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missadangel · 28 days ago

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MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 12: You Are The Reason

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Chapter Summary: To make a fresh start, you need to deal with the struggles from the past. For Harry, this became his main goal, focusing only on the love between you two and leaving no space for anything else. Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,3k, FEELINGS, romance, violence, emotions, making up, redemption, intrigue, tension, mention about guns, love, propose (its happening!), sharing a bed, confessions, a little tiny angst, happy ending... authors note: Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

On a Sunday morning in Manhattan.

Waking up early can feel like the hardest thing in the world—no matter who you are. Whether you're a student, a regular employee, a wealthy CEO, or even a billionaire with an empire, the struggle is universal.

After all, Sunday is often the only day to truly unwind.

At least, that's what Harry believed. He thought he'd treat himself to a late morning, hoping to linger in bed a little longer. Sleep had been hard to come by lately, and even though he splurged on a sleep mask—something he’d never tried before—he was still nodding off at three in the morning.

Letting out a quiet groan, he fumbled around on the nightstand, his eyes still covered by the mask, trying to grab his ringing phone.

He knew it wasn’t Oliver calling; it was probably Maria or, more likely, someone else entirely. He figured you wouldn’t be calling, especially after Zoe caught the two of you in your room. But there was still a tiny glimmer of hope, so he cleared his throat and answered.

"Yes?"

“Code red, Harry,” a woman’s voice responded, urgent and serious.

Harry’s heart raced as he tore off the sleep mask. He slowly realized it was Sofia's voice. What he hadn’t realized was that he had just answered a video call from his mother. The alarm in Sofia's voice alerted him, and when Valeria appeared on the screen, he barely managed a coherent thought.

“Jesus Christ!”

Harry squinted through the haze of sleep as he tried to adjust to the bright morning light blooming across his room, puzzled by his mother’s reaction.

“Sofia, look at him. He looks utterly miserable! Oh Harry, my son, I don’t even know what to say," Valeria exclaimed.

Harry rolled his eyes. “Good morning to you too, mother.” He raised an eyebrow. “Wait, did you just call me miserable?”

Valeria leaned the phone closer to her face. “You wear a sleep mask because you can’t sleep! I can see the bags under your eyes from here; plus, waking up alone in bed is downright miserable.”

“Maybe getting you that phone with a 4k video quality wasn’t such a great idea after all,” Harry muttered under his breath.

“At least I can watch over you from here, since I can't leave the house.”

Harry frowned, noticing the clock on the nightstand reading 7:45. “If you're done with your early Sunday morning ritual of waking me up and criticizing me, I’d love to get some more sleep, Mrs, Castillo,” he muttered, sinking back into his pillow while keeping the phone propped on its side in his hand to stare at his mother.

“You no-good son! What are you waiting for? Why haven’t you made up with her yet? You should be up doing something to win her back!” Her voice rang loud, and as she leaned forward, Sofia had to catch the phone before it slipped from her grip.

“Calm down. We’ve agreed to start over. I offered to take her out to dinner, and she said yes. We’ll sort things out.”

“Sofia, hold the phone properly,” Valeria scolded, lifting it higher to frame her face. “You should ask her to marry you! Come and get the ring—unless you want me to ask Harry Winston's to give it a polish first, since it’s been stuck in the drawer for years.”

“You definitely should; it’s one of their first, rare pieces,” came another voice from somewhere off-screen.

“Is that Maria?” Harry squinted, recognizing the teasing tone.

“Hey bud,” Maria waved at the camera.

“Of course, it’s you. Who else would be spying on my life with my mother?”

“If you visited your mother more often, I wouldn’t have to keep her in the loop,” Valeria retorted.

“I’m a 45-year-old adult. I can handle my own problems,” Harry grunted.

“It’s tough to say your methods of problem-solving actually work,” Maria chimed in.

“Sofia, show him that picture on the tablet,” Valeria instructed. The image displayed was of a small child.

“Who is this?” Harry asked, squinting at the screen.

“Mateo's son—he’s five years old now.”

“His second son,” Sofia corrected, looking at the screen as if sharing a well-kept secret.

“Oh right, his second,” Valeria echoed.

Harry sighed heavily.

Valeria flicked through her phone and showed another pic of a newborn baby with a guy holding her. “Hugo just had a baby girl last week.”

“Didn’t he just get married last year?” Harry muttered, surprised.

Valeria nodded and continued, “Maybe he wanted to make his mother happy by giving her a grandchild.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Oh, and guess what? Daniel is engaged and getting married soon. Can you believe it?”

Harry was struggling with the news. “Well, it’s his second marriage; that doesn’t really count.”

“He’ll be tying the knot for the second time while you’re still single, just so you know,” Valeria pointed out.

“Come on, Sofia, why don’t you pull up Uncle Fernando’s son’s Instagram? He just got married,” Maria suggested.

Harry let out a frustrated sigh. “Enough already. I get it.”

“You do? Then it’s time to take action.”

“And don’t take too long,” Maria said sipping her coffee.

“Stop bossing me around. I’m not ignoring what she wants. She asked for time, and I’m giving her that.”

“Ugh, men... They just don’t get it,” Maria replied.

“Not at all,” added Valeria.

“They’re all the same,” Sofia said with a disapproving look.

“Maybe it’s because you’re all are more complex than the hardest riddle,” Harry retorted before ending the video call.

It was too much.

Not a moment passed without him thinking about how to win you back, and the pressure from his mother only added to his frustration. He ran his hand over the pillow and sheet, glancing at the empty side of the bed.

He sighed deeply, holding the pillow in his lap, his heart aching at the thought of wrapping you in his arms instead. Each minute without you made the bed feel as cold as ice, while it once felt so warm with you by his side.

He frowned as he remembered that you were postponing the dinner arrangement the last time you spoke on the phone.

Once again, he picked up his phone, resting his chin on the pillow as he opened your chat screen. As he did every morning, he gazed at your profile picture and sighed. You had changed it two weeks ago; you smiled sweetly at the camera, holding a tray of the cheesecakes you baked when you first opened your shop. And, like every morning, gloom washed over him, mixed with anger.

You were just a short distance away in your cousin’s apartment, likely sleeping in your own bed instead of beside him in his.

In your absence, he lost the excitement to plan his free days; nothing felt appealing when you weren’t part of it.

He couldn’t even let himself dream anymore.

How could he?

Nothing held meaning without you.

You were everything he ever longed for, and you would forever be intertwined with every dream he would have.

You were all he ever wanted.

The truth hit Harry harder than ever before. It had been four days and eighteen hours since he last saw you, since he last felt your touch, and time continued to tick away.

What the hell was he waiting for?

With a sudden burst of frustration, yet fueled by determination, he threw off the covers and climbed out of bed.

The same morning in Brooklyn...

Sunday morning wasn’t shaping up any better for you either. The moment you woke up, just like Harry, your eyes drifted to the other side of the bed, thoughts of him flooding your mind. But your guilt paled in comparison to the weight of his. You had managed to come to terms with your feelings, promising yourself there would be no physical contact until your first date—a crucial step toward reconciliation after the breakup. You resolved to avoid him as much as possible, but it was proving to be an uphill battle. It felt like your heart was trapped in an iron cage, desperately trying to break free, and you had to suppress the painful thudding for now. To help keep your mind off things, you found a new pastime: develop new recipes for the bakery. The busier you kept yourself, the more you could listen to your head instead of your heart.

You decided to enter the upcoming chef competition to elevate the bakery’s unique offerings, but you needed a standout product to present. So, you set out to shop for inspiration. Many of the fruit markets were either closed or opened late on Sundays, but the one on 14th Street in Manhattan had fresh produce and was open every day of the week.

Having finished the morning’s cooking at the store and getting everything prepped and ready, you left Zoe and the others in charge. As you strolled toward the fruit shop, your phone rang. It was Jack, peppering you with questions about Melanie. You answered honestly, but it was clear he wasn’t buying her act of being the innocent daughter.

