been very lucrative to the business, but she has been selective about who she is taking on. There are very few slots available for the rest of the year. “How was your morning off?”
“Productive, thank you.” Your nerves are ticking but you settle yourself into a chair across from her easily.
“We have a lot of new clients thanks to your work on your friend’s wedding.” She admits that with a quick nod. “So I have a new folder for you.”
"Unfortunately," you swallow harshly, hating that this is how this has to happen. "I have to decline taking on a new client."
She pauses, in the middle of picking up the packet and looks back at you. “You only have three clients right now.” She reminds you. “Even with your own wedding, you should be able to take on another.”
Drawing yourself to attention at the moment, you sit up straight in the chair and keep your hands steadily in your lap. Professional. Not fidgeting. "I was going to ask you for a meeting early next week," you tell her evenly. "But this seems like the time to speak to you instead." Come on Mack. Don't roll over because you're afraid to step out on your own. You've wanted this for your entire adult life. "I plan to put in my month's notice."
“What?” She drops the folder back down on the desk and stares at you. “You can’t quit. What happened?” She asks. “Whatever it is, we will take care of it.”
"There are no problems," you assure her, wishing you'd had the weekend to work out exactly what to say like you had planned. "You've been very encouraging to me, and this company has treated me especially well. I love my work." Deep breath and just be straightforward. "That is why I have decided to branch out on my own."
She freezes. Branching out on your own was not something she had thought was going to be an issue. Yes, your soulmate was rich, but you had assured her you were happy here. Now, she sees the lost profit and the competition. And she hadn’t gotten you to sign the noncompete that had been neglected. “On your own?”
“I’ve begun the work of incorporating my own business.” The paperwork is barely started, but Harry’s lawyer hooked you up with a colleague who has been fantastic at making the process feel less overwhelming. “The mentorships I’ve been fortunate enough to have in my career have me well prepared.”
“You’re fired.” The words come out instantly, her eyes flashing from shock to anger in a heartbeat. The fucking noncompete that you hadn’t signed allowed you to leave. Allowed you to potentially poach clients so she needed to get you out of here ASAP. “Get your things together now. I will have your final paycheck cut.”
"Theresa!" In your own shock, your chest suddenly feels hollow and tears bite at your eyes. "I had no intention of going without making sure that all my clients were put into good hands and everything was properly taken care of, I swear!"
“I don’t care to hear your excuses.” She stands and taps her fingers on the folder. “You have completely blindsided me with this, using your newfound connections and undermining a company I have fought tooth and nail to build.”
The letter of resignation currently sitting in your purse had explicitly promised not to poach clients from Dragonfly after you left, but apparently your 'excuses' weren't welcome here, so you don't bother to point it out. She'll never see that letter now. No one will. No one besides Harry, of course. He had proofread it for you. "I'm very sorry you feel that way," you say instead, standing from your chair on shaky legs. "I had intended to leave here on the best and most respectful of terms, but I see that won't be possible."
“Respectful?” She snorts and shakes her head. “I gave you an opportunity when no one else would have and now that you think you’ve had one successful event you can undermine my business?”
Forgetting the fact that you had already been working for a satellite office of her company for five years before coming to New York, there had been more than one job offer coming your way when you had decided to stick with Dragonfly and change your whole life. If she had ever known that, she's thrown fact out the window in favor or fiction -- either that or she's far more ignorant of her staff's backgrounds than you thought. Either way? The respect you had once had for this woman has evaporated on the spot.
"I'm sorry to see it end with anger instead of accord." Now drawn up to your full height, you step away from the chair with your shoulders back and your head held high. "I do wish you the best, Theresa. Even if you don't feel the same." The click of heels on hardwood is almost soothing , because it means just one thing. You're headed out the door.
“Shit….” She hisses and drops back down into her chair, hand pressing against her temples. She had just sold that couple on the planner for a celebrity wedding would be personally coordinating their event. Plus several more who didn’t want to work with anyone but you. Now you are leaving and she’s going to have to explain how this happened and try to keep their business.
The walls in this office are not thick enough to hold in the volume of Theresa's raised voice, but the big picture windows only face out to the street so at least no one watched you now former boss tear into you just now. Still, the sound seems to have rocked the office, as several people quickly whip their heads back toward their desks as you make your way across the space and try to remember if you have a bag or a box anywhere that is big enough to put the contents of your desk into.
There’s scattered whispers and furtive looks shot your way, but Chelsea is the one to approach you. “Hey.” She murmurs softly, touching your arm. “Anything I can help you with?”
Sniffling and watery-eyed despite the period set off your shoulders, you shake your head and wipe lamely at your cheeks. “Got a spare trash bag I can pack my desk into?”
“What?” Her mouth drops open and she looks around before she shuffles closer. “Is it because the Simmons account said they only wanted you to work with them?” She asks cautiously.
"I'm sure that didn't help." You push out a sigh, feeling shaky, and tilt your head in a silent request for Chelsea to walk with you. She doesn't hesitate, but stays right with you as you walk toward your desk. "I told her I was giving my notice and she fired me on the spot," you tell the younger woman quietly.
“That’s not fair.” She huffs, angry on your behalf. You have been nothing but kind a supportive. “Did you go to work for a competitor?” She asks. “I know ‘I Do’ has been itching to talk to you.”
"It's especially not fair because company policy says we're supposed to give two weeks' notice and I was trying to give her a month." Breath punches out of you all over again, shaky in your chest. "I'm starting my own firm. Just like I always wanted to. Apparently Theresa took exception to that."
“Your own-“ Chelsea bites her lip and cuts off what she was going to say. “That’s great.” She gushes quietly. “I am so happy for you.”
"Then why do you look like you just swallowed a lemon?" You ask her, pausing when you reach your desk.
“Honestly?” She bites her lip guiltily. “Because I’m going to miss you.” She admits. “You have been such a wonderful mentor and I love that you are branching out, but I hate it for me.” She shoots you a small grin. “So it’s because I’m selfish.”
“Oh, honey.” The sentiment instantly deflates you and you open up your arms, folding them around her in a tight hug when she accepts the place readily. “I’m going to miss you too. If I had enough audacity to claim I had a protégé, I’d want it to be you.”
She sighs and basks in the compliment. “I might call you sometimes?” She asks. “For some friendly chats and advice?”
“You can call me anytime you want.” Chelsea has a good head on her shoulders, is amazing with clients, and has a natural eye for style that can’t be manufactured. She’s also a sweetheart and you’ll be sorry not to see her as often as you do now. “I wish I had everything fully up and running already. I’d take you with me in a heartbeat.”
She smiles softly, “and I would come with you in a heartbeat.” She promises. “But I know the first few years of a new business is about staying afloat.”
“Thankfully I have really good investors,” you hum, giving her hands a squeeze. The last thing you want is for Theresa to come out and see Chelsea giving you a hand. Clearly the woman doesn’t mind making rash decisions and you don’t want her turning on your friend.
“That’s good.” She knows a little bit about your soulmate but she doesn’t ask too many personal question ever. Pulling back, she shoots you a smile. “We will get you packed up and you can go have a drink.”
“It’s going to be a hell of a story to tell when I get home.” Of course, Harry won’t be there. You’ll be there waiting like an utter disappointment when he gets home from the office. An office which you can guarantee didn’t fire him today.
******
When Harry gets a text message that says ‘Bring home dumplings’, he just figures you have a craving. Or maybe you are having a bad day. Then when he gets another text that says ‘Ohhhh how about a pastrami sandwich?’ he wonders if you just started your period. But when you send a third text that says ‘Bring ice cream home’, he starts to think you might be pregnant. Still he makes his way to several different restaurants and picks up everything you want, even adding crab rangoon, four of those garlic dill spears you love along with the Hawaiian Mac they make and four different kinds of ice cream so he can make sure you have exactly what you want. Opening the door, he juggles the bags. “Baby? I’m home.” He calls out, kicking the door closed behind him. “Brought all the food.”
“Baaaabe!" The call sounds like a question and it's punctuated with a giggle, coming from the direction of the living room.
His brows lift and he isn’t quite sure that he’s heard that tone before but it’s automatically making him grin as he walks towards the sound.
He finds you sitting cross-legged in leggings and an oversized t-shirt in a pile of blankets, pillows, and photo albums. Ever the sentimentalist, you don't just keep your photos digital. You have albums upon albums of the events you've helped plan over the years. Everything is spread out around you, with your phone and a nearly-empty bottle of wine.
“Well this looks like a trip down memory lane.” He’s not sure if you are organizing ideas for the wedding, but he had imagined it looking far different from this. Lifting the bags, he grins. “I brought your demands.”
You stare at him blankly for a long second before bursting out into giggles again and cover your face with one hand. "You brought it all?"
“Plus some other stuff.” He can tell that you are tipsy and it’s an adorable look. It also explains the texts with so many different demands. He chuckles. “We will have a feast. There’s dumplings, crab rangoon, the deli sandwiches and pickle spears, with that Hawaiian Mac you love and we have four different flavors of ice cream.” He announces proudly.
“Baaaaabe…” Immediately, through the hazy film of too much wine, your eyes water with loving appreciation. “You’re so fucking good to me.”
“Are you here by yourself?” He asks, although he doesn’t see another wine glass. Maybe one of your friends is the bathroom. “Or are you getting a little drunk by yourself?” He sets the bags down and crouches down to kiss you.
“This is shame wine,” you tell him firmly, although you accept the kiss that you’re not sure you deserve.
“Shame wine?” He tilts his head in confusion and shifts to sit on the sofa. “What is shame wine?”
“It’s wine.” You tell him firmly. “That you drink.” But still move over to make room for him on the couch. “When you are ashamed.” The plush sofa gives under the bulk of him and your mouth forms a firm frown. “I talked to Theresa today.”
He frowns back and shifts closer. “What do you have to be ashamed of?” He asks softly, reaching out and caressing your arm as you sigh.
Figuring that he will be even more embarrassed by you than you are of yourself when you tell him, you curl up on yourself a little and frown. "She...didn't accept my notice."
“Oh sweetheart.” He hates that you apparently were shown the door, obviously your former boss had some negative feelings about your life progression. But he reaches for you to pull you into a hug. “Fuck her.” He snorts. “She’s just bitter that she’s losing your talent.”
"I'm sorry." Docile from all the wine, you lean your head on his arm and sniffle. "The last thing you probably wanna do is introduce your unemployed fiancée at parties."
He snorts and presses a kiss to your temple. “You mean introduce my beautiful, talented, business owner fiancée?” He corrects gently. “Of course I want to do that. She has an amazing event planning business rolling out.”
“You’re so sweeet.” You moan, pressing your face into his arm like a pillow. “You’re the sweetest. Like a lollipop.”
He chuckles softly, happy that you are at least not quite as sad right now. "Of course I'm sweet." He reaches up to smooth your hair back and pet it softly. "I love you. I'm going to make sure you know how I feel."
An indulgent, throaty giggle bubbles out of you. "That means you're gonna eat me."
He chuckles. “You love when I do.” He reminds you. You’ve never been comfortable with receiving oral until him. At least that’s what you told him.
“I dooo.” Even with your voice muffled by his sweater and a haze of wine, you’re very clear about that. “You’ve got the best fucking tongue, baby.”
“It’s yours, whenever you want.” He promises. Tipsy and a little sappy, he likes this look on you. As long as you get over the sadness and shame. You have nothing to be ashamed of.
“That’s my secret,” you whisper dramatically, peering up at him with faux innocence. “I’m always horny.”
“Then you need to make sure I’m taking care of you like you need, baby.” More sex wouldn’t hurt his feelings at all.
“What’m I s’posed to dooo?” You’re pouting now but too tipsy to care. “Text you in the middle of a meeting cause I need you to fuck me on yer desk?”
Harry groans and his cock immediately approves of the idea, twitching violently. “Absolutely.”
