Can you do a Harry Castillo request (length is up to you) where his girlfriend takes him on a date to the farmer’s market and treats him to whatever he wants (since he’s always treating her)?
𝐭𝐨𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐫𝐨𝐰 | 𝐡𝐚𝐫𝐫𝐲 𝐜𝐚𝐬𝐭𝐢𝐥𝐥𝐨
pairing harry castillo x female reader
summary harry lets you treat him, but at the end of the night he reminds you that you’re all he needs. [fluff, wc 1.2k]
a/n aww, i loved writing the farmer’s market scenery so much! this whole fic was so much fun.
∘°∘♡∘°∘
The clouds above are gracious enough to shield Manhattan from the full brunt of the sun. You’re grateful for them as you navigate through the bustle of Union Square Greenmarket. Colorful tents and stands are all around, and shoppers flit to them in the same way honeybees are drawn to flowers. Savory scents mingle in the air.
As you weave through a particularly crowded stretch, Harry’s hand hovers at the small of your back so you know he’s still behind you. When you make it to a break in the crowd, he’s able to return to your side.
Your stride slows then, and it becomes clear you’d been leading him nowhere in particular. Despite the worry that kindles within you, Harry doesn’t mind. The energy in the air is so alive that he’d be content if the only thing you did was walk around and let it wash over you.
“Are you okay?” you ask, checking in.
It’s hard to see Harry’s eyes from behind his sunglasses, but he smiles and nods. “You?”
“I’m fine,” you say. “I just worry you wouldn’t tell me if you weren’t having a good time.”
“I’m thoroughly enjoying myself,” he assures, even though a few droplets of sweat bead along his hairline, and all the chatter and music make it harder to hear himself speak.
It wasn’t lost on you that Harry was in the camp that no one could go wrong with dinner and a view. But he liked that you’d coaxed him away from convention. There was beauty in dependability and routine, but a whole new world of experiencing each other and the city had been unlocked by branching out. Farmer’s markets, book festivals, poetry nights—they often brought people of all ages and backgrounds together in some of the most memorable ways.
Perhaps your love of people-watching was to blame. It’s how you first spotted Harry in the lobby of the Radio City Music Hall, and got a read on him quicker than anyone ever had. It intimidated and intrigued him to the point where he couldn’t walk away from the conversation you initiated until he was certain he’d see you again.
“Seen anything that’s piqued your interest?” you ask.
He motions in the direction of a tent. “You like banana bread, right?”
And so does he.
You beam. “Let’s go,” you say. “My treat.”
Even after hearing that, and effectively charming the older couple running the tent, Harry pulls out his wallet on instinct when it comes time to pay for the loaf.
“Harry,” you say lightly. “My treat remember?”
Matt, the older man, shares a smile with his wife Lauren. They’d been married for forty-four years. That’s one of the numerous facts Harry had managed to coax out of them in a matter of minutes. He had this singular ability to make people feel like their lives were the most interesting in the world. And it was never disingenuous.
Without fanfare, Harry slips his wallet back into his pocket and looks at you with an unreadable glimmer in his eyes, stepping aside to let you pay.
And that wouldn’t be the last time.
•••
That night, Harry stares at the vase of sunflowers on the coffee table as he waits for you. They’re so vibrant and beautiful that they stand out against the neutral palette of the space. His mother used to love having them around along with a host of other plants like bonsais. The sunroom of his childhood home was filled with flowers and greenery. He was never one to particularly take to the upkeep himself, but he was a shameless admirer and appreciated the love required to keep another living thing alive.
Harry straightens as you saunter from the kitchen in a black silk nightgown. The cushions dip as you sit, but he’s no more focussed on the plated slice of banana bread you hold than the way one of the straps has slipped down your shoulder. You still smell faintly of jasmine from your shower. When he reaches over to right it, his fingertips brush your skin more than they need to. Goosebumps rise in their wake as he lets them trail down the outside of your tricep before pulling away.
You offer the first forkful to him as a thank you. He smiles as he chews, dark eyes studying you warmly.
“I’d say today was a success,” you lilt. “I think I like spoiling you.”
Harry huffs a chuckle as you take a bite. The bread is rich with just the right amount of sweetness. Small chocolate chips are peppered throughout. If you were a decade or two younger, you’d get a lecture about sweets before bed being wrong. But you’re grown, and few things come close to the feeling of sharing banana bread with the man you love, stories above the dazzling city you used to dream of living in one day. It was worth whatever consequences would be waiting up for you.
“You’re all I need.” Harry’s eyes are sincere as he says this. “You could never buy me a single thing again, and I’d be alright.”
You shift to stretch your legs across his laps with a soft hum. He massages your calves to busy his hands. There’s a whole bunch of feelings buzzing within him that he can’t expel with words alone.
“Too bad I’ve already fallen for the way you get all flushed when I do,” you say, smiling when his lips twitch.
Then your tone shifts into something a little more stripped and truthful. “Being able to do little things like that for you makes me feel good,” you tell him, admiring his handsome features. “Could you even tell me the last time someone bought you flowers?”
Harry opens his mouth like he has an answer, but he doesn’t.
You let that hang in the air.
The two of you finish off the slice of banana bread before long. The plate and fork get set on the coffee table. For a few moments, you enjoy the quiet. He draws aimless shapes over your kneecaps.
“You took the bracelet off,” you note, reaching for his left hand. He lets you play with his long fingers.
As much as he was an advocate for people wearing the things they bought, he couldn’t stand the prospect of it wearing down a second earlier than what he was prepared for.
The jeweler’s display had captured his attention because the style of the braided bracelets reminded him of John Hardy’s leather designs. When you began to walk that way, he could only linger behind for so long. His chest was warm the whole way through picking out the black one he liked. You’d declined his offer to buy you one of the daintier, more feminine bracelets.
“I’ll wear it tomorrow,” he promises. “And the next day, and the next," Harry offers as he returns to massaging along your legs.
His fingertips disappear beneath the hem of your gown to grace along your inner thigh, somewhere between chaste and not. Your muscles twitch at his reverent touch, then it trails back down like he’s assessing what you’re made of. But his appreciation for you runs even deeper than that.
“Thank you,” he eventually says.
“You deserve it.”
Though the urge arises, he doesn’t deny it.
-
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