Despite everything, he seemed genuinely grateful for your helping her work at your bakery. His mood shifted to anger when you mentioned Alan buying the shop, and his fatherly instincts kicked in. Jack often expressed that he wished you were his real daughter instead of Melanie—a sentiment that resonated with you. There were times you envisioned him as your father rather than your own, considering how strained your relationship was with your grumpy, withdrawn, hard-ass dad.

Yet, despite the differences between Jack and your father, they shared one glaring flaw: both ignored their own mistakes. Jack was blissfully unaware of Alan's involvement in drug smuggling, and you were relieved; you didn't want him to get caught up in that mess. Besides, he probably wouldn’t have approved if he knew you were helping the NYPD commissioner with this situation. It had to remain a secret.

The fruit market was quiet, most New Yorkers likely still busy with brunch. As you browsed through the aisles, your phone rang again. This time, it was a video chat from Valeria.

You sighed and glanced around before picking up. “Hello, Valeria,” you said, waving.

Her smile beamed back, brighter than your own. “Hey, cariño. I wanted to check on how you're doing—”

Suddenly, a hand reached from behind you and grabbed your phone. You turned in shock to see Harry, holding your phone and looking at his mother through the screen. “Leave her alone. You can pester me all you want, but not her.”

“What the— Harry—”

Harry ended the video call and handed your phone back to you. You stood there, trying to wrap your head around what had just transpired. “Harry, what do you think you’re doing? Why did you hang up on your mom?”

“I just saved you, darling,” he replied with that charming smile.

Oh, that smile—so disarming it made you forget everything: where you were, what you were doing, who you were.

You turned your head away, trying to shake off your attraction. “What are you doing here anyway? How did you know I was here?” You fidgeted with a package of blueberries. “Only Zoe and Nick... Wait a minute. Is he your spy?"

Harry picked up a mango, inspecting it. “Spy? I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Harry...”

"Baby..."

You shared a long gaze, each lost in the other’s eyes.

“...We promised not to see each other until dinner, to create some distance between us.”

He smirked. “Darling. If we put any more distance between us, we might as well be two neighboring countries with no diplomatic relations.”

You rolled your eyes, stifling a laugh.

“Besides, you’ve got it all wrong. I’m not here to break our agreement. It’s just a coincidence.”

“Oh really? Then why are you here?”

Harry glanced around the fruit section. “Fruits. I came to buy some. This was the only place open in the neighborhood.”

“Are you saying you came here to shop by yourself? All right, Mr. Castillo, what fruit are you planning to get?”

Harry looked over at the nearby fruit display. “I think I’ll go for the blueberries. I love them; I’m going to toss them in my smoothie.”

You chuckled. “That’s not blueberries, that’s cranberries. And a smoothie might not be the best choice since you don’t like sour flavors.”

You both exchanged smiles, pleasantly surprised by the detail you remembered about him. Harry put the cranberries back, looking a bit sheepish. “I honestly thought they were unripe blueberries,” he admitted. “But what about you? I haven’t seen you with a bag yet.”

You glanced at the berries again. “I actually came here to rediscover a flavor I can barely remember.”

“Is this about your special dessert?”

“Yeah. When I was a kid, my mom would make a pie in the summer with fresh fruit from the farm. The aroma was so intoxicating; I can still recall the smell, like a warm breeze. The cream was infused with wild strawberries. Unfortunately, the ones here just don’t measure up to what I remember. I still need to buy some and give it a try.”

"You could just order online. It is a waste of time coming here, especially with how busy you are. Don’t you ever get exhausted?"

You picked a fresh strawberry and held it out for him to smell. “Take a whiff of this.”

Harry inhaled deeply, savoring the sweet scent.

“Why would I choose to order online when I can savor the vibrant colors and intoxicating scents of this fresh, succulent fruit right here? Plus, life is out here on the streets, Mr. Castillo. When was the last time you fed or petted a cat or a dog?”

He couldn't find the words to respond, instead simply smiling with admiration.

You bought the mountain strawberries, and Harry settled on the blueberries.

As you both exited the market and wandered through Central Park, you generously shared some dog food you had purchased earlier with a few stray dogs, giving one a gentle pat on the head. Harry followed suit, smiling at the experience, clearly appreciating this side of you.

“How can you be so amazing?” he murmured, locking eyes with you.

You smiled back, feeling your cheeks warm.

"Sometimes I wonder if you're a real Cinderella, a fairy tale beauty—more a product of my imagination than reality."

You giggled. "I’m not sure that’s a very healthy compliment."

You both shared a laugh.

Just then, a dog emerged from the trees, making both of you tense.

“That dog,” Harry pointed out, nervous.

“Muddy and soaked,” you said, mirroring his tone.

As you feared, the dog instinctively shook itself dry, flinging mud and water everywhere. You closed your eyes and shielded yourself, while Harry did the same for you, but it was too late. The dog’s fur sprayed you with a torrent of wetness.

Now both soaked and dirty, you caught each other’s surprised expressions. Onlookers, including children and tourists, couldn’t help but laugh at the scene.

You burst into laughter, taking in your drenched state down to your underwear. “You naughty dog,” you muttered, looking at the oblivious animal, which was too busy enjoying the food to care.

“Great, just great,” you said in exasperation.

“What was that, honey? Something about ‘life on the street’?” he teased.

“How was I to know a wet dog would come out of nowhere?” you grimaced. “Oh, I smell terrible. There’s no way I’m going back to the bakery like this.”

“Well, hello? I stink too, Cinderella,” he said with a laugh. “Come on, we’re heading to my place.”

You widened your eyes in disbelief. “What? No way, I’m going home to take a shower and change.”

“Your apartment’s on the other side of the city, and I doubt they’ll let you on the subway like that, baby,” he quipped, still chuckling.

You huffed, tugging your wet and filthy dress and sneezing unexpectedly. Harry grabbed your wrist. “Stop being stubborn. Just come with me. I’ll call the driver.”

That afternoon in Harry’s penthouse.

It was undeniably strange.

Awkward, too.

Everything about it seemed off, especially after all the promises you had made to yourself. But this was no choice you had made deliberately, was it? You never could have anticipated it would come to this.

After all this time, standing in this room where you once shared your last conversation sent a wave of memories crashing over you. You could still hear his words echoing in your mind, a haunting reminder of what had been shared that night.

To your surprise, you didn’t feel as terrible as you thought you would.

“You can use the shower in the bathroom here, and I’ll take the one upstairs,” Harry suggested, his voice laced with caution and trembling slightly as he studied your face.

He must have sensed the mixed emotions stirring within you, especially given the memories this place held—memories of laughter and deep conversations. You sighed, attempting to gather your thoughts, and nodded in response. As you made your way to the bathroom, he headed upstairs.

After your shower, you crossed paths in the hallway, both wrapped in bathrobes. The atmosphere felt strange, undeniably weird, and you couldn’t shake the feeling that it was anything but humorous.

“The clothes in your room are still there,” Harry ventured, breaking the thick silence. “If you want to get dressed—”

“I can wash and dry the dress I just took off in the laundry room. Besides, those clothes are too valuable to wear only at the bakery,” you replied.

“In terms of money, maybe,” he said firmly, “but they’re just pieces of fabric. They’re practically worthless compared to you. It’s you who brings out their true value.”

A shy smile crept onto your face at his compliment as you lowered your gaze. But as he stepped closer, you dared to look up at him again. “Your hair isn’t completely dry,” he added softly, reaching out to run his fingers through your damp strands.

“It’s hot today; it’ll dry quickly,” you murmured, trying to keep your cool.

Thanks to the promises you’d made to yourself, you stood frozen as he touched you. Actually, you should have pushed him away, but in this whirlwind of emotions and memories, blocking him out felt impossible.

Harry must have gauged your hesitation, as he slowly pulled his hand back. “I should get dressed. Are you sure you can wait for the dress to dry?”

“The dryer only takes fifteen minutes, Harry,” you replied, noting the edge of sadness t in his tone.

“Right,” he said, frustratingly, making his way toward the bedroom.

You returned to the bathroom to grab your clothes before heading to the laundry room. By the time you both joined again, he was dressed in a cream and beige t-shirt paired with jeans, while you were still in your robe, feeling a bit nervous. He settled beside you on the small seat in the laundry room, and you shifted slightly to make space.