With your lip jutted and out your hair a little mess from running your hands through it, you already look like you’re about to drag him to bed — or anywhere convenient. “I keep having a dream about you.”
“What’s that?” It might be a little unfair to keep you talking while you are drunk, but he wants you to share everything with him.
“Different but the same,” you try to explain despite being fuzzy. “You get feral,” and thinking about it has you just as slick as every other time you think about the damn dreams. “And just—” He looks so intense that you giggle. “You fuck me wherever is closest.”
Harry is a thorough lover. He is passionate, but he’s never been forceful with you. But it sounds like you would like that. “So you want me to just grab you and throw your legs up and fuck the life out of you?” He asks, barely resisted the urge to smirk. He doesn’t want you to think he’s making fun of you. Not when you are giving him your deepest desires.
“Not eeeeevery time.” You slump against him and hug his arm with one hand, waving the other aimlessly.
“Of course not.” He agrees. “But sometimes?”
"Sometimes would be fun."
“Noted.” He hums, smoothing your hair again and leaning down to kiss you.
Even a simple press of his lips to yours is enough to earn him a moan. The sound bubbles up from your throat and vibrates back into his mouth like an invitation.
Harry hums softly and pulls back after a moment. He would love to make you feel good, but you are tipsy and he is not.
When he pulls away you open your eyes slowly and blink in confusion. "Baby?"
Harry sees that you don’t understand and he reaches out to cup your cheeks. “Sweetheart, you are drunk and I’m not.” He reminds you gently. “I would be taking advantage of you.”
The deep pout on your face intensifies but you don't argue with him. Even through a haze of wine, you know enough to know that Harry loves you and he's taking care of you. Your sober self will be expressly fucking grateful for this particular green flag and something in the back of your head knows that. Instead of pressing him, you latch on to another idea entirely. "Wanna cuddle and watch a movie and eat?" You ask, wanting just to be close to him and to keep feeling that safety surrounding you.
“That sounds perfect to me.” He promises and leans in to kiss you again. “Believe me, I want you. I always want you.”
"Mmmm..." Just that fact alone is enough to make you hum contentedly, and you lean into him again as he begins to pull open the bags and set up all the take out he brought home in front of the two of you on the coffee table. "I love you, baby."
“I love you too.” He promises as he pushes up to grab forks and spoons. “Do you want a bottle of water or is wine still good for you?” He asks.
This time the pout is real and pronounced, but you sigh dramatically. "Waaaaterrrrr."
He chuckles and winks at you. “Your head will thank you in the morning, sweetheart.” He promises.
"Hungover fiancée is grumpy fiancée." And you wouldn't want to do that to him. Harry isn't the reason that your afternoon went sideways. Not at all. That is entirely Theresa's fault, and you being hungover and grumpy won't affect her at all.
He laughs as he disappears into the kitchen. Only taking a few minutes before he is back out with the utensils and waters for both of you. “Everything look good babe?” He asks. “I got that deli mustard you like on the side for the sandwiches.”
"Thank youuuuu." When he plops back down next to you on the couch you accept the cup of water he hands you and hand him the remote in turn. "You pick," you offer, because Harry the gentleman always offers to let you pick the movie first.
“Why don’t we pick something happy?” He offers with an amused smile when you practically throw the remote in his hand.
"Mmkay." That's easy enough for you to agree with. He normally likes thrillers and is a particular fan of Hitchcock, so happy would be a change of pace.
Harry finds something that seems like it’s a happy movie, not even sure what it’s about and turns it on. “So, baby, how was your morning at least?” He asks softly.
It doesn't really matter what he turns on. The point is just to spend time with him. "Goood." You're still tipsy, but food will soon help that and so will the water he's brought you. "But I have a bone to pick with you, mister." He raises an eyebrow, making you giggle. "Gigi tattled on you."
“Oh?” He tilts his head and stares at you for a moment. “What about?”
Looking at him over your sandwich with deadly seriousness, you have no idea how adorable you look and why he's nearly giggling. "Tiara?"
“Oh that.” He snorts and shrugs slightly as if it is no big deal. “I figured you would like it.”
“I just…” you blow out a breath and sigh. “You make me feel like a princess.”
“As you should.” He tells you just as seriously. “You are my princess.”
“You’re tooo sweet.” The sandwich he brought you is just about as perfect as he is, if you’re honest, but you’re distracted by him right now more than eating. “Do I get to know what it looks like?”
“Would you like to see a drawing?” He asks, pulling out his phone. “This is what they are creating for you.”
“You’re having it made?” You ask, eyes wide and incredulous when he starts opening a link in a text message.
“My theory is that it can become a family heirloom.” He grins as he hands you the phone.
It’s surprisingly understated considering some of the jewelry that Harry has given you, but the petite platinum and diamond tiara with its art deco design and scroll-like layout and pearl accents is not only beautiful, you can actually see it being just what he says. An heirloom. Something to pass on to a daughter, or granddaughter, or even a daughter-in-law. “It’s…” you sigh softly, fingers itching to touch his phone screen like it would give you a touch of precious metal instead. “Stunning.”
“You like it?” He had worried it might be considered too plain but he loved the idea of incorporating pearls into the design considering it was the first type of jewelry he had given you. “I wanted it to not be the only thing people focus on, you will be too gorgeous to overshadow.”
“I was already thinking of wearing my pearls for the wedding.” And for the same reason, showing how sentimental you both really are. “It’s perfect.”
“Good.” He sighs in relief and gives you a grin. “It will be here in two weeks.”
“Fitting.” You beam at him. “I’m going to go take care of a little present for you in about two weeks.”
“A present for me?” He looks a little surprised, as if he had never expected a gift. “Baby, you don’t have to buy me anything.”
“I know, but I want to.” A bit of talking, some food, and a cup of water has you feeling remarkably more yourself. “You do so much for me. Give me so much. You deserve sweet things, too.”
“You are my sweet thing.” He murmurs softly, smiling at you.
“Which is how,” you lean forward to kiss him. “I know you’re going to love what I have planned.” The photographer has been called and the photo session booked. You had done that first thing this morning before picking up Tamara from the airport. In a way, it’s good that you already took the step forward. It will give you something else to concentrate on for a little while, along with planning Friendsgiving.
“Well now I’m going to be curious.” He admits with a smirk. “New lingerie?”
“It’s lingerie adjacent,” you admit. After all, you are planning on wearing a new set for at least some of the photos.
“Hmmmm.” He’s curious but he won’t question you, preferring to be surprised. “That sounds like fun.”
"I'm hoping so." Even if it's not perfect to you, it's something Harry will enjoy and that is what will make it worthwhile.
You eat the pickle and then switch to the Hawaiian Mac with a groan. “Good?” Harry asks, happy that you aren’t as sad as you had been when he got home.
"Why is this so perfect?" You groan happily, laughing at yourself even as you fork up another bite. "Wine makes me hungry."
He chuckles and picks up his water bottle for a sip. “Did you get a chance to talk to your clients?” He asks.
"I'm glad I had the e-mails already in my drafts." Getting those things written early was the best decision you could have made, although you didn’t realize it at the time. “I sent them before I left the office but I haven’t checked for replies yet.”
“I’m sorry sweetheart.” He means that, reaching out and squeezing your hand. “I know you were looking forward to wrapping things up nicely.”
“Things don’t always happen the way you want them to.” And that is something that you’ll remind yourself of over the next few weeks and months. However long it takes you to get your own business off the ground.
“No, but I know that in this case, they happened for a reason.” He tells you.
“I hope so.” Or else, what are you even working toward?
Hey fanfic writers who know their way around the kitchen, I have an idea for you:
Pick two characters that you like writing together, and a recipe you're proud of doing really well, and then write a short story of the two of them making that dish, depicted in such precise detail that someone reading through it could actually reproduce the dish by just following the instructions written into the action and dialogue.
If you're so inclined, you may keep sprinkling the story with red herring hints that the story is going to get ~saucy~ at some point, but it doesn't. You're just showing your readers how to make one hella damn good lemon meringue. Nobody fucks around your lemon meringue.
And as a perfect example of this, I highly recommend for all the PPCU girlies (gn):
🍞 A Bakers Dozen by @avastrasposts 🥐
Because not only does Mel brilliantly incorporate a whole slew of P Boys (one per chapter) into this fic set into a bakery, and where they end up making a baked good for every chapter - but at the end of each part she also links to her favorite recipe that details exactly how to make it. 😍
It’s brilliant, delicious and super captivating. Exactly the kind of read you want on a Sunday! And it never is boring or repetitive; not only because she captures so well how different each character is, but also the scenarios are all very different, so you’re really swept up in the whole storyline of the series.
Go read it or at least bookmark it, and show her some love!
Also highly recommended when it comes to food centric fics: @penvisions writes absolutely gorgeous and incorporates her own background as a baker into these fics, so she knows what she’s talking about!
🥖 Melting Point (Frankie Morales x baker!reader)
And
🍲 Garnish (Joel Miller x bartender!reader)
I know there are tons of other food centric PPCU fics out there but it’s Sunday morning, I’m sleepy and can’t currently think of them (who was it again that wrote the line cook!Frankie x waitress!reader fic? That was such a good read too).
Thank you, my darling, for such kind words! I love my A Baker's Dozen and I'm really proud of it and to see others love it too is just such a treat! I'm especially proud of Din's chapter, Ezra's and Pero's (kick started my love for that scowling man).
Hey fanfic writers who know their way around the kitchen, I have an idea for you:
Pick two characters that you like writing together, and a recipe you're proud of doing really well, and then write a short story of the two of them making that dish, depicted in such precise detail that someone reading through it could actually reproduce the dish by just following the instructions written into the action and dialogue.
If you're so inclined, you may keep sprinkling the story with red herring hints that the story is going to get ~saucy~ at some point, but it doesn't. You're just showing your readers how to make one hella damn good lemon meringue. Nobody fucks around your lemon meringue.
And as a perfect example of this, I highly recommend for all the PPCU girlies (gn):
🍞 A Bakers Dozen by @avastrasposts 🥐
Because not only does Mel brilliantly incorporate a whole slew of P Boys (one per chapter) into this fic set into a bakery, and where they end up making a baked good for every chapter - but at the end of each part she also links to her favorite recipe that details exactly how to make it. 😍
It’s brilliant, delicious and super captivating. Exactly the kind of read you want on a Sunday! And it never is boring or repetitive; not only because she captures so well how different each character is, but also the scenarios are all very different, so you’re really swept up in the whole storyline of the series.
Go read it or at least bookmark it, and show her some love!
Also highly recommended when it comes to food centric fics: @penvisions writes absolutely gorgeous and incorporates her own background as a baker into these fics, so she knows what she’s talking about!
🥖 Melting Point (Frankie Morales x baker!reader)
And
🍲 Garnish (Joel Miller x bartender!reader)
I know there are tons of other food centric PPCU fics out there but it’s Sunday morning, I’m sleepy and can’t currently think of them (who was it again that wrote the line cook!Frankie x waitress!reader fic? That was such a good read too).
Thank you, my darling, for such kind words! I love my A Baker's Dozen and I'm really proud of it and to see others love it too is just such a treat! I'm especially proud of Din's chapter, Ezra's and Pero's (kick started my love for that scowling man).
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: 14.3k
Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* (Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking.) Allusions to sex, Harry making grand gestures (again), awkward conversation, unconventional life decisions.
Summary: The afternoon you have planned to have lunch with Lucy and John is as memorable as it is surprising, for several reasons.
Notes: Enjoy, my darlings! We are approaching the end of Harry and Mack's story but there are still a few threads to tie up before that will happen. 🧡 Enjoy a silly gif because I'm in a very silly mood.
Sunday mornings at home have taken on a slow pace now that you live together. Harry still likes his morning work outs but you got home from the fundraiser pretty late last night and both wanted to sleep in. After your favourite cardio – in bed and again in the shower after – you ended up in the living room in Harry's lap looking through one of about fifteen bridal magazines you currently have with your work resources. Except this time, you're actually looking at things for your own wedding.
“What are you thinking for flowers?” Harry asks. “Besides your favorites, of course.”
"You did my favorites when you proposed..." Flipping through bridal magazines mostly means a whole hell of a lot of ideas and very few solid impressions, but you're enjoying just thinking through ideas right now. "Would you rather have a few certain types of flowers, or stick to a color scheme?"
“I don’t think we’ve even decided on a color scheme, have we?” He asks. You always want his input on the decisions, but he’s also thrilled to give you the wedding of your dreams.
“Not in a nailed down kind of way.” The initial discussion right after he proposed was the only time you’ve talked about colors and that was in no way decisive. “We talked about black and metallics but nothing was decided for sure.”
“It’s a very neutral background.” Harry observes. “Allowing for colorful flowers.” He likes the idea of black and gold or black and silver with the main colors coming from the florals.
“Is Mr. My Favorite Color is Black coming around to the idea of something more colorful?” You tease, sending him a winsome grin. Harry’s got more vibrancy in him under the layer of practicality that he wears like armor, you just like seeing where bits of it shine through.
“I know my beautiful fiancée loves color.” He counters with a teasing smirk. “And ‘happy wife happy life’ is the motto my father has said is the most important to live by.”
“Do you like gold or silver better?” The pages of the magazine in your hand are open to gorgeous bridal inspiration photos of color palettes and you flip between them with curiosity. For all the times you’ve imagined your wedding, the fact that it’s real now has you a bit indecisive.
“Gold is a little….more impressive.” Harry admits. “But silver can be more subtle. Mix with more colors.” He tilts his head. “What do you think?”
“I think…” looking through the pages again and picking up your phone, the lockscreen image of the two of you in the library at Biltmore that you took just hours before he proposed smiled back at you with the obvious choice. “That you like gold and that it coordinates with the venue. There’s so much gold leaf in everything that silver might not work as well.”
“I agree.” He admits with a chuckle. “I was thinking about the greenery.” He admits. “There’s a lot of leafy plants in the old pictures of the Vanderbilt family gatherings.” He hums. “What do you think about having plants around the edges of the rooms?”
"What if..." Your head tilts, running through the idea in your head at the same time you say it out loud. "We did gold, black, and green for our colors? We could have greenery and mostly white flowers, gold for metallics for the New Years Eve party vibe, and black accents to make everything a little more sophisticated?" A slow smile creeps across your lips. "Maybe a little art deco vibe?"
“I like that.” He agrees, smirking back at your excitement that is lighting up your eyes. “It sounds very Great Gatsby of you.”
"Shush." You huff at him, even though that's exactly what you were thinking and why you lit up so much. "Stop reading my mind like that. It's very disconcerting."
“So you wouldn’t want the bridesmaids to wear flapper dresses?” He asks, lifting a brow.
"I don't want our wedding to look like a costume party," you admit, but you shrug one shoulder in pretend nonchalance. "But if there was a themed bachelorette party, I mean...that is a different story."
“I think a themed wedding, if that’s what you want, would fit the New Year’s Eve vibe perfectly.” He hums.
"Maybe we can give things an themed edge, without it looking too Halloween-y?" You can already see emerald green and gold invitations in your mind, and that string of pearls he bought you from Tiffany would be stunning with a lacy dress.
“And we could always do the second outfit for the reception?” He suggests. “Traditional dresses for the ceremony and pictures and then fun dresses for the party?”
"You want to do an outfit change." You put one hand to your chest in mock shock. "That's so extra of you, babe. I love it."
“For you?” Harry snorts and rolls his eyes. “I will do several outfit changes.” In truth, it doesn’t matter to him if he wears the same outfit, but you might care.
"I have my first dress design meeting at the end of next week." It's unbelievable that you get to do something so unique, and it feels like a dream that it's happening so fast. "Let's see what she says and we can go from there. If having her make two dresses isn't feasible, then that's fine."
He nods. “Sounds like we’ve decided on our colors.” He likes that you’ve made some advancements in the planning. “My parents are insisting on helping with the wedding.” He tells you quietly. “But I’ve already declined.”
"They'll find something else to help with, I'm sure." Which is perfectly fine. It isn't about needing financial help, it's about wanting to be involved in the planning. And you absolutely want to be involved. "My parents are talking about the rehearsal dinner," you tell him in return. "I'm trying to explain that the rehearsal dinner is already part of the package we put a payment down on. Maybe we can have something in Fayetteville that they can throw? The bridal shower, maybe?"
"We can do a party in Fayetteville and one in New York?" He suggests. "Let our mother's plan them together?"
"I'm happy to let them plan whatever they want." Though your mothers get along, they have very different tastes. Hopefully letting them work together will yield something unique, not a tiff.
“Exactly,” he pulls you closer and kisses your cheek. “Although I’m going to offer to fly your mother up for everything here.”
"She'll fuss," you warn him. "But she'll give in because it will make her feel fancy." Which is, admittedly, the same reason that you inevitably give in when he wants to spoil you. You press in to kiss him and sigh – a sound of quiet resignation. "We should get ready for lunch."
"Are you still wanting to go out?" He asks, willing to take you anywhere you want to go, but it's almost too cozy being here with you.
“We can’t exactly cancel plans with Lucy and John to stay in and giggle over wedding magazines in bed,” you remind him. “Although we can certainly do that after lunch if you want.”
He snorts and nods. “Yeah, we can’t cancel. Not when it’s my way of saying thank you for taking care of you.” He pats your hip and sighs.
“Come on,” you hoist yourself up from the couch with a loud sigh that’s exaggerated enough to make him laugh. “We’ll be glad we did it, we just gotta get moving.”
He grumbles, but it’s more of a good natured thing as he follows you into the bedroom to get dressed. The once empty second section to the large walk in closet is now filled with your growing wardrobe.
“You should wear the green suit.” The sushi restaurant he loves best is upscale and trying to convince Harry to dress down is like pulling teeth, so you don’t even bother bringing it up.
“Grey shirt?” He asks as he thinks about it.
"Perfect." You have a grey wool skirt you can wear to compliment, with a comfortable linen blouse sporting a subtle floral pattern. Somehow looking like a cohesive couple is soothing the general anxiety in the back of your mind. There is no reason to be afraid of Harry realizing he has unresolved feelings left for Lucy, but the fear won't pass until after this lunch date is over with.
“What are you wearing?” He asks, turning towards you and biting his lip as he watches you start to pull off your lounging shorts you had been wearing. Admiring your ass shamelessly.
"Grey swing skirt and that floral shirt that you like." He says it shows off your tits, but you're more inclined to think that he just likes looking at them no matter what.
“God.” He groans playfully and reaches out to slap your ass, grabbing a handful and stepping closer behind you. “Now I’m going to be eager to get done with lunch and get you home.”
"Oh nooooooo," you pout, laughing when he grabs another handful of your ass and leans in to kiss your neck. "That wasn't the reason I picked that top at alllll."
“I love you.” He knows that you have some feelings you aren’t discussing about having lunch with his ex-girlfriend. A woman he had been on the verge of asking to marry him. Even if you don’t vocalize the worry, he can see it. He kisses your neck on the other side and sighs. “You make me happy.”
"I love you too." Even if you weren't sporting a massive rock on your ring finger, you would know that. In your core, you know you and Harry are meant to be together. There's just some insecurities buried in there that you aren't so sure about bothering him with. "You're the best thing that ever happened to me, and that's saying a lot."
He squeezes your ass and reluctantly pulls away from you. “After lunch, why don’t we go shopping for some of those bridesmaids gifts?” He asks. “Don’t you put together some basket thing when you ask or something?” He had heard Peter talk about it endlessly when he and Charlotte got married but he didn’t have a clue. But his brother did give him a nice box of cigars when he asked him to be his best man.
"I hadn't thought about it yet," you admit, but it's a relief to have something else to think about besides worry. "I still have to decide who I'm going to ask." A large list of possibilities existed, but you and Harry weren't yet sure of anything besides wanting Chloe, Percy, and Peter involved.
“I know.” He shrugs. “I just didn’t want you to think I wasn’t going to take you anywhere else.” He jokes.
You hum, but shake your head and sigh as you breathe in his clean cologne. "I know better than to think you would give up on an outing without spoiling me."
“You act like it’s the most horrible thing in the world that I want to buy you whatever your heart desires.” He snorts dramatically.
"I'm still not used to it," you point out. Shirt, skirt, boots, and a retouch of your hair and you're ready to go. The last thing is a dab of the expensive perfume he bought for you and your favorite lipstick, and the last thing is double checking your purse while he checks his hair in the mirror.
Harry has meticulously dressed after letting you go. The dark green suit and the lighter grey shirt is a good combo. He pairs it with onyx cufflinks and a pocket square that is the same shade of grey but opts not to wear a tie. Dressing down for him. But the black leather belt matches the black loafers he is wearing.
"I–" Turning with your purse in your hand, your eyebrows raise slightly and find yourself more than a little bit dazed. Your soulmate, the man the universe decided is your perfect match, is also the single most attractive man you've ever seen in your life. And this afternoon he has out done himself. "Wow, baby."
“Too much?” He just has to spritz on the cologne you picked out for him while you were in NC. A little boutique in downtown Asheville where they hand mix perfumes and colognes. You swear it was made for him and you love it. He was wearing some earlier, but he wanted to make sure it was fresh.
"N-no. I just..." What else can you do besides laugh a little. He's so stunning you've almost forgotten how to form full sentences. "I just can't believe you're real sometimes."
“Not like those BookTok characters.” He snorts, smirking at you because he had seen some do the recommendations that had come up for your interests.
"You're better than the men on BookTok," you swear. "I promise you that with my whole heart and my whole cunt."
He laughs and waggles his brows. “That’s just because you know what I will do with your cunt.” He’s probably only said that word a few times before you but you seem to like it over pussy.
"Yes, I absolutely do. And I look forward to you doing it again sometime very soon." And you also don't mind if the once-over you give him is hungry as hell, either, because you're more than allowed to lust after your own fiancé. "But for now we have to go be civil in public."
“Too bad we didn’t come back here sooner.” Harry grumbles as he finishes up and slides his wallet into the inner pocket of his jacket. “I could have fucked you over the dressing table and left you sitting in my cum while we eat sushi.”
The way he drops that little idea oh-so-casually has you frozen with your jaw on the ground as he steps over to open the door.
Turning back, he offers his arm to you without a hint of a smirk that is simmering on the inside. He had been waiting to use that on you today. To give you what he wants to do to think on while you gauge yourself against his ex. "Coming sweetheart?" He asks innocently. "We don't want to be late."
“Fucking shit, Harry.” You mutter, shaking yourself back to reality. “You can’t just say that to me and expect me to be functional.” Though you do manage to take his arm, you still feel like you’re in a daze as you step into the elevator with him.
He chuckles quietly, looking over at your profile as he admires how beautiful you look. "Maybe we should go shopping for toys after lunch?" He hums. "Explore a little."
“Let’s see how we feel after lunch?” Even with that comment ringing in your head you still don’t know how you’re going to feel after meeting the woman he almost proposed to — but the fact that he’s putting so much effort into giving you other things to think about is mollifying.
“That sounds like a plan.” He notices that you are wearing the jewelry he gave you, the necklace almost like armor. Reaching over and covering your hand with his other as the car descends down into the parking garage. “I love you.”
“I love you.” Words of affirmation. A promise. And that is armor, too.
******
The lighting is intimate, even in the middle of the day on a Sunday. Candles at the tables, dark wood and walls, the quiet music perfect for conversations that aren’t meant to travel to the next table. You and Harry arrive first which was a part of his plan and he gives the name to hostess.
“I have a reservation for four?” She looks down at her computer and back up at Harry, menus collected in one hand.