The two of you fell into a weird silence, watching the washing machine spin your dress. From the corner of your eye, you felt his gaze lingering on you.

“Saturday night,” he remarked suddenly, as if a lightbulb had gone on in his mind.

You raised an eyebrow, curious.

“Are you free next Saturday night?”

You knew this wasn’t just about dinner; it was more profound, a promise of returning to each other, a step you had been avoiding until now. But in that moment, you felt ready.

Resolutely, you nodded, looking deep into his eyes. “I’m free that evening.”

He gently took your hand in his, bringing it to his lips. “Thank you,” he said, sincerity ringing in his voice.

At that moment, the washing machine beeped, indicating it was done. You got up to transfer your dress to the dryer, and once it finished as well, he gave you some space while you got dressed. When you finally emerged, fully changed, you found him on the phone in the living room. You waved as you headed for the door, but just then, he ended his call and called out your name.

“Please don’t leave like this.”

You froze in place.

There was more than just pleading in his voice; you could sense it, a deeper emotion lurking beneath the surface.

You turned to face him.

He stepped closer, taking your hand gently in his. "That night, I should have said that. I should have stopped you, should never have let you walk away." Suddenly, he knelt before you, and your eyes widened in surprise. "I should have groveled, begged for you to stay."

Tears blurred your vision as you whispered, “Harry.”

He gripped your hand tightly, as if it were his lifeline, his expression pained. "You were right. I am like a child... when it comes to love. I've always felt that way, like an idiot. It's so hard for me to process. It's as if figuring it out is a math problem, but with you, everything changed. I saw how cowardly I really was, because with you, love felt easy—natural, free of complications." You touched his cheek softly, brushing away the tears that threatened to spill. He sighed, closing his eyes to savor your touch. When he opened them again, a single tear slipped down his cheek. "Baby, I beg for your forgiveness. Without you, I’m a ship adrift in an endless ocean; you're my beacon, my only compass. The love I feel for you is unlike anything I’ve ever known."

“Harry,” you murmured, kneeling beside him. “What I should have said that day was that you hurt me so much I might never be able to forgive you.” The truth burst forth from your heart. “I should never have allowed you to get close, should never have slept with you, should never listened to what my heart was saying."

Harry swallowed hard. “And what does your heart say now?”

You smiled softly. “It says I should forgive you and wrap my arms around you.”

"Will you follow your heart?"

You sighed, sinking down onto the floor. “I don’t know. Maybe I should, but it doesn’t feel the same as before.”

“Let it be then. We’ll start over,” he murmured.

“That’s the problem, Harry,” you said, wiping the tears away. “You can be impulsive and sometimes a bit materialistic, especially when it comes to making amends.”

"What do you mean by that?"

“Like when you planned to go to Paris. Leaving me your shares and your penthouse as if that would fix everything instead of just apologizing.”

“Would you forgive me if I simply said I was sorry?”

“At least that would show me you’re trying. I’d recognize the effort, not just in a material way, but something deeper.”

He grasped your meaning. “I’m such an idiot, aren’t I?”

You leaned in closer, cradling his face in your hands. "We’re both to blame. I shouldn’t have gone there that night; we could have found another way."

You both sighed deeply at the realization, feeling lighter for sharing it.

"I think we’re in phase five," Harry said as he sat beside you, stretching his legs out.

You knew he was referring to the fifth stage of grief.

"Yeah, which means that what we did last week was merely a sign of depression. All that sex we had."

"That’s right. We chose physical intimacy over conversation," he said, a mischievous smile creeping onto his face. "But admit it, it was amazing."

“It truly was,” you confessed, chuckling together.

Another heavy sigh escaped from both of your lips.

“So, Saturday night,” he murmured, standing and offering you his hand.

“Saturday night,” you echoed as you took his hand and stood up. He watched attentively as you straightened your dress.

“I have to head back to the shop,” you mumbled, your heart longing to stay, but you forced yourself to move on.

“Sure, I’ll see you then,” he said, his tone hesitant, a flicker of something in his gaze.

��Yeah, bye,” you said with a shy smile, leaning in for a kiss on his cheek as he leaned in at the same moment.

So awkward.

Again.

Come on, why was it so tough to just give a simple kiss on the cheek?

Each time you aimed for it, he instinctively found yours, your lips almost brushing together in perfect unison, dangerously close.

You knew you must look silly.

Neither of you could contain your laughter at the absurdity of the moment.

Then, your lips met in a kiss, and the playful mood shifted to serious.

Harry's hand found its place on your waist, pulling you closer.

He was kind, and yet you found it all too easy to lose yourself in that kiss.

It ignited a fire within you, turning passionate and hungry, enveloping you completely, as if you had poured gasoline onto a flame. You clung to him, pressing closer, desperately craving that connection.

Then your phone rang, breaking the spell.

For the first time, you were relieved for the interruption, reminded of the promises you'd made to yourself.

You pulled your lips away just enough to speak, breathless. “Harry, we better stop.”

He placed a tender kiss on your neck and nodded, reluctant to let you go. When he finally withdrew, it was with pain as he felt the loss of your warmth.

The ache continued as you answered the phone and stepped out of the penthouse, both of you left in a whirlwind of emotions, the connection still lingering in the air.

On Wednesday morning in your bakery.

You couldn't help but chuckle at one of Harry's classic, humorous texts that popped up on your phone after you arranged the sweets in the display case. Ever since you two decided to start fresh, he had been sending you a string of funny messages and reels that brought a lightness to your heart.

One of the messages read:

"My Crush: I'm not that cute. Also her: A photo of an adorable kitten with a pink bow clip by its ear."

You laughed a bit too loudly, catching the attention of some customers at a nearby table who turned to glance your way, prompting you to offer an apologetic smile.

“At least one of us is in a good mood today,” Zoe remarked as she approached you, while Melanie and Nick tended to other customers.

"Has John called yet?"

"Who cares? You know what? It's better this way." she put the tray on the counter. "Now tell me. What had you cracking up so much, Miss Happy?"

Right, you hadn't mentioned that you saw Harry last Sunday. You couldn’t let Zoe know you were on better terms with Harry while she was dealing with her fallout with John. “Oh, just some funny videos online,” you shrugged, sending Harry a laughing emoji before slipping your phone into your pocket.

"Isn’t that Lucy, the matchmaker bitch?" Melanie said.

You both turned to her voice. It was her, and you instinctively tensed. What was she doing here? As Zoe squinted at Lucy in annoyance, you stepped out from behind the counter to join her.

Lucy glanced between the three of you, surprise flickering in her eyes as she stopped on Melanie. Then she looked directly at Zoe. “Can I have a word with you?”

Zoe hesitated at first, but after a reassuring look from you, she agreed. Your jaw dropped when you noticed the car parked out front. Theo was here.

Great.

You realized you hadn’t been fair to him, especially after you’d ditched him last time.

Melanie smirked at the sight of Theo entering the shop. “Looks like I picked the best place to work—there's never a dull moment around here.”

You shot her a dirty look and turned to greet Theo with a smile. “Hey. What brings you here?”

"I stopped by to check just how swamped you were, hoping it would explain why you haven't replied to my messages," he said with a grin as he glanced around the bustling shop. "And, wow, you really are incredibly busy."

“Yeah, sorry, it’s been a hectic week,” you admitted, eyeing the flashy sports car behind him. “A Lamborghini? Are you, like, the son of someone famous or something?”

“Kind of,” he said, smiling “There are things about my family I haven't told you yet, stuff I would have shared if you’d come over that night.”

You felt a flush of embarrassment remembering why you hadn’t gone to see him. “Yeah, I’m sorry about that.”

“Would you like to talk outside for a bit? Maybe take this beauty for a spin? I remember you mentioned you love sports cars.”

It was an exciting offer, and you knew you should have a serious talk with him before things went any further. Zoe and Lucy had wrapped up their conversation by now, so you asked Zoe to cover the shop for a bit and hopped into Theo’s car.

After an exhilarating ride on a private, traffic-free track, Theo treated you to coffee and began sharing stories about his family. He explained that his father, a well-known senator, was unaware of his acting aspirations, as Theo wasn’t ready to come forward and share that side of himself. Despite the circumstances, you sensed his genuine interest in you.