“Yes, the rest of our party should be arriving shortly.” He acknowledges.
“Wonderful. Follow me, please.” This particular restaurant has two floors, and she directs you toward a staircase and then down the stairs. While not a VIP area by name, it does ensure a little more privacy for certain clientele. “Your server will be right with you,” she tells you politely, once you’ve reached the table.
“Thank you.” Harry steps behind your chair and pulls it out for you to sit. He had asked for privacy considering how awkward the conversation could be.
It's only a few minutes later that more voices come from the stairwell, and you know before even hearing John's voice that it's them. Some kind of odd instinct kicks in and you remind yourself to smile, simultaneously grateful for Harry's hand on your knee under the table.
Harry gives your knee a good squeeze before he stands up as the couple comes into view. “John, Lucy.” He keeps his tone neutral, but welcoming. “So glad you could join us.” He hums.
It’s only polite for you to stand too, and you shake hands with the other couple before everyone is seated.
Lucy is…stunning. Your stomach flips unhappily and your chest tightens looking at this rail-thin, model-tall woman that Harry used to date. That he used to sleep with. This woman used to sleep in the same bed you now do.
She’s had a baby and she still looks like she belongs on a magazine cover.
You can dimly hear John remark how nice it was for Harry to invite them out over the sound of blood pounding in your ears.
Harry settles down beside you as his hand finds your thigh under the table. You are quiet, but that’s not surprising. “I am glad you could find a sitter. I wanted to thank you again for making sure that Mack was safe last week.”
“It’s not a situation anyone ever wants to be in,” John gestures to you. “But I’m glad I was there to help.”
“Absolutely.” Harry nods seriously, glancing between the couple. “So how old is your child?” He asks politely.
“A year.” Lucy answers, at the same time John says, “Thirteen months.” The father is armed with photos, immediately opening a folder on his phone to offer.
You take that easily, because kids are generally pretty cute, and find hundreds of images waiting. The very first is immediately striking — a sweet little girl in a purple dress and white frilled socks with a thick head of dark brown hair and John’s blue eyes. “Oh she’s precious!” You sigh out immediately. “What’s her name?”
"Gracie." Lucy answers with a smile of pride on her face. Harry leans over your shoulder to look at the photos. "She is a beautiful little girl." He tells them honestly. "You are obviously proud parents."
“We’re very lucky.” John affirms, his own expression bright with pride. Things haven’t been all sunshine and daisies for their family but they’re getting better. And they’ve been better with Gracie in their lives.
Harry looks back at you and smiles softly. Wondering what your child together would look like. Would they have your eyes? His weird curved in ears? Your hair? His? He wants to see it.
Like you can read his mind, your eyes lift to his and your mouth curves in a smile. Just a little bit longer your smile seems to say, and then you look back down at John's phone as he flips to another photo to show you.
"Those are my parents," he explains. The picture he's pulled up is of a first birthday party.
"Oh wow!" You murmur, inspecting it closer. "She looks just like your mother! That's so beautiful."
The waiter comes over to the table and Harry looks around at everyone seated. “I think that we will have a round of sake and a bottle of champagne for the table.” He instructs. “As well as a rum and coke for my fiancée.” He glances towards John. “A Bud Light for the gentleman, a coke and a Michelob Ultra for the lady and a McCallan 18 straight up for myself.” He glances at everyone. “Did I miss anything?”
"I think if we drink all that and still want more, we can cover it then," you assure him, tucking a smirk into the corner of your mouth. Harry's attention to detail and steel-trap memory never fail.
"Certainly, sir." The server already looks amused at how this table might go for him. "Will there be any starters for the table?"
A small debate follows, where you and Lucy discover a mutual love of all sorts of tempura and the guys end up looking over the list of Nobu's list of snacks as though they aren't the swankiest appetizers known to man. The assortment you all pick out together is probably too much but it all sounds delicious, and you settle back in your seat to look over the entrees while the chatting continues.
“I think that we should have the Nori Caviar tacos.” Harry suggests to you quietly. “They are amazing and I know you will love them.” He glances over at John and Lucy leaning over together to look at the menu. He knows that Lucy remembers the last bill he paid here with her. “The check is already taken care of.” He tells them both diplomatically. “My invitation, my treat.”
"Harry..." John frowns, ready to insist on splitting the tab, but it isn't up to him. Lucy's salary is what provides for their family and they both know it.
“Please.” Harry levels a look between the couple. “It’s my gesture of goodwill.”
Lucy always liked the way Harry spent money. On her. On things. It seems that aspect of his personality is constant. And really? It's a shame she has to spend her own money these days, except that the promotion at Adore has ensured that she has all she and her family could possibly need. She smiles but the motion doesn't reach her eyes. "Thank you. It's never easy to have something like that happen and we know you would've done the same for anyone else if it was you in that flower shop instead of John."
Harry tilts his head, wondering if he had been as wooden as Lucy was just a few years ago. If he had smiled but not really felt it. “And John knows the gratitude he would feel if he was in my position.”
"I absolutely do." John nods. The whole thing is a little awkward for him – obviously – but he's going to power through this out of an abundance of good manners. His mother didn't raise a heathen. "So you two," he motions between you and Lucy, "are sort of in adjacent industries."
Lucy looks towards you with an appraising curiosity. “Oh?” She asks, reaching for the water on the table. “What is it that you do, Mack?”
"I'm a wedding planner." Assuming she has specific feelings about everyone in the greater wedding and romance industry, you won't assume to know what those feelings are. "We're on opposite ends of the spectrum, it seems."
“I’m the beginning and you are the ending.” She hums, a slightly amused smile twists her lips as her gaze flickers towards Harry and the double entendre of the statement makes her giggle quickly before she takes a sip. “How appropriate.”
"Unexpectedly so." The comment might be derisive, but you can't tell. It probably isn't and it's just that your hackles are already raised. "Do you enjoy your work?"
“I’m good at it.” She admits, although that’s not an answer. She had wanted to quit after Harry, but she had quickly learned that she would have to provide most of the income in her new little family if she wanted anything.
"Then I certainly hope it's satisfying." Since she skirted your question, you have to assume she doesn't actively enjoy her career, which is a shame. Though you know you're lucky in that respect.
She smiles and then changes the subject. “What about you?” She asks as the waiter comes back with the drink orders. She is looking forward to having a drink and a meal that isn’t centered around her daughter. As much as she loves her, she needs a break. “How do you enjoy planning weddings?”
"I love it." The honest answer is very straightforward, and you don't mind that at all. You pause to thank the waiter for your drink and take a sip. "Recently I've been...I've had requests for other sorts of events. I'm considering branching out and doing more than just weddings. But I love being a part of people's big day."
"Do you have your own company?" She asks, tilting her head curiously. You aren't anything like what she had expected but you are nice.
"Not just yet." You look over at Harry and smile. "I'm...being encouraged in that direction."
She glances between you and Harry and hums softly. Slightly jealous of the idea of having a business to call your own, although she is surprised that you are still planning to work. She had assumed that Harry would encourage you to quit.
"That must be exciting." John has his own jealousies over a successful career, but he can't claim to be ambitious enough to run his own business or envy your industry at all.
"I think it will be," you agree. "At least, I'm optimistic about the possibilities."
"Whatever Mack decides, she will be successful." Harry promises, reaching for your hand and bringing it up to kiss the back of it gently. Smiling at you in reassurance. "She's amazing at everything she does."
"Well now you're just being flattering." But, as silly as it is, it makes your heart skip a beat. His utter faith in you and your abilities is unwavering. "I just have an excellent partner and one-man cheerleading squad."
Someone who didn't know how you normally interact might think that Harry was putting on a performance for his ex and her husband, but he's not focused on them. He doesn't really care what they think of his relationship with you, but he is proud of you and shows it. He shoots you a small wink and then turns back towards the other couple. "So John, how is your play doing?" He asks politely.
“Ahhh…not bad.” He’s a little flabbergasted by the dynamic between the two of you, but then again he doesn’t really know his soulmate’s ex. And he barely even knows you — just what you had chatted about in the car last weekend. You’re just not at all what he expected. “We’re in good shape. Looking forward to opening and seeing what happens with the show.”
"We will have to come see it." Again, it's manners that offers this. The last play Harry had been to had been awful in his opinion. Maybe this other one wouldn't be as bad. "I've heard there's a dinner club that's opened up. Heard good reviews about it." He tells John. "I don't know if it's plays or music, have you heard of it?"
“Mm.” John nods through a sip of his beer. “It’s a cabaret. Mostly music but they do sometimes have other acts. I’ve heard good things but it’s…” his smile goes lopsided. “It’s hard to get out these days. We spend most nights at home.”
"That's reasonable with a child." Harry nods, knowing that even if you could afford it, you wouldn't want a nanny at home with your future children.
“I’m sure a lot of things have changed now that you have her.” God damn. You’ve really got to find some kind of way to break the ice or this lunch is going to be a tedium of good manners. “For the better, I would think.”
The waiter comes back with the appetizers and Harry smiles as they are set down. "Can we also have four orders of the Nori Caviar Tacos please?" He requests. "No one will want to share." He predicts with a laugh. The waiter smiles knowingly and nods, stepping away again easily.
“So…” John slaps his hands on his thighs under the table and laughs nervously. “I’m not the only one who feels a little awkward, right?”
Harry chuckles and shakes his head. "No, I don't think that you are." He admits, glancing around the table and sighing. "Perhaps we should get this out of the way then."
There is an uncomfortable shift around the table but no one argues. As much as you don't want any kind of confrontation in this meal – especially since you feel responsible for bringing everyone together – it's probably a good idea to clear the air. You put your hand on his thigh the way his was on yours just a few minutes ago.
"Lucy." Harry glances at you for a moment and then back towards his ex. "I want to thank you for ending things with me." He tells her honestly. "You did me– both of us– a great favor."
"You were so convinced that you didn't have a soulmate." She reminds him, and waves a hand in your direction across the table. "And look where you are now."-
"I was wrong." He can admit that, turning and giving you an adoring look.
“And now you have a tattoo to prove it,” you tease, cheeks burning with how broadly you’re smiling.
Lucy’s brows shoot up, aware that Harry hadn’t exactly liked tattoos when he had discovered all the small ones she had on her body. “A tattoo?”
"I got one on a girls' weekend," you tell her, seeing the amusement on Lucy's face.
“That had to be quite the reaction.” She laughs quietly and reaches for John’s hand. “John doesn’t mind tattoos, but Harry was more conservative about body art.” She snickers. “I tried to get him to get one with me once.”
“I kept it small on purpose.” Which is something you’ve never told Harry outright, and widens your smile a little as you tap the area behind your ear. “But I was certain about our soulmate status and wanted to prove it to him.”
“How exciting.” Lucy’s eyes light up with interest, the first real spark of emotion that can be read off of her tonight. “How did he take it?”
Lips pressed together in amusement, you bite back the little laugh in your chest. “Not super well,” you admit. But only because I didn’t tell him I was getting it, so he was afraid it was going to be proof against us.”
She tilts her head as she glances back at Harry, a small mysterious smile on her lips. “I can see how that would worry him.” She announces. It’s interesting to see the man who said that he had such trouble finding love to be head over heels.
"Technically I was taking a risk." A poorly calculated one based on the strength of your heart's convictions, and a fair bit of booze and comradery. "But I was certain. And I was right."
“I’m happy for you both.” She says, her eyes finding John again and there’s a softening of her blank expression. Her finger twists a small, delicate flower ring that is on her finger. Not the rock Henry had been ready to give her, but a ring she had gotten on their first wedding anniversary. John had saved his money for nearly a year to buy it and it was precious to her. “When it’s meant to be...” she glances back at both of you. “There’s no fighting it.”
“I couldn’t agree more.” Your ring may be different from hers, your stories divergent in so many different ways, but in this moment you might actually understand her a little better. Lucy took a very different leap of faith with her own soulmate, but you both still leapt.
And just like that, the tension around the table seems to melt away. Harry sniffs back a chuckle and reaches for his drink, opting for the champagne as he lifts it. “To our soulmates.” He offers. “And being meant to be.”
"I'll drink to that." John lifts his champagne, following Harry's cue, and you and Lucy do the same. That first sip is all the sweeter for the way everyone is smiling a little more comfortably. Breathing a little more easily. This lunch might not have been such a bad idea after all.
******
“I think that turned out very well.” Harry comments as Lucy and John wave once more before turning the corner to disappear to the subway.
“Surprisingly so.” While you stand on the curb waiting for Stanley to pull the car around, you wrap your hand around Harry’s arm and lean into his side. “I’m embracing the chaos, though.”
“I think that we can safely say that the next time we run into them, it won’t be awkward.” He turns to pull you against him. “Have those self-doubts eased now?”
With a soft groan and a roll of your eyes, you send him a pout. “Just gonna call me out like that? So straight to the point?”
He bites back a small smile and shrugs one shoulder. “Should I have pretended to ignore the way you tried to compare yourself to Lucy when you met her?” He asks, taking your hand and lifting it up for a kiss.
“She’s prettier than I am.” You can see the car is the next in line for the curb. “It’s impossible not to see that immediately.”
Harry snorts. “That’s subjective, I’m afraid.” He tells you, “and I don’t believe that is true at all.”
“It’s impossible not to compare myself.” Which might seem like a weak protest, but at least you’re being honest. “Even though we love each other and I know we’re a good match and I’m so proud to be your soulmate…there’s still the not-so-little voice in my head that tells me I’m not good enough. And I know you know that. That’s just something I have to deal with.”
“Do you know what I felt when I saw her?” He asks softly, his hand running up and down your back as he holds you close. He knows the car will be here in a moment, but this conversation is more important.
"You're going to say something sweet." You know he is. That's just Harry. "And I'll feel bad for worrying."
“You never need to feel bad for what you feel.” Harry promises. “I felt relief.” He admits. “Relief that she was brave enough to want more. To choose what some would have said was the wrong man.” He sighs. “I didn’t love her. I liked her. But that was looking at our relationship like a business deal.” He pauses. “Transactional.”
"You told me once that you asked her out because your mother wanted you to get married." When the car pulls up to the curb he opens the door and tucks you inside before sliding in after you. The door shuts and the car starts to move despite being given no direction. "You were approaching it like business, not like the rest of your life."
“Now I’m only thinking about the rest of my life.” He tells you, his fingers toying with the beautiful ring that proclaims you as his fiancée. “With you.”
"I love you so much." Leaning into his side as the car moves through New York traffic, you remind yourself to take a deep breath and trust. Trust that Harry knows his own mind. Trust that you are your own worst critic. And trust that the future is what you make it. "What do you want to do with the rest of our day, love? Do you still want to go out?"
“If you want to.” He knows that his little speech hasn’t magically changed the little voice in the back of your mind. His voice still says sometimes that people view him like they did when he was 5’6” tall.
"I don't want the annoying voice in the back of my head to ruin the rest of the day." This time it's you who picks up his hand to kiss. "You were talking about looking for bridesmaids’ gifts earlier. Does that mean we're ready to finalize our wedding party?"
“I know I want Peter and Percy as my groomsman.” That is a given. “How many bridesmaids do you want?”
"I have to have Chloe." If he has laid claim to Percy, which is his right, then you doubly want your other best friend by your side. "And I've thought about asking Tamara and Charlotte. What do you think?"
“Then we should balance out the party.” He theorizes. “I will have to have another groomsman.” He smiles. “I could always ask John.” He teases.
The teasing works, of course, making you snort as you shake your head. "I want to see you explain that choice to your mother."
He grimaces slightly and shakes his head. “No thanks.” He huffs. “I think I will ask Norman.” He admits with a small grin.
"Norman?" Quickly rolling back through the names of his friends and family in your head, no Norm or Norman immediately jumps to mind.
“Ahhhh.” He chuckles softly. “Aaron.” He corrects. “I keep forgetting that going by his legal name isn’t something he wants to do anymore.”
"Oh!" Your shoulders shake with laughing but you ease back against him again. "I didn't know Aaron wasn't his first name." Harry's closest friend from college does quite a bit of traveling, but he had come through New York over the summer and you'd carved out time to get dinner together. He's an executive for a massive luxury hotel chain and every time Harry sees him they end up throwing around ideas for opening a hotel together. It hasn't happened yet, but you and Percy had joked about enjoying watching them play the mental tennis match of logistics.
“Old habit.” He admits. “Don’t tell him that I told you his first name.” He huffs. “Poor man hates it.”
"I'll take it to my grave," you promise with a grin. "That's perfect. Three and three, nice and simple. We can tackle the question of if we want a flower girl or a ring bearer or anything later on, unless you have a strong opinion on the subject?"
“I don’t really have any preference.” He likes kids, but he also knows that children can be bored by weddings.
“Then we’ll tackle that later.” The only little kids in your life are the next generation at the Alewife — the kids you once babysat.
“That sounds perfect.” He agrees.
“Perfect.” A word you really never thought love could be before Harry.
"Have you given much thought to what you would like to do for your bridesmaids?" Harry asks. "Of course, we will cover all their expenses for the wedding. The dresses and the stuff for getting ready." His mother had nearly had a heart attack when Charlotte had wanted her bridal party to pay for their own dresses, scolding her and telling her that no one should have to pay thousands of dollars to be in her wedding.
“I think it might be nice to have everyone meet early on?” Several of your wedding party live outside of New York, so it would take some effort and planning but you can manage that. “What do you think of having a little party for our wedding party? I could plan a little New York weekend, even? Chloe’s dying to come up to the city and I know we’d have fun.”
“That sounds great.” Harry admits. “We can host and have fun.” Percy comes back to New York for day trips sometimes but this will be better.
“We can ask the rest of the wedding party in person, if you want?” Already, you can feel your event planner’s internal wheels turning. “We’ll have four people coming from out of town but we’ll need three guest rooms and the penthouse only has two…”
“We can always host someone at our apartment.” He offers, knowing you wouldn’t suggest it, but it is also your home and he wants you to feel free to invite whomever you want to stay.
“If it’s okay with you, I’d at least like Chloe to stay with us.” For obvious reasons, certainly, but you still voice the thought out loud. “I know any hotel we could put her up in will spoil her, but the first time she’s here for wedding things I’d like to do the spoiling myself.”
“Of course.” He smiles and nods. “We can do that.” He knows that Chloe is special to you and that means that she is always welcome.
“I have a feeling Percy and Tam will want to stay at a hotel.” Because then, of course, they can have sex without worrying about being overheard. And you fully understand that.
“Aaron can put them up in a suite.” Harry snorts. “He would love to show off his newest baby.”
“I’m sure it won’t take long to figure out.” After all, Harry and Percy and their friends aren’t the sort of rich people who are stingy. They’re the type to share with the people they love and take care of those around them. That includes each other and each other’s soulmates. “What do you think of doing a Friendsgiving? Have everyone come up the weekend after Thanksgiving? No one has to miss seeing their families that way.”
“I’ve never had a Friendsgiving.” Harry admits with a smile. You have talked about it with very fond memories and he tilts his head. “Is it something you would want catered? So not to eat up your time with our friends?”
“Absolutely not,” you promise him, grinning broadly. “Drinking all the way through food prep and hanging out in the kitchen is half the fun.” Squeezing his hand, you lean into Harry’s side in the back of the car and just let the wave of happy anticipation wash over you for a second. “I promise not to go crazy, but a bit of chaos is good for the soul.”
“As long as you don’t stretch yourself too thin.” He just doesn’t want you to be worn out by the time it’s over.
“I promise.” You bring his hand up in yours and kiss his knuckles. “If I hit the level of crazy where I want to make pies from scratch, you have advance and express permission to remove me from the kitchen until I see reason. How about that?”
“I will call your friends up to cater it from our kitchen.” He warns you playfully. “They are all jealous of our stove for some reason.”
The are you kidding me? Look you give him is deadpan. “That’s because you have a top of the line, restaurant kitchen grade oven that was barely ever touched before I moved in. It’s the best thing your interior designer ever did with that place when she did the renovation for you.”
He really doesn’t know much about any of the appliances in the kitchen, so he just shoots you a grin. “Warms up pizza pretty well.” He admits.
“Ugh!” You groan, rolling your eyes in playful frustration. “You could be cooking like a Michelin starred chef on that thing!”
“I could.” He snorts, wrinkling his nose at you because he’s aware you are hopelessly aware of his lack of cooking. “But I order food so well.” He jokes.
“Your poor mother is so lucky there’s one person who wants to learn her recipes.” Peter is just as hopeless a cook as Harry is and Charlotte doesn’t care learn — which is fine. Except that Maria so obviously wants to share that part of her family story and heritage with someone.
“That’s why you’re already her favorite daughter in law.” He teases, leaning in to kiss you quickly. “Don’t tell Charlotte.”
“Cross my heart.” You swear, and lean in to kiss him back just as the car slides out towards curb and pulls to a stop. “Mm,” you hum against his lips. “Where are we? I didn’t hear you ask Stanley to bring us anywhere specific.”
He smirks slightly as he opens the door. “I texted him before we left the restaurant.” He admits shamelessly.
"So where are we?" Harry slides out before you, blocking the view of whatever building you're at.
“This…” he helps you out of the car and turns you towards a building that has scaffolding covering the bottom two floors of the building but it rises three more above that. A beautiful industrial building that was built in 1921. “Is your future.” He tells you with a grin.
That answer is just enigmatic and cryptic enough to have your eyes widening as he pulls you forward on the sidewalk. You look up, up, and up with your mouth open and have no idea what he could possibly mean beyond one thing. “You—you didn’t buy us a house?” You ask, suddenly looking over at him in a mild panic. “Right??”
He chuckles and shakes his head. “No, I did not buy us a house.” He promises, lifting his hand towards the building. “I bought you an office building with apartment space above.” He clarifies.
His answer inspires absolutely no calm whatsoever, and you swallow about eighteen questions at once until you manage to whittle it down to: “What’s it for?”
Harry shrugs slightly as he smirks, deciding to purposefully misunderstand what you are asking. “For an early wedding present?”
"At this stage it's an engagement present," you purse your lips and pout at him. "Which is not in any way an explanation as to what I'm supposed to do with a five- story office building."
“Well….” He motions you towards the door, the key to the padlock in his pocket, sent over to his office Friday after the sale closed. “I imagine that the first floor would make an amazing office space for your own company.” He tells you as he fishes it out of his pocket and starts to open the lock. “The upper floors renovated into apartments.”
"Babe—" This is a hell of a lot more than the nudging you had alluded to at lunch just an hour ago. This is a complete push off of the curb of indecision, done with love and complete confidence. It brings tears to your eyes just looking around the space, processing the idea that someone as successful in his business as Harry is believes you could be successful with your own.
“Don’t tell me you hate it?” Harry asks, frowning slightly as he looks around at the blank slate. The entire building was primed to be designed however the owner wanted which was why he had assumed it was perfect.
"No!" You wipe away a few tears, immediately moving back into his side to wrap your arms around him. “I love it. I love you! I can't believe you have so much faith in me."
“You love it?” He holds you close. “You could have a showroom here, offices. Storage on the second floor if you wanted? All those chargers and decor items that need a home.”
“Are the spaces upstairs zoned as apartments or commercial space?” Depending on his answer, you have ideas already brewing, including an old one bubbling in the back of your mind from years and years ago.
“They can be either.” He admits. “That is why the location was ideal when I was looking.”
Almost afraid to ask, your hand tucks into the back pocket of his pants and you nudge him to start walking around the building’s lobby with you. “How long?” You ask after a moment, wondering when he had put commercial building for soulmate’s dream business on his list.