Deciding it was best to be honest and end things on a good note, you leaned against the hood of the car, gazing out at the cityscape. “I think I already knew,” he said softly. “You’re still in love with him.”

You couldn't deny it; your silence confirmed his intuition.

“Can we stay friends? You’re a wonderful person, and I enjoy our conversations. When others find out I'm a senator's son, they often act differently, but you’ve treated me just like anyone else, and I appreciate that.”

You laughed, “I’ve heard that before. Did John know?”

“Yes, he has been known for a long time. He introduced me to the agency. You, Zoe, and he are such kind people. I’m glad to know you all.”

“You’re kind too, Theo. I have no doubt you’ll find the true love you’re looking for someday.”

After sharing a friendly hug, you exchanged warm goodbyes, promising to see each other again.

Thursday evening in your apartment.

You and Zoe were lounging in separate couches after a long day, chatting about yesterday's events. "So Lucy mentioned that John helped her with something, but he won’t say what it is?" What could be so crucial that he couldn't reveal it? "Maybe it really matters; John cares about you, after all."

"Then why isn’t he doing anything to make it right?" Zoe replied, frustration evident in her tone.

"Some guys just aren't all that romantic, but that doesn’t mean he doesn’t love you."

"I don’t care. He promised me his ex wouldn’t be a part of our lives, and I can't be with someone who breaks that promise even before we’re married. And that woman? She's no saint."

You had to admit Zoe wasn't wrong; you didn’t have the best impression of Lucy. But still, John had always seemed like a good guy to you. You believed there must be a reasonable explanation for all this. Your thoughts were interrupted when you noticed a message from Harry pop up on your phone.

"I can hear your heart racing for Saturday. I have several surprises planned—want a hint?"

Curious, you quickly typed back, "Surprises? Hmm, I’d be lying if I said I wasn’t intrigued."

His reply came just as fast: "Check the door."

As if on cue, the doorbell rang.

You jumped up excitedly from the couch, and Zoe squinted her eyes, sizing you up. "Were you expecting someone?"

With a mischievous smile, you headed to the door, but when you opened it, nobody was there. Puzzled, you glanced around before spotting a teddy bear on the floor, holding a red heart-shaped balloon and an envelope on its lap. As you bent down to retrieve the envelope, you tucked your hair behind your ear. Inside, you found a polaroid photograph of Paris, featuring the Eiffel Tower in the distance—exactly the view from your hotel room that day, and the same picture Harry took back then.

"Who's there?" Zoe called from the living room, making you jump. Just then, you noticed John lingering in the hallway -lost in thought- and invited him over.

What a lucky coincidence.

"Tell Zoe you got this for her; I haven’t told her I made up with Harry yet," you whispered quickly, pressing the teddy bear into John's hands and slipping the envelope into your pocket.

"But I already bought flowers," he muttered, holding up a bunch of pink roses.

"So? Listen, she needs all the romance she can get right now," you insisted.

"John?"

You both turned to Zoe, who was giving you a curious look. "Oh, and you said John wasn't romantic," you teased, nudging him lightly.

Zoe crossed her arms and eyed the flowers and teddy bear in his hands. "What do you want?"

"Can we talk? Please?"

"Yes! Talk! Great idea!" You took John by the arm and pulled him inside, shutting the door behind him. "Oh, I just remembered—gotta make an important phone call in my room. You two talk."

Zoe called after you, but you ignored her and dashed to your room; John's timing couldn’t have been better.

Quickly, you pulled out your phone and called Harry. It rang twice before he answered.

"Hey, beautiful. Did you get the clue from the teddy bear?"

"Yes, but Paris? Really?"

"It all started there, and I thought it’d be the perfect place for us to start fresh."

You smiled at the sweet memories. "But Harry, I can’t just leave the shop, and you have work at the company. We’re both swamped."

"Can’t you leave it with Zoe for a few days, or at least shut it down? We at castillofunds.co would be more than happy to cover any losses for The Vanilla Vine."

You chuckled at the idea. "Hmm, well, but I do have a competition at the end of the month."

"Only three days, sweetheart. Just you and me," he replied in a low, enticing voice.

You smiled back playfully. "Alright, ol'man."

As soon as you ended the call, an incoming call interrupted you—an unknown number.

It was Gerardo.

You’d almost forgotten about him. He informed you that they had received word that Alan was leaving NYC tomorrow morning, and this was your only chance to take him down. You felt a wave of annoyance at yourself for agreeing to help, but you knew you had to.

That bastard had gotten away with too much.

You remembered Harry's outburst from last time when he had angrily said he wanted to kill Alan—not literally, of course. However, Alan was different; his demeanor was chilling, indicating that he was not just a nuisance but a real threat. If helping the NYPD meant you could finally rid yourself of him once and for all, then you felt you had no choice.

Friday morning at Alan’s hotel.

The plan was straightforward: break into his penthouse and access the safe containing crucial documents, including details of his illegal drug shipments. While the police had the combination, simply entering the hotel posed significant risks. Alan wasn’t naive; he had connections with nearly every NYPD commissioner, carefully keeping his enemies close and collecting intelligence on them whenever he could.

Some of the hotel staff recognized you, while others did not. You were familiar with the kitchen team, but you needed the cleaning staff to gain easy access to the elevator and the upper floors. When you approached the head of housekeeping and laid out your situation, he appeared apprehensive at first. Yet, his allegiance to the police prevailed, and he agreed to help.

The housekeeping team had access cards to reach the penthouse, allowing you to use the inconspicuous service elevator—after all, no one ever paid much attention to them.

This was a benefit you appreciated from your time as a maid.

With the chief's assistance, you donned a cleaning uniform and rolled the service trolley into the elevator. You couldn't help but chuckle nervously as you gazed at your reflection. You never thought you’d find yourself in this outfit again. As the elevator ascended, your anxiety mounted, your heart pounding in your chest. You held your breath when you reached the penthouse floor, mentally replaying the the commissioner's instructions: find the safe, use the code breaker, retrieve the document, and make a swift exit.

Easier said than done, of course.

They had briefed you thoroughly and would be watching your every move from outside, providing a phone similar to those seen in movies for communication.

Still, you felt a wave of nerves wash over you.

The elevator chimed as it reached the penthouse, replacing your fears with a different brand of anxiety. Adrenaline coursed through your body, and your palms grew slick with sweat. Memories of the last time you were there ignited a flicker of anger, fueling your determination to carry out your mission.

The question remained though, where was Alan’s private safe?

Having cleaned numerous hotel rooms, you had a good sense of where it might be, yet it eluded you. After about half an hour of searching, exhaustion set in, and you collapsed onto the couch.

Gerardo called for a status update, and you told him that despite your efforts, you hadn’t found it. He suggested a few other spots, but none of them panned out.

As you leaned against the bar counter, a memory flickered in your mind. That night—when Alan approached you from behind the bar with documents in hand...

Could it be?

It struck you as ridiculous, but what if Alan had a safe behind the bar? “I feel like I’m starring in a crime movie or something,” you murmured to yourself.

You slipped behind the counter and bent down to inspect. Lifting lids revealed nothing but glasses and barware, but as you were about to close it up, you noticed something sticking out from behind the glasses on the bottom shelf. Carefully, you removed the glasses one by one, exposing a hidden hatch. With a determined tug, you pulled it open.

“I found you,” you whispered with a sense of triumph. Beneath the hatch lay a safe with a digital keypad—just what the cops had described, a fingerprint unlocker. Remembering your instruction, you placed the code breaker against the lock. You marveled at this device, intrigued by its technology. In just minutes, the lock switched from red to green, and the safe door creaked open.

“Please be certain to pick up the correct documents,” the commissioner’s voice came through the phone, steady and authoritative.

You froze as you peered inside the safe.

There was a pistol, 9mm ammunition, valuables, cash bundles, and various documents. Even though Alan was a criminal and a jerk, rifling through someone’s personal belongings felt wrong, but you had a job to do. While examining the files, the commissioner interrupted once more, reminding you of how the file should look. Just then, someone called his name and whispered in his ear. He picked up the phone to speak to you again. “Get out of there now,” he urged sharply.

“What did you say?” you asked, startled.

“Finnegan has returned to the hotel. He left the airport before boarding his jet. Mission’s off. You need to get out now. I repeat, get out now.”

“Hurry up,” Gerardo added urgently.

“Damn,” you muttered, realizing you had gone to great lengths for this. But just then, as you skimmed through one last file, you found what you needed: everything—drug routes, sellers, suppliers, schedules—was there.

You placed the file into the bag, organizing the remaining papers back in their proper spots.

Time was slipping away as you locked the safe, closed the lid, and carefully rearranged the glasses one by one, your hands trembling, head spinning, heart racing, and palms sweating. Just as you were about to throw the bag over your shoulder and make your way to the elevator, the chime of the other elevator and Alan’s voice made you freeze.

You quickly crouched down, hiding in the most secluded corner of the counter, muttering a curse under your breath.

Why did he have to come back?

Fuck my luck, you cursed.

Alan was arguing with someone; his voice was laced with anger, and fortunately, he was too furious to think about drinking. But that didn’t ease your nerves. You felt a jolt when you heard the other voice.

“Lucy, what the fuck? Who do you think you are? I had to cancel my flight because of you!”

Oh great, thanks a lot, Lucy.

“You will listen to me this time.”

“I told you, that baby isn’t coming into this world. Get rid of it, or I’ll do it myself.”

You couldn’t believe what you were hearing; your mind was racing.

“She’s almost four months along. It’s too risky to abort now.”

“You’re doing this on purpose, aren’t you? Not taking your pills to blackmail me? You’re pathetic!”

“No, you’re the pathetic one! You’re so obsessed with him that you’re willing to reject your own child!” Lucy shouted.

“Shut up,” he snarled through gritted teeth.

You didn’t need to see his face to feel how furious he was.

“If I had known you were this obsessed with Harry, I would have never dated you. You’ve made hating him your life’s mission; it’s sick.”

“I told you to shut up,” he warned again, his anger palpable and even more menacing this time.

“You watched us from a distance while we were together; you were thrilled when I dumped him, weren’t you? I know you roped John into all this too. You are responsible for everything. I lost them both because of you. Then you threatened me over my job just so I could pretend to be with you. But when Harry fell for that girl, you tried to get rid of me, didn’t you? She became your next target.”

“Don’t even put yourself in the same category as her. I genuinely love her.”

“Love?" She laughed, her voice tinged with distress, and you could hear her trying to stifle a sob. "No, you don’t know what love is. If you truly did, you wouldn’t treat her like this. All you want is to watch Harry suffer. You’re the most obsessively twisted person I’ve ever encountered.”

Alan let out a chilling, unnatural laugh. “Maybe you should stop talking to me that way. You have no idea what a truly twisted person is capable of.”

He moved closer, and you felt Lucy’s fear echoing your own. "I will kill you, and no one will ever find your body. Do you understand me?"

This was beyond what you could stand; you should have acted instead of just being afraid. Looking around, you spotted several liquor bottles. Grabbing one, you knew you had no other choice.

“Get rid of that baby, or I swear I’ll kill you.”

“No, I can’t, I won’t.”

“Is that so?” Just then, Alan lunged at her, gripping her neck tightly as you were startled by the sound of her bag hitting the floor.

You stood up, shocked by the scene.

What should I do? What should I do?

You glanced at the bottle in your hand—there wasn’t a choice.

You came up behind him and brought the bottle crashing down on his head with all your might. "Let her go, you piece of shit!"

He staggered from the blow and released Lucy, who gasped for air as she fought to recover, coughing.

Alan groaned and placed his hands down for support, struggling to regain his balance as blood oozed from his head. In that instant, only one thought raced through your mind: grab Lucy’s wrist and run for the elevator.

It wasn’t exactly professional, but that didn’t matter right now. You just needed to escape. As you pressed the button for the elevator and selected the ground floor, Lucy looked at you, confusion etched on her face, trying to make sense of everything.

“He…” she croaked.

“No, no, he’s not dead. Don’t worry,” you replied, even though you couldn’t be entirely sure that was the truth.

“You saved me,” she whispered, nearly fainting, her face ghostly pale.

You gently touched her cheek. “Are you okay? Hang in there; we’re almost there. The police are outside. Don’t worry, I’ll ensure they call you an ambulance.”

As the elevator dinged and reached the ground floor, you used your private key—one the maids had access to—to lock it behind you before rushing out. Once in the lobby, you dialed Gerardo's number. "I've got the file. I locked Alan in; he can't escape. And we need an ambulance for a pregnant woman who was attacked here," you said, glancing at Lucy.

Lucy stared at you with wide eyes, mumbling. "Who exactly are you?"

Just then, police officers burst into the lobby, and a nervous laugh escaped you. "You mean right now? Well, I’m the girl who just saved your ass."

She smiled back in response.

Your statements were taken later at the police station, alongside Lucy's, after she was cleared by the medical team. Alan was officially apprehended, and thanks to your efforts, the police now had concrete evidence of his crimes. His offenses included attempted murder, leading to his detention until the upcoming court date. It felt like a weight had been lifted; after everything you had been through, you had finally succeeded.

Zoe and John arrived at the police station simultaneously, both concerned and surprised to see Lucy there. While you quickly filled her in on what had happened, John engaged Lucy in conversation, revealing why they had been seeing each other so much lately. Given Lucy's delicate situation, it was evident this had been a tough time for her.

The commissioner and his team came over to thank you, you missed seeing Harry watching you from a distance, filled with both concern and relief.

As he called your name, you turned to see him, his anxious voice resonating throughout the police station and catching everyone’s attention.

He hurried towards you, wrapping you tightly in his arms and pressing you against his chest. The moment felt even stranger than everything else you’d experienced leading up to this point.

“Are you really trying to kill me?” he grumbled, his hand resting on the back of your head.

“Sorry.”

But just then, he noticed Gerardo, pulling away and fixing an angry glare on him. “How dare you put the woman I love in danger?” he asked, stepping towards him. “Isn’t what you’ve done enough?”

Gerardo stayed silent.

The commissioner cut in, “Mr. Castillo, please remember you’re at a police station.”

Harry retorted, “I’m well aware of that. I’ll sue all of you. What if something had happened to her?”

“Your girlfriend agreed to help of her own free will. Neither Mr. Alvaro nor anyone else forced her.”

“Harry, they’re telling the truth. I asked to help.”

He turned to you, confusion etched on his face. “Why?”

“Yeah, why?” Zoe echoed, both of them looking for an explanation. John and Lucy were equally puzzled.

“I wanted to help them catch Alan.”

So, you recounted everything from the beginning but Harry's anger just wouldn’t subside. Just then, Maria arrived and quickly got up to speed on the situation. After a brief discussion with Gerardo, you bid them farewell. John took Lucy home, and Zoe decided to join them. Harry walked you to his car to take you home.

“What a day,” you murmured, resting your head on Harry’s shoulder, fatigue washing over you.

“You really are incredible. I can’t believe you had the courage to do something like that.”

“But it worked,” you said, smiling at him.

"You've obviously seen your fair share of James Bond films; otherwise, I couldn't explain your foolish bravery," he quipped.

"You know, being a spy must be a real challenge. I don't think they live long."

“Why do you say that?” he asked, running his fingers through your hair.

“When I was there, the fear of being caught was so intense I felt like my heart would burst. Living with that kind of stress every second can’t be good for the heart.”

“Thanks to you, I think my heart’s going to give out too; it raced all day, worrying about you. I was going crazy."

You gazed at him. “I’m sorry; that wasn’t my intention. Is there anything I can do to make it up to you?”

“Hm, a kiss wouldn’t be a bad start,” he said teasingly.

You giggled and placed a soft kiss on his cheek. His frown melted away, replaced by a bright smile. “That felt nice,” he said, grinning.

“Our plans for tomorrow are still on, right?” you asked.

“Why wouldn’t they be?”

“I don’t know; maybe you don’t like me anymore now that you know my secret agent identity. Perhaps you’re thinking of running away,” you teased.