“The last two months.” Harry explains as he walks the large space with you over the loft style elevator that would carry you up to the other floors.
“You’ve been quietly planning my future for two months?” That strikes you as utterly romantic and you lean against him in the elevator while it travels up to the second floor. The ceilings were high on the ground floor and you’re wondering if the rest of the building is similar.
“It sounds bad when you put it like that.” Harry winces slightly. “If you didn’t want to do anything with the space, it would just be an investment property.” He adds, not wanting you to feel obligated.
“Baby.” When you nudge him and he doesn’t look at you right away, you step into his path and put your hands on his arms. “I did not mean for it to sound bad, and I’m sorry if you thought that meant I don’t love every single second you spend thinking about our future.” Gently sliding your hands up his arms, they end up on his shoulders again in no time. “I love that you believe in me. And that you believe I’m capable of so much. I love that you want to be a part of it because we are partners. I have so many thoughts about the future — hopes and dreams and wishes for what it will be like. I love that you seize the day so hard that it turns into grand gestures like this. Because it means your mind and your heart are spending their time all full of love.”
“I just want you to be happy.” Harry promises quietly. “That’s all I want.”
“I am happy.” And you can promise him that without hesitation. Without a second thought or even the blink of an eye. “My life is better than I ever could have dreamed and it’s entirely thanks to you.”
He smiles at you, relieved that you seem to not hate his gift. “I don’t think that it’s because of me.”
“Well, my love?” You pull him close by his shoulders and press a kiss to his lips. “You’re wrong. But that’s okay.”
He chuckles against your lip and pulls you closer. Letting you kiss him before the car comes to a stop on the second floor.
The refurbished freight elevator opens into a foyer with two hallways. “Left or right?” You’ll walk the whole building twice before you leave today, you know that already. And while you do it you’ll spend your time trying to think of what you could ever possibly get for him that would be a fraction as meaningful as an engagement gift.
“The right.” He gestures towards the way he wants you to go. “There’s natural light on three sides of the building.”
There's virtue in it being on the end of the block, apparently, and you practically skip as he starts to lead you down the hall. "This place is enormous..."
“Twenty-six thousand square feet.” He explains.
You whistle, low and impressed, looking around again with wide eyes.
The building is old enough to have some beautiful features, with ornate window details that have been preserved as well as stunning hardwood floors. The downstairs foyer was hardwood too but it looked like paneling, making you wonder what lies beneath. There's potential here, amongst the Landlord Special white walls and late renovation office spaces. "So..." you break the quiet when you turn a corner together.
"When I first started thinking about running my own business, I had this...outlandish idea of how I could do it."
“What were you thinking?” Harry knows that some people dream foolishly, but you aren’t one of them. Most of your ideas are firmly rooted in logic, something he appreciates.
“I would make sketches,” you admit, smiling bashfully. “Floor plans, in a big notebook I had. Of a big place — sometimes it was a mansion or a castle or a hotel, depending on how old I was at the time — where I would have different theme rooms to throw weddings in.” It was why your mother had always known you were going to be a wedding planner, she said. You had been making plans since you were little. “As I got older, there were rooms for birthday parties, too, and other things. I think the last time I did a floor plan like this, I even included dressing rooms and mapped out the catering kitchens.”
“So you might want to turn the entire building into a venue?” He asks, intrigued by the idea. He hadn’t even considered something like that, although it could be a solid idea.
“I mean…” you look up at him and feel the smile spread across your face like a little kid realizes Santa has come on Christmas morning. “It’s…sort of perfect.”
“Before you decide…” he tugs you back down the hall. “We need to go to the roof.”
“The roof?” A roof is valuable real estate in the middle of New York City, and suddenly you’re intrigued all over again.
“Yes.” He doesn’t explain anything more, he just starts to hustle you towards the elevator again. “You will love it.” He predicts.
“Well you’ve already proposed,” you joke, laughing as you all but jog back down the hall with him. “So that can’t be the surprise.”
Harry snorts but he opens the elevator and presses the button for the roof access. It’s nice that it goes all the way up. Especially if you want to turn this into a venue.
“You know,” you’re thinking out loud now, holding his hand as you go upstairs. “This is…I can’t do this alone.”
“The good thing is that you don’t have to.” Harry promises, knowing that he will be willing to help you however he can.
“I won’t ask you to run two businesses.” The elevator dings demurely at the last stop — marked ‘R’ on the electronic panel. “I have a few ideas, if I’m honest.”
“What are your ideas?” He asks curiously. He knows he could help but he doesn’t want you to feel like he’s taking it over or it’s a part of his own work. This is completely for you.
"I know a few people I could reach out to about coming on board.” When you tilt your head slightly and shrug, you nearly laugh. “Chloe, of course. And one of the girls that I worked with in Raleigh. There’s also one of the younger girls at Dragonfly that has huge potential. But the key, I think, would be to start with high-return events. And make sure that I have investors lined up who don’t mind handing out my card or having me name drop them. That is what I would ask you to help with. Like you did last night at the fundraiser.”
“Networking.” Harry can understand that. He nods as the car comes to a stop and he grins at you. “Come on, let’s see the view.”
The elevator opens up into a small vestibule which leads out to the roof — just a few square feet and a door — but that roof view is well worth the entire building. There’s a park across the street and a garden on the other side, and the wide expanse of stonework embellished with ironwork and bronze up here would be absolutely stunning for smaller and more intimate events. You breathe out a sigh without realizing it, holding Harry a little closer to your side. “Oh, I love this space!”
“Rooftop weddings?” He asks with a smile as he imagines archways and flowers. “Nighttime parties.”
“And brunch bridal showers.” The dreamy note in your voice probably gives you away but you don’t realize it. “I’ll have to check noise ordinances for the area, but rooftop live music is always a hit, too.”
“Absolutely.” He agrees. “Perhaps the architect can design some coverage that won’t ruin the view.” He suggests.
“We’ll have to talk to someone about getting alterations done on the interiors. I have no idea how long that sort of thing takes.” Walking together to the edge of the building and looking over, you peer down into the garden together and smile. It’s overgrown but the basic shapes of a nice space are easily visible. There are lines of bushes, flower beds, potted trees in need of pruning.
“There’s a walk through with an architect from Danmore, Froth and Whit.” He admits with a grin. “Monday at ten.”
Your head shoots up and you let out a stunned laugh. “Monday as in tomorrow?”
“Yes?” He phrases it as a question, but the meeting is set and the plans have already been sent over of the building's changes over the past hundred years.
“Then I guess we better take a more thorough walk around inside.” He’s always so matter of fact about things that even the big surprises like this seem blasé to him. Or at least that would be how most people took it. You? You’re just bowled over by the utter generosity of his love. “I have a lot of notes to make before tomorrow.”
“We can spend as much time as you want here.” He promises with a satisfied grin. “I’ve even got a measuring tape here for you.”
"You wouldn't happen to have a notebook buried in one of those pockets, would you?" It would be a pretty impressive thing to hide considering how well cut his suit is, and you grin at the idea of him having Mary Poppins pockets in his suit jacket. "Nevermind, baby. I can take notes on my phone."
He chuckles and nods. “I can help with whatever you want.”
"I'll need that clever business brain of yours to help me name the company." It comes out of your mouth before you can really process the words, and all of a sudden you're staring at him with wide, frozen surprise on your face. "I'm..." That's your answer, right there. That tells you everything you need to know. "I'm really doing this, aren't I?"
Harry softens when he sees the surprise on your face. Stepping closer and cupping your cheek. “Yes, sweetheart.” He hums. “You are doing this. But only if you want to.”
"I've wanted to do this for years." The tightness in your voice is just from being choked up. From being so out of your mind with relief and joy that it strikes you just how often you're feeling these things lately. And how every time, it's because of him. "I just never thought I would be able to. And you just came along and you're making all of my dreams come true."
“You deserve to have all your dreams come true.” He promises. “No one deserves it more than you. You–” he shakes his head. “I couldn’t even list all the reasons why. There are just so many.”
"One of these days," you murmur, leaning forward to kiss him softly. "You're going to have to let me make one of your dreams come true."
“That will happen the day you become my wife.” He reminds you, capturing your chin with his hand and pulling you back gently for another kiss. “My soulmate.”
******
The phone line rings three times before it gets picked up. Three rings that feel like an eternity, but only because it's late on Sunday night and you're making the phone call out on the terrace of Harry's penthouse while he takes a work call in his home office. Percy didn't say anything about having plans tonight when you talked yesterday so you're praying he's able to pick up instead of being busy with Tamara or their friends out in California.
“Is everything okay?” Percy sounds out of breath when he answers, concern lacing his tone. The time difference has been a slight challenge, but he is concerned since it’s almost midnight in New York.
"Yeah, I was calling to bother you about something." You slump backward against the balustrade and frown. "You should like you just went for a run. Is LA making you healthy?"
“No, uh, not running.” He chuckles and tries to slow his breathing and catch his breath. “How’s it going, Mack?”
"Ugh." Understanding dawns and the grossed out noise is more for teasing him than anything else, making you both laugh. "Two things, really. The first thing is that we're thinking about organizing a friends weekend sometime soon. Everybody's spread out now and we want to get something organized. Maybe a Friendsgiving? The weekend after the holiday?"
“Oh that sounds perfect.” Percy agrees. “Let me ask Tam.” He pulls the phone away and calls out for his wife from where she’s cleaning up in the bathroom.
You can hear some hustle and bustle on the other end of the line and some muffled conversation back and forth, like Percy has put his phone to his shoulder while he talks to Tamara. “Perce!” You huff after a few long seconds. “Percyyyyyy, I feel like I’m listening through a closed door.”
Percy hears you talking but he doesn’t pay attention to what you’re saying until he comes back to the phone. Putting it back up to his ear. “We can absolutely come.” He tells you with a grin in his voice.
“Fantastic.” He sounds suspiciously happy even for him, but you let it slide for now. “Would you guys rather stay with us or have a hotel room for privacy?”
“We can get a room.” He promises. “I’ll book one tonight.”
“The theme of the weekend is comfort and silliness, so book your favorite.” You tell him, clearing your throat a little and smirking on your end of the call. “And if Tam is having any food or smell aversions when the time comes, will you let me know? I don’t want to have anything around that is going to make her sick.”
“How–” Percy chokes out but catches himself. “Uh– yeah, sure, I mean– okay.”
“Intuition.” But really, it was Harry who noticed. Their wedding wasn’t more than a week and a half ago and he’d picked up on it then. “Congratulations, by the way. We won’t say a word. Now…would you mind if I picked your brain about something else or do you need to get back?”
“No, I’m– Tamara is fixing a snack.” He chuckles, shaking his head as he sighs. He had hoped she would get through the first trimester first, but apparently it was obvious, to you at least.
“Harry noticed she wasn’t drinking at the wedding,” you tell him, wanting him to know that others may have noticed. No one will blab though. They can announce it whenever they’re ready. “Speaking of him…” Smooth fucking transition, Mackinator. Good job. “I want to put together some treats for him. Surprises. He’s done some wonderfully big, gorgeous things for me and I want to repay him. But there doesn’t seem to be anything he wants. So I…wondered if you had some insight.”
Percy snorts. “That’s easy.” He chuckles. “The man wants you.” He tells you. “I don’t ever remember a time when Harry Castillo has been this distracted.” He laughs. “He is too damn busy talking about you when we are on the phone to talk about business.” He couldn’t be happier for you and his friend though.
“He has me, Perce.” A smile forms unbidden, though, making you beam sheepishly. “I know I can’t spend the money he can on luxury treats and fancy trips, but I want to spoil him. I want to make him feel as valued and special and loved as he makes me feel.”
“Then give him something he doesn’t have.” A lightbulb goes off, aided by the gift Tamara had given him as a night before gift. “You should really give him a boudoir photo shoot of yourself.” He announces.