He laughed and sighed, leaning down to kiss the top of your head. “You silly woman, nothing you do could make me give you up. I’m not going anywhere unless you want me to.”

You smiled back at him. "So, that means never then. ”

“Never, my love, never.”

Saturday evening in Paris.

As you gazed out the jet window at the enchanting city below, bathed in the warm glow of the setting sun, you couldn't help but smile and sigh. Coming back here with Harry felt both meaningful and unique—your emotions were deeper this time, infused with a renewed sense of hope that you would both make it home together.

Really together.

As the jet began its descent, Harry sat across from you, fastening his seatbelt.

“Are you hungry, baby?” he asked.

Considering you hadn’t eaten since breakfast, you nodded enthusiastically. “Starving,” you replied with a laugh.

He chuckled too. “Everything’s set. We’ll head straight to the restaurant while Oliver takes care of our bags at the hotel.”

You smiled as he reached out and held your hand.

“It’s going to be perfect this time. These next three days together will be so much better than before, I promise.”

“I know, and I believe that with all my heart,” you said, returning his smile.

His grip tightened around your hand until the jet touched down safely.

The restaurant where you dined that night offered the same breathtaking view as before, the Eiffel Tower standing beautifully in the distance. While enjoying dessert, Harry reminisced about the treats you had made — he claimed they were the best desserts he had ever tasted, and you both shared a hearty laugh.

Although you were both excited upon arriving at the hotel, exhaustion had set in. You missed him deeply, and the feeling was mutual—his body language spoke volumes of his love for you. But instead of giving in to desire that night, you chose to simply lie in bed in your bathrobes after a shower. This intimate moment held more significance for both of you than any physical act. You felt you were making real progress together.

In contrast to weeks ago, when your interactions were guided more by physical urges, tonight was about connection. You both wanted to enjoy the thrill of make-up sex, but not just yet; tonight was dedicated to understanding each other through quiet moments and meaningful glances.

As you shared a long laugh and finally drifted off to sleep, wrapped in each other’s arms, your heart felt content.

Upon waking to the warm light streaming into the spacious room, you suddenly realized it had been ages since you had slept so deeply for such a long stretch. As you stretched and lifted your head from the pillow, it struck you that Harry was nowhere to be found; the other side of the bed lay empty. That sight was unsettling. Where could he be?

Checking the clock, you noted it was around ten o'clock. “Wow, did I really sleep that long?” you murmured as you climbed out of bed. “Harry!”

The stillness of the room greeted you, your voice echoing back. Noticing his bathrobe draped over the chair, it was clear he had gotten dressed and slipped out. But where had he gone? You quickly grabbed your phone and called him.

“Good morning, Cinderella. I'm waiting for you near the Eiffel Tower. To find me, just follow the trail of flowers and breakfast,” Harry's voice rang with cheerfulness.

“Flowers? Breakfast? What do you mean? Harry—” But before you could finish your sentence, he hung up.

What the hell?

The Champ de Mars, where the Eiffel Tower stood, was vast—where exactly was he? Questions buzzed in your mind as you got ready. You slipped into a summer dress, perfect for the warm day, ran a comb through your hair, applied some light makeup, grabbed your bag, and made your way out of the room.

As you stepped outside the hotel, you were greeted by Oliver. “Ollie, what's going on?”

"Sorry, I’ve been told to keep quiet about it, and I really love my job."

You narrowed your eyes. "Harry's going to fire you? No way."

He chuckled. "I know it would’ve all fallen apart without me."

"Exactly," you said, laughing again.

"Go on, he’s waiting for you," he urged.

Was Harry planning a surprise?

Your curiosity piqued. As you stood in line to buy ticket for the Eiffel Tower, a man approached and handed you a red peony. "No need to buy a ticket, ma'am; it's already taken care of, this way," he said in a charming French accent.

"All right," you murmured, following his direction.

As you stepped towards the tower, a little girl handed you another peony. Moments later, a boy came up and handed you both a peony and a small package. "Bon appétit," he said in French.

"Thank you," you replied. Inside the package was a croissant that smelled absolutely divine, tempting you to take a bite.

Just as you did, another boy presented you with a steaming cup of coffee.

That’s when it clicked—you understood what Harry had meant.

Follow the flowers and breakfast.

But where was he?

One boy after another approached, and you felt a mix of excitement and intrigue. As your view of the tower opened up, flowers in hand along with your breakfast, you turned towards the voices behind you. The children who had gifted you the flowers were all happily following along.

You were surprised but found it delightful. A little further ahead, you finally spotted him.

Harry stood there, waiting for you in his light-brown jacket, his signature smile lighting up his face. "Welcome," he greeted as you reached him.

You smiled, responding.

"Did you enjoy your breakfast?" he asked.

"Yeah, it was wonderful, but I wish we could have shared it together," you said, smiling at the kids surrounding you, though your expression was puzzled. "Harry, what’s going on?"

All the kids are now holding heart-shaped balloons, leaving you to gaze at them in wonder.

He gently took what was in your hand, handed it to one of the boys beside you, and turned back to you, taking your hands in his.

"I want to say a few things now. I hope it doesn't sound too cliché."

You laughed, shaking your head. He looked deeply into your eyes.

"My darling, my light, the moment I first saw you, I knew you were the one."

"Cliché," one of the kids chimed in.

You all burst into laughter.

"Give it another try, sir," a girl encouraged.

Harry sighed and cleraed his throat. "My love, you are the most beautiful, intelligent, resourceful, and extraordinary woman I know. Not a moment goes by that I don’t think of you. You’re a wonderful person—helpful, clever, and a bit stubborn and reckless all at once. You've pushed me to do things I never imagined possible, and the most thrilling and beautiful moments of my life began the day you walked into it. I could never have envisioned giving this speech in front of so many, thinking it was embarrassing, but now I realize it’s because I had never truly fallen in love before."

With a swift motion, he drew a small velvet box from the depths of his jacket pocket, and your breath caught in your throat as your heart began to race wildly. As he sank to one knee, a ripple of anticipation swept through the crowd surrounding you, their whispers filled with excitement and joy. With trembling hands, he carefully opened the box, unveiling a dazzling diamond ring -you saw it before- that sparkled brilliantly, reminiscent of a thousand stars scattered across the night sky, now glimmering in the warm embrace of the sunlight. Locking eyes with you, he said your full name. "I love you with my entire being, more than anything else, and I promise to love you for as long as I breathe. Will you honor me by becoming my wife?"

"Harry," you whispered, tears spilling down your cheeks.

An intense fire dancing in his gaze, and spoke with a conviction that made time stand still. He uttered two simple words, often brushed off as clichés, yet they carried a world of meaning within.

"Marry me."

You could hardly find your voice, overwhelmed with emotion.

"Say yes! Say yes!" The crowd cheered, urging you on.

You both looked around, emotions bubbling up as you realized the moment was being witnessed by so many. "Just so you know, I hope you won’t say no—there are a lot of people with their phones out. This could be live on Instagram right now!"

Through your sniffles, you let out a laugh before taking a deep breath. “Yes! Harry Castillo, I will marry you. So, absolutely yes!”

At that moment, cheers erupted from the crowd, with a few whistles for good measure.

Harry stood up, slipped the ring onto your finger, and pulled you close, kissing you passionately.

The crowd erupted in applause.

The children's laughter rang out as they released red, heart-shaped balloons into the sky, the cheering surrounding you in a wave of joy.

You broke the kiss, gazing at the floating balloons and the crowd celebrating, then back into each other’s eyes, relishing this fairytale moment. Harry wiped your tears away just as you did the same for him, and you kissed again, more deeply this time, as if the world around you had faded away.

It was just the two of you.

Thanks for reading! I really appreciate your comments, likes, and reblogs. I'd love to hear what you think about the chapter!

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prythiansprincess · 2 years ago

Text

le coup de foudre.

pairing: regulus black x reader.

song inspiration: my love mine all mine by mitski.

author's note: this was a result of me binging dune and call me by your name. whoever fancasted timothee chalamet as regulus deserves a forehead kith cause look at him. he's so boyfriend coded it makes me sick.

Regulus Black did not believe in love at first sight.