The suggestion runs you over like a freight train, ramming straight into your chest and making you slump down on the cold stone terrace floor without meaning to. “Perce…” There’s a lump in your throat and you drop your head into your upturned palm. “You mean…be…in my underwear with a photographer? A stranger?”
“Or less.” He hears the disbelief in your voice and he sighs. “I know Tamara has someone that would do an amazing job and is completely professional.”
“I hate that you’re right,” you groan under your breath. “He’d love it…”
“Yeah he fuckin’ would.” Percy agrees, nodding even though you can’t see it. “He’d fucking drool over it every chance he got.”
He’s right. He’s achingly right. You groan heavily and shake your head. “Fuck. That means…fuck.” The number of insecurities you have don’t magically go away just because Harry Castillo loves you. Lunch with Lucy this afternoon proved that several times over. But doing things for people you love doesn’t mean only doing things that are easy and breezy. “I’ll consider it,” you mumble after a while, already knowing you will do it because it would make Harry so happy. And turn him on so goddamn much. “Can you ask Tam to text me to info for the photographer when she gets a chance?”
“I will.” He promises and then pauses. “Mack— I’m sorry I didn’t get you two together sooner.” He says softly. “You two are perfect for each other and you don’t even realize how perfect.”
“You have nothing to apologize for,” you promise him, though your own voice drops considerably and softens to match his. “It happened when it was meant to. I’m just grateful to have him now.”
“Believe me, Harry…” he tries hard to keep both of your confidences, wanting you to be able to talk to him without fear of him running to the other. “He is just as grateful.” He promises. “Maybe more so.”
“He’s the best thing that ever happened to me.” And you won’t pretend otherwise, not even sitting cross-legged on the terrace of his apartment that you now live in, picking at a pill in your sweater fabric. “He means everything to me and I want him to know how grateful I am to share my life with him.”
“Just love him and he will.” Percy promises. “Harry just wants you to love him.”
“I do.” You sniffle a little, realizing belatedly that you have tears in your eyes. “I didn’t know I could love anyone this fiercely. I love him with parts of me that I didn’t even know existed.”
He wouldn’t be a true friend if he didn’t make a noise of disgust. “Ewww.” He huffs. “Don’t talk about your parts loving him.”
“Shut the fuck up.” Sniffles instantly turn into a snort of laughter, snapping you out of the sentimental tailspin you were quickly entering. “Go take care of your poor, knocked up wife and book a hotel room for November. I love you, ass hole.”
“I love you too, dick.” He chuckles as he cuts the line and immediately opens the app to book a suite for him and Tamara.
The next phone call is the one that will probably be the most awkward, but you select the contact from your list and summon your sentimentality, not knowing if it might be useful again. When the line is picked up after four rings and the answer polite, you tuck a smile into your voice. “Hi Aaron. It’s Mack. Harry’s soulmate? I hope it’s not an awkward time, I wasn’t sure of the time difference.”
“Mack? Hey!” His voice is thick with sleep but he doesn’t comment on the time. “Everything okay?” He asks, the shuffling of the sheets a clear indicator he was in bed.
“Yeah, yeah, we’re good here.” You cringe at the sound of him moving around, thinking he must still be in bed. So much for Harry’s assurance that his friend is an early riser. “We wanted to invite you to Friendsgiving and I know how swamped your schedule is, so I figured the earlier we called, the better.”
“Friendsgiving?” He sounds confused but he doesn’t grumble, his tapping on the phone transferring the call to speaker and him scrolling through his schedule. “What day?” He asks. “I’ll be there.”
“Friday, Saturday, and Sunday after Thanksgiving. We’re just having a few friends in town.” For a very special reason, but you won’t spoil it for those who don’t know already. “We’d love to have you stay with us if you’d like a break from hotel life.”
“That’s…” He’s surprised for a moment, touched that you would offer your apartment when you know he could book any hotel he wanted. “I think I would like that.” He admits with a chuckle. “As long as you don’t have anyone else who needs the bed.”
“Not at all. We’re thrilled to be able to offer.” The note of surprise in his voice doesn’t escape you, and it makes you all the more determined to make sure Aaron gets to spend some stress-free time feeling like family instead of a guest. Guests are his business, after all.
“Okay.” He smiles as he looks at his schedule and blocks off the time. “That sounds great.”
“Fantastic.” That’s exactly what you wanted to hear, and you know Harry will be thrilled. “We’ll talk to you again soon, then.”
“That sounds good.” He pauses. “Do you want me to bring you two back anything from Switzerland?” He asks as an afterthought. “That’s where I am right now.”
"If you'd like to bring something to Friendsgiving, we would love that." It's still about two months away, but for all you know he'll be there again before too long. "Whatever your favorite treat of the moment is."
“I’ll bring fondue.” He promises before saying goodbye and disconnecting the call. Yawning when he sees what time it is and deciding to head to the shower.
"Best for last," you hum, tapping Chloe's contact line from your previous calls. The last time you talked was just yesterday, but that doesn't matter. There's new things to discuss.
“Oh my God…” she huffs playfully through the phone, picking it up after one ring. “Why are you obsessed with me?”
"Because you're brilliant and gorgeous and I miss your face already." Both of you laugh, but you catch a yawn on her end of the call. "I won't keep you babe, but I wanted to ask if you had plans for Thanksgiving weekend already?"
“Welllllllll.” She flips through her calendar and chuckles. “No, doing Thanksgiving shifts at work, then having a long weekend to myself.”
"Would you maybe want to have a long weekend in New York instead?" If she's working on the day then she's not seeing her parents, but given the three refrains of Why aren't you married and giving us grandbabies yet? she would face from them, that might be a blessing.
“Black Friday Shopping in New York?” She laughs. “I’m there.”
"Friendsgiving," you tell her, humming out a laugh. "But I promise we'll go shopping too."
“Oh, that sounds good too.” She admits with a giggle of her own. “I’ll book a room.”
"No, honey. Stay with us." As if she can see you waving your hand, you nearly flick the thought away on a fingertip. "We have two guest rooms and there's no need for you to spend money when I can spoil you rotten here."
“Are you sure?” She sounds skeptical. “You and Harry are still in the honeymoon phase and christening every available surface of the apartment.”
You snort, knowing she isn’t wrong at all. Barely an hour ago you’d been bent over the kitchen counter instead of loading the dishwasher. “I promise to put clean sheets on your guest bed. Harry’s college roommate will be staying with us, too, and Percy and Tamara are coming up from LA.”
“I’m assuming the newlyweds are getting a hotel room?” She snorts. “Because I don’t know if I could stand two couples acting like bunnies while I’m trying to sleep.
“Yes, smart ass. They are. And we’re well behaved thank you very much.” You snort under your breath. “Harry’s friend Aaron is also staying with us.”
“Aaron?” She frowns, not recalling that name. “I don’t know if I’ve met him.”
“Aaron Freidman.” There’s a chance she might recognize his name from her society pages and gossip columns, since she recognized Harry’s, but you’re not sure.
“The hotel mogul?” Her voice sounds surprised, but she’s unsure why. Harry of course moves in influential circles.
“I’ve only met him once but he was very sweet,” you promise her, unsurprised by the fact that she recognized his name.
“Sweet.” She snorts and shakes her head even though you can’t see it. “I guess I would be sweet too if I had one of the fastest growing hotel chains in the world.”
"Try to give him the benefit of the doubt?" The request is quiet, but you're willing to beg if necessary. "This whole weekend is so we can ask the other five guests to be in our wedding party. You're the only one who's been asked so far and it's going to be a surprise for the rest of them."
“God, I sounded like a complete bitch, didn’t I?” Chloe huffs, her tone softening. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—”
"Talk to me." Chloe doesn't often loose venom on strangers, so you can't help taking notice of it. "What's going on?"
“I—” she sighs softly and closes her eyes. “The promotion I wanted was given to someone else.” She admits, feeling like a failure. “Someone I trained. Someone who turned around and started undermining me.” Right now, the only thing keeping her here is your wedding, and even that is a strain.
"Oh god. Honey I'm so sorry." You can take a pretty good stab at who it was, too, since until about three months ago she had told very affectionate stories about a younger woman. "Listen, um..." Blowing out a breath and looking up at the glowing lights of the city, you steady yourself against a serious conversation. One you hadn't planned on having yet, but it seemed the world was forcing your hand. "What if I told you that I knew of an opening you would be perfect for, but that it would mean moving to New York?"
“One, I would ask who is offering me a pity job, and two, when can I start?” She snorts and sighs. “I’m sorry, you called with good news and I’m being a curmudgeon.” She gives a bitter chuckle. “Ignore me.”
"I'm not going to ignore you, doofus. I love you." But you still blow out a long breath as you look out over the city. "It's not a pity job, by the way. And it's me offering."
“What?” She frowns slightly. “Did someone quit at your company?” She asks, sure there are qualified people in New York.
"Well..." You laugh quietly, mostly out of disbelief at what you're saying. "I will be. Soon. But the job I'm offering you isn't at Dragonfly. It's— it's our company, Chloe. Or it will be, when we start it up. I've got investors and clients and an actual office space that Harry found and–and we could actually fucking do it for real."
“What?” Her gasp echoes down the line instantly. “You are really starting a company?”
"I really, finally am." Another laugh, although this one comes with a sniffle. "And I don't want to do it without you."
“I— are you sure you want me?” She asks incredulously. “I mean, you could ask anyone.”
"Maybe I could, but the person I'm asking is the person I want," you tell her honestly. "We're a great team, we worked together for years and we complement each other in the way we approach clients. We could be really successful if we put our heads together."
“I—” she pushes her hand through her hair. “Tell me when I need to be there.” She tells you with a laugh. “I’ve— I’ve decided to put my notice in anyway.”
"Tomorrow morning Harry and I are meeting with the architect he hired to alter the building." Feeling like you have the support of two of the most important people in your life, your heart absolutely swells. "Let me talk to him about the apartment I was in before I moved into the penthouse. It's a great place and—" Not so long ago you'd been upset with him for not disclosing it, but now it's a boon. "He owns the building, so I know he can be flexible on rent until you find something you really want to call home."
“Holy shit.” She’s surprised and impressed. “That’s handy as fuck.” She’s only slightly jealous that your soulmate is not only loaded but apparently the most thoughtful man on the planet.
“There’s just so much good happening right now and I want to share it with you.” It feels like such an over abundance, and as someone who has been used to scraping positivity off the sides of life’s proverbial barrel, you can’t imagine not sharing everything you have.
“I’ve been wanting a change of scenery since Ben and I broke up.” She admits with a chuckle. “Tired of seeing his lying ass around the village.”
“Then put in your notice.” You encourage her without hesitation. “I know you have a stacked savings account, and I’ll figure out a place for you to land when you get here. Just let me know how soon it will be.”
It’s only a second’s pause before she’s answering. “I’ll call you back tomorrow and let you know.” She promises. “Let me talk to my landlord.”
“Okay.” You’re nodding even though she can’t see you, heart swelling with excitement and pride. “Polaris Weddings and Events is going to be a reality, babe. After years of dreaming we get to do it our way.”
“We might have to update our business name.” She laughs, feeling better and excited now that she’s talked to you.
“I still say naming it after the North Star was one of our better drunken ideas,” you insist. “Get some sleep, gorgeous. Call me in the morning. If I don’t pick up, I’ll call you back after the meeting. Okay?”
“That sounds good.” She hums and then speaks again. “Hey…I love you.”
"I love you, too." And since you have never been the sort of friends to be quiet about that sort of thing – once even literally shouting it from a rooftop in college – the weight of seriousness in her tone strikes you as all the more significant. "Get some sleep," you murmur again. "We're going to start a whole new chapter for you up here and the only people who are going to be upset are you parents. They'll actually have to get on a plane to come see their bigshot daughter."
“They will hate it.” She snorts, but knows they will secretly love it. Her adoptive parents have been supportive of everything she’s ever done.
"They'll brag about you even more." The simultaneous sigh you both let out makes you laugh. "I'll talk to you tomorrow, honey."
“It’s really good to hear from you.” Chloe promises before disconnecting the call.
The bright moon is nothing against the bright lights of the city, and you enjoy the sight of it for a few long moments of relative quiet before a gentle knock sounds on the door behind you.
“Hey, sweetheart.” He stands in the doorway for a moment, just watching you. Making sure that you weren’t on the phone still at first, and then just admiring you. The view of the city is stunning, even if the sounds of the streets below are barely noticeable. “Thinking or just watching?”
"A little of both," you admit, but you pull yourself up from sitting against the balustrade and slip into Harry's arms. "How was your call?"
“It was good.” He leans in and kisses your forehead. “They are thirteen hours ahead in Tokyo, so the calls can always be awkward for at least one party.”
"But you got accomplished what you needed?" As much as you do try to absorb what he tells you about his work, there is only so much about the ins and outs of the financial sector that you understand at the moment. You are learning, though.
“Of course.” He shoots you a soft smile. “And you?” He asks. “Did you make those calls about Friendsgiving?”
"I did." He's warm. Warm enough to make you practically wrap yourself around him out there on the terrace. "Everybody's coming. And...Chloe's coming sooner."
“Oh?” His brow shoots up. “Any particular reason?”
"Well," your smile spreads wider. "It's going to be kind of hard to get my business together and off the ground without my partner."
“She would be a good partner.” He had been impressed when he worked with her to coordinate the proposal.
"We used to talk about what our business would be. How we would build an empire." Which seems silly now, but the reality has become so close you could reach out and grab it. "And now we finally can.”
“Yes you can.” Harry smiles as he pulls you closer. “We will make sure that you are turning clients away you are so busy.”
“I feel guilty asking you for a favor since you’ve already done so much.” Sinking into his embrace even more, the mix of subtle sweat and his cologne fill your nose with the comfortable and familiar essence of him.
“What do you need from me?” He asks, knowing that there isn’t anything he wouldn’t do for you.
Looking up at him with a suitably sheepish expression, you purse your lips before you ask. “I wondered if you had rented that apartment in Greenwich Village again? Chloe’s going to need a place when she gets here…”
He looks at you for a moment before he starts to laugh. Amused by the idea that the location in question had been a sore subject between you. He leans in and kisses your forehead. “I’ll have it ready whenever she is.” He promises.
“I’m not oblivious to the irony, believe me.” Which would probably have you even more embarrassed if he didn’t apparently find it so amusing. Hopefully he will thinks your little thank you gift makes it all worthwhile. You’ve already decided to call Tamara’s photographer friend. You’ll scrape up whatever it costs from your own bank account and make sure to have new lingerie for the shoot. It’s the very least you can do as a gesture of love to such a wonderful soulmate.
“She will love it.” He agrees. “And you won’t object to having your maid of honor here.” He tilts his head. “She must have been planning on leaving her job at Biltmore.”
“She was.” Which sends another guilty sting through you and your shoulders drop with the weight of the feeling. “She would never admit it to me or you but I think she was only going to stick it out for our wedding.”
“Now she can just enjoy being a member of the wedding party.” You are exacting enough to coordinate everything you need. “If we need to, we will get you a corporate assistant.”
“You make it sound as though I’m awfully important.” An assistant? Really? You’ve only even been an assistant before, not had one. “I’ll just ask Biltmore to transfer our wedding to one of the other planners on staff. They’ve got a couple, so we’ll be in good hands.”
“That will be fine with me.” You know so much more about this world than he does, so he will defer to your opinion. “But let me know if you need someone. There are always interns that are begging for more responsibilities. And some I think could be a good fit for you if you need.”
“If my idea for a third partner doesn’t work out, I might take you up on that.” Just because you had had a thought about inviting one of the other girls from Dragonfly doesn’t mean she would go for it, and it’s good to have a contingency plan. For now, though, you loop your arms around Harry’s neck and hum softly from deep in your chest. “Today was a roller coaster, but I’m glad you were right beside me for all of it.”
“I wouldn’t want to be anywhere else.” He chuckles. “And I think you love your new building.”
“I do.” Nudging him back toward the sliding door, you keep your arm around him as the two of you sidle back inside. “Although it’s insane that you bought me a building, babe. Makes what I have in mind for you seem very small in comparison.”
“It’s not about the price tag of the gift.” He reminds you. “Or the size of it.” Which is completely different from his viewpoint from when he was with Lucy. She had been eager to see him pay and he had been happy to do so, but even though he’s spent far more money on you, it’s because he wants to.
“It’s about the love.” And because you both have that in spades, the kiss you sink into makes the whole world around you fade to black. Harry groans as he lets you melt against him. The night sky and the wind all he can hear beyond his pounding heart. Holding onto you tightly so he doesn’t lose you.
The tingling desire morphs slowly from something devoted and idolatrous into a fervent, burning need. Almost without realizing it, your fingers have sunk into his curls and his arms have locked around you, holding you tight against his body. Want flares in your core, and you hum with a dark edge to the sound. “Baby,” you murmur against his lips between long kisses. “Take me to bed?”
You ask it like it wasn’t his goal. Even if you didn’t want sex. He always wants to hold you close. You love the intimacy of curling in his arms and don’t mind when he throws his leg over your hips. “Gladly.” He hums, smirking slightly as he turns you to guide you back into the apartment.
short | fluff-ish? | smutty | clark is a whore | masterlist
synopsis: clark is infuriating. he’s too nice, too sweet, and won’t stop buying you your favourite coffee every morning. he leaves you sweet notes with each cup, until he starts getting overtly flirty and everyone in the office notices.
a/n: I PICK CLARK(E)
you didn’t even have to say anything for him to know exactly what you needed and for some reason, that bothered you.
but it didn’t start out like this.
at first it was burning hatred, more for yourself than for him. the light that ignited everytime the two of you were close together and threatened to engulf the entirety of the room. his eyes bore into yours and it felt like he could see through you and your deepest desires. see your past and your future and only the first was without him in it. but you ignored him as much as you could, focusing on your task at hand, trying not to give into the intensity of his gaze.
he didn’t make it easy. purposefully lingering in his touches when he brushed past you and intentionally showing up in your favourite places.
finding out your favourite cafe was not an easy task for him, since you’d pride yourself on checking out every little coffee place in town.
figuring out your coffee order however, he could recount it without thinking.
he knew you so well.
he’d buy your iced coffee and leave it by your workstation, leaving little notes here and there.
“hope you like it :)”
and it had started out innocent, until it wasn’t.
“thought of you;)”
“need you to stay hydrated for me,”
whatever the heck he meant by that one, you ignored. lois however, she read it and snickered at the sexual innuendo clark probably didn’t even realize he was setting from it.
you felt your cheeks grow hot.
as the days went on, he kept leaving you notes with the same drink. everyday. before you’d even come into the office, everyone would have already read it and shot you a knowing smile when you got to your desk and glanced down.
today, there was a brownie in a paper bag next to the drink and the note.
“sweet treat for a sweet girl <3”
you thanked him everytime for the coffee but he’d brush it off, telling you it’s really no big deal. giving you the same cheeky clark smile that made your heart flutter.
his dimples deepening as he’d shake his head, casually flirting with you and telling people he was dropping a coffee off for his “work wife,” but you knew better.
you knew better than to fall for a guy like him, despite how fine he was.
you knew his type.
at least you thought you did.
the self proclaimed nice guys who are actually assholes. you’ve dated them and you’re not doing it again.
that was until he left the most recent stickynote, folded next to your coffee and stuck on the paper wrapper of the plastic straw he left you.
“wishing i was the straw rn,”
by the time the last one sat at your desk, you were babbling at his audacity. lois and jimmy threw their heads back in laughter when you showed them, mumbling something too incoherent about clark being a little hornball.
you let out a small chuckle at it before you decided to confront him. your legs worked faster than you, getting to his office and knocking hard. rigorously you knocked at his door, coffee and the note clutched in one hand.
as soon as the door opened, you were holding the coffee up at him. shaking it enough for a few drops to drip down your fingers.
his glasses slipped down the bridge of his nose, staring up from his desk at you with his big beautiful eyes. you had to swallow down a hum you wanted to make at just how fucking good he looked just like this, feigning his innocence while he made you question all the dirty thoughts running through your mind—and in your workplace no less!
“you think buying me a couple coffees is gonna get me in bed with you?!” the words leaving you before you could even think.
his eyes widen in surprise and he stands.
quickly, it turns into belly laughs as he’s clutching his stomach. you shove him as he wipes his tears, clearly finding this amusing. you’ve got the cutest pout when he stops laughing and looks at you, moving just inches away and towering over you.
his gaze relents, skimming you over and pushes his glasses back up. you scoff.
“you think i’m just that easy? that you can just—”
he shuts you up with a kiss, pulling you closer. immediately you react, the tension between you becoming all too much and he was the one to kiss you so you knew it wasn’t one sided now.
as he deepens it, you’re mindlessly fiddling with the buttons of your top. clark had this effect on you that you hated to admit. he moves your hands and undoes it for you without even thinking twice. his eyes watch you as he pushes your blouse down your arms, dragging his fingers up the soft skin.
“o—okay maybe for you, i guess i am.” you rasp.
the sensation of his fingertips sending shivers up your spine. and clark notices, of course he always notices.
“you still mad?” he says, grinning up at you.
“just shut up,” you mutter with no conviction, pulling his glasses off his face and dragging him closer by his loosely done tie.
and he does, pressing his lips to yours again. pulling you up with your legs wrapped around his waist. he brings you over to his table and sits you on it, lowering himself onto his knees and your legs to either side of him.
he places kisses to the sides of your inner thighs, pushing your skirt up before spreading your legs wider. he’s smiling ear to ear as he moves, eyes never leaving yours,
“this is the sweet treat i’ve wanted all along.”
you can’t help how your breath hitches as he slowly makes his way up and up. his nose grazing over the damp fabric of your panties, you gasp softly. you can practically feel his smirk when he finally places a kiss where you needed him most. lapping at the dampness through the fabric and holding you there with his strong hands.
“so darn sweet,” he mumbles into you, continuing his ministrations. tongue catching at your clothed clit, “oh goodness, so wet for me. you’ve ruined these.”
your hands immediately go to his hair as your head tips back. he groans and looks back up, chin already wet with your arousal.
“for the record, i never said you were easy, just that i know you want this as much as i do.” his dimples make you swoon as he grins, “let me show you just how much i want you hmm?”
he hooks his fingers and pulls your panties down, leaving you bare on his desk. he mutters quiet profanities to himself, being the respectful man he is.
your eyes meet his, wild and utterly excited. this scenario played in your head a million times but you’d never imagined it really happening, and at his desk for real. with a grin, you tug his hair back from between your legs, just to look at his pretty face.
“fine, then you’ll tell me what you meant by wanting to be a straw?” you ask breathless already.
he laughs at your question, the sound tickling your inner thighs as he places wet kisses there once again.
“honey, you know what i meant,” looking up at you through his lashes, “but maybe later i’ll let you show me your interpretation, hmm?”
nodding and biting your lip so hard, just trying to keep yourself from being loud, but he’s already diving back in. lips smacking, loud and wet as he works you like he’s starved. you’re trying to muffle your sounds into your unoccupied palm while he’s not even trying to hide his moans. the way clark is enjoying it more than you makes it so much harder to conceal your whimpers.
he’s gripping your thighs tightly around his head and squeezing like he wants you to suffocate him with them. throwing your head back again, another moan escapes you.
you were so glad he had an office now.
masterlist | taglist
a/n: this has been in my drafts since i saw superman. i have like 60 damn wips so i’m trynna clear it out. sorry if it’s shit never written for clark before.