It was a foolish notion. One that contradicted his pragmatic beliefs. At his core, Regulus was a realist. In his world, love was not a luxury one could afford. Regulus was raised with the expectation to marry according to class, wealth, and most importantly, blood status. The noble and most ancient house of Black only took the purest of the pure.

After all, Toujours Pur, always pure, had been the Black family motto for centuries. There has never been any doubt in his mind that he would marry another member of the sacred twenty eight. It wasn’t a matter of if, only a question of when.

During his sixth year, his mother made her intentions very clear. Walburga Black was adamant that he begin his search for a suitable bride. Leave it to his mother to compose a list of ladies she deemed suitable to become the future Mrs. Black. Regulus was to adhere to the carefully curated roster. They were names that he’d seen a million times before. Greengrass, Prewett, Rosier. Girls he’d grown up with and inadvertently had absolutely no interest in.

Still, his mother was insistent so Regulus complied. He took the girls out on dates. The formula was rather simple: dinner at the fanciest restaurant in town followed by a walk around the city square in which he offered to buy his date a dessert like the proper gentleman his mother raised him to be. Despite the fact that Regulus had the entire process down to a science, the dates were always unsatisfactory.

He was polite, of course. Opened the door, pulled out their chair, asked the appropriate level of questions to get to know his counterpart, but by the time the appetizers arrived, Regulus was on the verge of stabbing himself with the butter knife just to rouse himself from boredom.

Regulus placed no blame on the girls. They were only doing what their families had raised them to do. Sit pretty, chew gracefully, agree with his opinions. All while wearing breakneck heels and a smile to boot. It was all terribly fucked up, but this was the world they lived in.

The more he went on these dates, the more he realized that he didn’t want some pretty, docile wife. What he truly needed was someone who was willing to challenge him, to call him out on his bullshit, to argue with him when his own stubbornness prevented him from seeing reason. Regulus came to the horrible, earth-shattering realization that he probably wouldn’t find a woman like that on his mother’s list.

As he walked back from another mind numbing date, Regulus grappled with this newfound dilemma. He didn’t want to endure another one of these disastrous dates. He didn’t want to sit through an entire meal making small talk. He definitely didn’t want to disappoint another girl by not kissing them at the end of the night.

It wasn’t like any of them liked him anyways. Though they loved the idea of Regulus Black, he was quite certain that they wouldn’t afford the same affections to Reggie—the real and true version of himself. The one that Sirius often said Regulus kept in a neatly locked cage.

He wished he could be more like his brother. Sirius had always been the brave one. It was that infamous Gryffindor boldness that prompted his older brother to rebel against his family’s expectations. Instead of heeding to their mother’s ridiculous list, Sirius chose to date Remus in open defiance to Walburga’s orders. It resulted in him getting kicked out of 12 Grimmauld Place and burned off the family portrait, but Sirius didn’t seem to mind one bit.

In a lot of ways, Regulus envied his brother. Sirius had the guts to stand up for himself. He wasn’t burdened by the crippling pressure of pleasing their mother. In all honesty, Reggie wondered if such a thing was even achievable. As he brooded, Regulus found himself on the shores of the Black Lake. His body had taken him here on autopilot. It was his only place of refuge in the castle.

Regulus paced the rickety wooden dock. His mind was working so fast, so many thoughts spinning in his head, that it felt like he might work himself up to a fit. This has always been his problem. Sirius often said that he lived in his head too much. He frowned, trying and failing to get ahold of himself. For once, he wished he could just shut his brain off entirely.

Just then, Regulus felt a drop of water hit his head. He looked up and found dark, gray clouds hovering over the horizon. The stormcloud broke open and unleashed torrential rain all around him. Fucking fantastic. The world truly couldn’t give him a bloody break, could it?

With a sigh, Regulus began making his way back. The ground was sodden underneath his feet, his boots sinking into the sand and dragging behind his black coat. The waves lapped violently across the shore as the wind lashed against the murky waters. Regulus was almost at the edge of the beach when he spotted you.

A flash of movement from the corner of his eye. Regulus stopped dead in his tracks. There, at the mouth of the Black Lake, in the middle of the pouring rain, stood a girl with the most breathtaking smile he had ever seen.

Regulus was fairly certain that you had History of Magic together. He sat behind you in class, passed by you in the halls, even reached for the same book in the forbidden section of the library once, but Reggie had never once seen that smile. The gravity of it threatened to knock the very breath from his lungs.

There was something carefree about you. The way you spread your arms, tilted your head back, and laughed in the midst of the rain and thunder. Almost like you were welcoming the storm.

It was only when your eyes locked that Regulus realized he was staring. You cocked your head at him, trailing your gaze from the curls plastered against his cheek to the nice button down and freshly pressed trousers that were now soaked from the rain, down to the shiny leather boots that were now digging into the sand. You seemed amused at the sight of him.

Ever the perfect gentleman, Regulus snapped out of his daze and jogged over to you. Without hesitation, he raised his coat over your head to shield you from the rain even though you were already both drenched.

“What are you doing out in the rain?” Regulus asked, his voice full of genuine concern. “You’ll catch a cold.”

You stepped out of the refuge of his expensive looking coat and held your hand out, catching droplets in your palm. “I don’t mind. I just…I just needed to feel the rain on my skin, that’s all.”

You supposed it must’ve seemed strange to him, but the rain always made you feel better. Lately, life had been just a little too overwhelming. There was so much pressure to do well in classes, to hang out with friends while balancing your clubs and sports, as well as making time to write back to your parents. When it all became a bit too much, you tended to come to the Black Lake for some sort of refuge. The rain was just an added bonus.

If Regulus found your behavior bizarre, he didn’t say. Instead, he just smiled softly. “Well, you got your wish. It’s soaked out here.”

“I know,” you responded with an enthusiastic nod. “It’s nice, isn’t it?”

“Standing out in the pouring rain? On a beach where lightning can strike me down at any second? Yes, it’s absolutely splendid.”

Your mouth quirked in amusement. “No one’s telling you to stay out here.” You nodded towards the castle. “You’re more than welcome to take your brooding inside where it’s warm and dry. Not to mention, free of the dangers of lightning strikes, which are extremely rare by the way.”

“With my luck, I might be the poor one in a million git who gets torched while getting insulted by a pretty girl.”

“Did I insult you?’ you quipped back. “I hadn’t noticed.”

“You accused me of brooding.”

“I didn’t accuse, I stated. Even the Wizengamot would have to rule that you were, in fact, brooding.”

Regulus raised a brow. “What happened to innocent before proven guilty?”

“Unfortunately, the evidence is overwhelming and the verdict is set. You, Regulus Black, have been sentenced for glaring at the Black Lake so menacingly that even the giant squid refuses to come to shore. Off to Azkaban you go.”

“Do you promise to write me letters? Update me of how the world’s progressed without my dazzling presence?”

“It would be my genuine pleasure.”

Regulus chuckled at your dry humor. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d bantered like this with anyone, much less with a strange not-so-stranger. You sat down on the wet sand and patted the spot beside you with a grin.

“Why don’t you take a seat and tell me all about your troubles.”

Beyond the bleak horizon, the spires of the castle peeked through the gray clouds. Regulus thought of the common room where his housemates would no doubt be gathered around the ornate fireplace for warmth. Knowing his friends, they’d probably be indulging in spiked hot chocolate and playing some childish drinking game. A few minutes ago, nothing appealed to him more, but now Regulus found himself choosing the violent rain and soggy sand. All because of you, his mystery girl.

You leaned back on your elbows and cocked your head at him. “What ails you, Mr. Black?”

“That depends. How much do you bill per hour?”

“Fortunately for you, I’m in a generous mood so I’ll throw in a free session. Consider it my pro-bono work.”

“How kind of you,” Regulus said with a serious expression. “My brother’s been nagging me to see a mind healer for years. All that childhood trauma, you know.”

A small smile tugged at your lips, revealing a set of dimples that he found rather charming. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”

“My brother is Sirius. I’m Regulus, remember?”

You snorted in a very unladylike manner, which only made Regulus grin. There was something so unapologetically you in your laugh that was absolutely endearing to him. Regulus smiled and knocked his shoulder against yours.

You mimicked the action and smiled back at him. “All sarcasm aside, I was being genuine. If you want to talk about it, I’m here to listen.”

"Do you often offer therapy sessions to complete strangers?"

"Only to surly Slytherins with sad eyes and pretty curls," you quipped back. "And we're not strangers. I sit behind you in potions. We're practically best mates."

"You think my curls are pretty?"

"Like a little cherub's. Are you quite sure you haven't escaped from the ceiling of the Sistine Chapel? You look like one of Michelangelo's angels. Except with way more scowling." Regulus grinned. He got the feeling that you always said whatever you wanted, whenever you wanted. It was refreshing. "There's a smile. See? Our session is already progressing."

"I think you might get more than you bargained for with me, I'm afraid."

You met the challenge in his words head on. "Try me."

“You were right. I’m definitely guilty of brooding.”

“What happened?”

Regulus hesitated for a moment. He had never been the type of person to be candid with his feelings, especially not with someone he barely knew. Usually, he just kept his thoughts to himself and ruminated on them in the privacy of his dorm until he drove himself mad by overthinking, but your presence brought him an unexplainable ease. For once in his life, Regulus chose not to question it.

“I’ve had a long night,” he said, tucking his knees up to his chest. “I just got back from a date.”

“It didn’t go well?”

“It was…fine. It’s always fine. But it’s the same thing over and over again, just with a different girl.”

“I wouldn’t have taken you for a playboy, Regulus Black.”

Regulus chuckled. “I’m not some unscrupulous rake, I assure you.”

“Yes, that much is obvious from your use of the word unscrupulous.” You tucked your legs underneath you. “So why go on all of these dates if you find them so tedious?”

“It’s my mother,” Regulus explained. “She has this list.”

“A list?”

“Yes, a list of girls that I’m to court. Noble, pureblooded, proper ladies of society that my mother has deemed worthy of marriage.”

“You’re seventeen years old. Shouldn’t you be worrying about quidditch games and potions exams?”

Regulus nodded. “Yes, one would think. But my family has always been different. Since my brother left, my parents have been obsessed with grooming me into becoming the perfect heir.”

“How do you feel about that?”

He sighed. “Stifled. Exhausted. Smothered. I can feel the weight of their expectations weighing me down every second of every day.”

“I’m sorry, Regulus. That’s a terrible burden to carry.”

Regulus shrugged. “Others have it worse.”

“It doesn’t mean that your problem is any less heavy.”

To Regulus, the acknowledgement felt oddly validating. Even though you knew nothing of his circumstance, there was wisdom in your words and you delivered it delicately, like you actually cared to hear his troubles. You were devoid of the judgment he'd grown accustomed to and he found that rather freeing.

“It’s just…sometimes I think that I’ll never be the perfect son. My brother, he’s always been the brave one. Classic Gryffindor,” he said with an eye roll. You chuckled, but stayed silent. It was obvious that Regulus had a myriad of thoughts to unpack tonight and you were more than happy to just listen. “Sirius has never cared what anyone thought about him, least of all our parents. I admire that about him, but I just don’t think I’m wired that way. I care too much.”

“That’s not necessarily a bad thing,” you said softly. “Apathy is so common nowadays, finding someone who can admit that they care is refreshing. Though, I think it’s not without limits. You can’t please everyone. No matter what you do, someone is going to have something to complain about. You might as well be yourself.”

“That’s exactly the problem,” Regulus pondered. “All of these girls on my mother's list, I think they like the idea of Regulus Black, but he’s an illusion. It isn’t the real me.”

“Then who is the real you?”

“I don’t know,” he said honestly. “I’m just Reggie. I like playing quidditch and reading depressing literature and memorizing obscure history facts. I hate messy rooms and orange juice and anything that crawls.”

You smiled. “And what kind of girl does Reggie like?”

“Someone witty. Someone funny. Someone who’ll argue with me. Someone who doesn’t just nod and agree with everything I say."

"So what you're saying is that you don't want a nice girl?"

Regulus shook his head. "No, I think I need someone who challenges me. Who sees me for who I am rather than what I represent. Don’t get me wrong, I’m sure the girls on my mother’s list are lovely, but I don’t think they’d actually like me if they knew who I really am.”

“I don’t know, Reggie seems like a great guy. That Regulus bloke, on the other hand…” you scrunched your nose in disapproval.

“Hey!” Regulus chided, “I’m pouring my heart out to you. That took a lot of courage, you know.”

“You’re very brave, Reggie,” you said with a grin. “But you know what would be even braver?”

Regulus squinted in the rain as you stood to your feet. Lightning crackled over the horizon, illuminating you with an ethereal silver glow. You held out your hand to him. “Come dance with me.”

“Deathly afraid of being struck by lightning, remember?”

“Sorry, what?” You asked as you shimmied around him. It wasn’t graceful by any means. It was the goofiest thing he’d ever seen and yet he’d never been so enthralled. You danced without a care in the world and it made him genuinely laugh. “I can’t hear you over all the fun I’m having.”

"This is ridiculous," he said over the roaring thunder.

You shrugged. "Perhaps. But everyone's allowed to be a little ridiculous sometimes. Besides, I was asking Reggie not Regulus."

“Are you really trying to peer pressure me into dancing with you?”

“That depends,” you replied with a cheeky smile. “Is it working?”

Regulus conceded with a sigh and leapt to his feet. The youngest Black brother bowed like a proper gentleman. “May I have this dance, my lady?"

“You may, good sir.”

You grinned up at him as he took you by the waist and waltzed with you across the sand. Surprisingly, Regulus let you take the lead. He chuckled when you stepped on his toes and laughed even harder when you tried to twirl him. Towering a good foot over you, Regulus had to fully crouch for the maneuver to work.

Finally, you gave up the formality and just spun around in dizzying circles. There was absolutely no rhyme or rhythm to it. Just two idiots dancing in the rain with the biggest smiles on their faces.

Your coordination, or lack thereof, caused you to almost faceplant into the sand. Regulus yelped as you took him down with you. By the time you recovered from the laughing fit, the two of you were red-faced, out of breath, and laying side by side along the shore. He turned over to you and brushed a stray strand of hair behind your ear.

“That was the most fun I’ve had in years.”

“See? There’s more to life than just being moody and melancholic.”

“So this mystery girl of mine keeps reminding me,” Regulus said with a smile. “You never told me your name, by the way.”

“Wow, you don’t even know my name? I’m offended, Reggie. We’ve only been in classes together since fifth year.”

“I—we’ve never been introduced—”

You broke out into a smile and giggled. You thought it was cute that Reggie was so easily flustered. “I’m just kidding, Reggie.”

He sighed in relief as you stuck out your hand. “Y/N. My name is Y/N.”

Regulus slipped his hand into yours. He cocked his head, studying your eyes and your smile and those cute little dimples.

Y/N. The last name on his mother’s list. The one he saved for last because he didn’t know who she was.

The French had a saying—le coup de foudre. The infamous phrase translated to a bolt of lightning or love at first sight. Regulus had long dismissed it as flowery prose, but thanks to his mystery girl, he started to think that maybe the Parisians were onto something because meeting you tonight felt preordained. A date with fate. Like a bolt of lightning streaking through his dark, endless skies.

“It’s nice to meet you, Y/N.”

You grinned. “It’s nice to meet you, Reggie.”

Regulus smiled and laced your fingers together. He was frozen, it was raining, and he was fairly certain that you were both probably going to catch a cold, but he didn’t care. In that moment, as he stared up at the sky, blinking back the rain, and intertwining his fingers with yours, Regulus had never felt more content.

So no, Regulus did not believe in love at first sight, but love at second, third, and even fourth glance? He smiled a little as he gazed back at you, letting his gaze linger as he drank in that infectious laugh and sunny grin.

You made him think that maybe, just maybe, a girl like you could convert a skeptic like him into a devout believer.

#ok but when can i run my fingers through reggie's curls hm? when is it my turn to be happy?#regulus black #regulus black x reader #regulus black x you #regulus black x y/n #regulus black fic #the marauders #the marauders era

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