beezusvreeland

[beezusvreeland]

honey, honey | three: stirring up a hurricane

sugar daddy! joel x f!reader

series masterlist | main masterlist

summary: a lunch outing with joel brings some unexpected company and digs up anxiety. 10.2k words.

warnings: 18+ MDNI, sugar daddy worthy age gap (reader is 21, joel is 54), slow burn! inherent power dynamic imbalance from a sugar daddy arrangement, flirting!, one (1) more jerk off session, talk of past relationships on joel's part, playing it a little fast and loose with pov, reader's clothing is described (dress and jacket).

a/n: i definitely intended to have this out sooner for y'all but life got in the way. i'm so ready to keep going on this journey with them, and this slow burn has been sooo fun to write. i really love them getting to know each other and fighting their feelings 🤭

The elevator softly whirs as you fly past the floors, all the way up to twenty. Alone and enclosed by the monochrome walls you fidget, smoothing your dress and wishing you had enough time to double check your appearance. 

It’s exhausting, apparently, actually caring what Joel Miller thinks about you. He always seems to have a compliment or two in store, but you can’t shake this pesky, anxious feeling gnawing at you that comes at the prospect of seeing him. Of him seeing you - perceiving you - and deeming you worthy of his time and money.

The elevator doors open to the office beyond with a rounded, wood paneled desk sitting centered in the foyer. Joel’s company comprises the entire floor, and you see a bustling crew beyond the glass walls and dividers. Black, shining floors beneath your feet, dark wood walls, and leather furniture adorn what appears to be a waiting room. It's decidedly masculine, but it doesn't feel cold in the slightest.

You nearly turn back around, wondering if this is a good idea after all. Being seen out in public together held its risks, you know that, but Joel seems assured that nothing will come of it. And if it does, he's promised to be there for you. You aren’t a public figure by any means, but any overachiever here in the know of Joel’s business associates might be able to place you and your connection to your father. The thought alone makes you feel itchy.

The young man behind the desk greets you in a chipper, smooth voice before you can make a decision on scampering back the way you came. “Good afternoon. How can I help you?”

You snap back to attention, approaching the rest of the way, trying to move with more purpose, a way to trick your brain into believing this will all be okay. “Yes, I’m here for Mr. Miller. It’s a - a lunch meeting.” Your cheeks heat in a rapid blaze, not having rehearsed any of this. You couldn't be the first of this nature in the office, based on Joel’s history, and you wonder if the man - Vincent, by the little nameplate on the desk - knew exactly what you were to his boss.

With a few clicks on the computer in front of him, Vincent gives you a soft smile of recognition. “Absolutely. I’ve got explicit instructions to have you brought back to his office first.” He holds up a finger to you as he dials on the phone, speaking in a hushed tone.

“Mhm, Mr. Miller’s twelve thirty is here. Yes. Okay. Thanks.”

You shift awkwardly, but only for a few moments before a woman appears around the corner, wearing a stylish blue pantsuit. She calls you by name, making your eyes widen in surprise before beckoning you to follow her. You’re guided between cubicles, open areas that appear to be free working spaces, and conference rooms. The place is buzzing with energy, a well oiled machine with employees engrossed in their individual work or collaborating. A pang of jealousy shoots through you, reminding you just how far you are from your goal of feeling that same spirit and drive towards your work.

You stop short in front of an office enclosed with glass walls, half opaque, half clear. “Mr. Miller will be just a moment. You can have a seat,” the woman says. “Water? Coffee? Tea? While you wait?” She rapidly fires the questions at you, to which you shake your head mutely, having a seat on the leather sofa that sits opposite to Joel’s office. 

She settles in at a nearby desk, turning her attention back to her computer, and it dawns on you that this must be Joel’s personal assistant here. Movement inside of Joel’s office catches your attention, your prying, curious eyes unable to look away even if giving Joel privacy feels like the right thing to do. Hurried movements ensue - a flash of Joel, hands flung up and then falling in frustration, and his face comes into view, screwed up tight before he says something that you can’t hear. You don’t see who he’s talking to, blocked by the fully opaque door, only leaving a shadow of a body that looks equally as heated. 

A few uncomfortable, shameful moments of spying pass before the door to his office flies open and a woman appears, throwing it shut behind her with a purposefully loud and dramatic thud. She appears closer to Joel’s age, dressed well and adorned with expensive, flashing jewelry. She seems to have a permanent scowl on her face as she approaches where you sit, stalking with purpose in her heels.

When she makes eye contact with you, the side of her lip curls up with a sweep of her gaze up the entirety of your body. You feel small on the leather loveseat under her scrutinizing stare portraying her message loud and clear: I am better than you.

“Feels good to be the latest model, huh?” she rasps, hips swaying as she walks.

You stutter, your voice only able to make a strained sound before you finally squeak out, “E-excuse me?”

A scathing breath of a laugh leaves the woman, and she shakes her head as she slows to a stop in front of you, letting her eyes rake over your outfit once more. It’s a simple, casual dress covered with a jacket to keep the October chill off of you - you hadn’t wanted to go all out for only a lunch date, but you’d felt good, presentable, for Joel. Until now, that is. 

“Good luck with that,” she says without any real sincerity behind it. A cruel joke sits in her words, something you don’t seem to be in on. “Until the next comes along.”

Your brows knit tightly as you just stare at her, your heart thundering heavily against your ribcage, nearly painful. No witty retort comes to you, too shocked by the turn of events to even think straight as she just huffs in satisfaction, moving along. You crane your neck, following her movements with your mouth agape until she turns the corner, not even bothering a glance back at you.

It feels like hours condensed into these few moments passing as you sit stupefied on that couch, your cheeks burning in shame. You try to avoid eye contact with Joel’s assistant who almost surely heard the entire exchange with how close she’s sitting. Eyes down, you finally bring them up when you hear Joel’s office door open once more.

He looks brighter than you’d seen him minutes ago, so heated inside his office with that woman. At least one of you seems to have shaken her off.

His smile is wide and warm when he spots you, and you hope the distressed look on your face has wiped off enough to avoid suspicion. You’re not sure if you want to tell him what just happened, unsure if what it all means is something you can handle. It was embarrassing too, to imagine speaking the words she’d said aloud to him. It had felt demeaning, your existence boiled down to whatever that mystery woman saw in you, some kind of less than being, some thing for Joel’s pleasure. She knew nothing about your situation, who you were to Joel, or the fact that he didn’t even seem interested in it becoming about more than money. 

“Hey there,” Joel’s voice cuts through the depths of your mind, and you softly smile, standing to greet him. He places a hand on your bicep, wrapping his fingers tenderly around it, leaning in to peck your cheek. His scent envelops all of you, forcing you to hold back a sigh, this particular smell already worming its way to a place of comfort for you. “Y’look fantastic.”

You have to clear your throat before your voice betrays you. “T-thanks.” You flash him another smile that luckily he seems to buy, but that woman's piercing, judgemental stare has your confidence completely shaken up. Beyond that, your curiosity is piqued on who the hell she even is to Joel, but you don’t know if it’s nosing into his business too much to ask about it. The way things had seemed between the two, it gave the impression it was a topic best left forgotten in Joel’s eyes.

So you bite your tongue, trying to become the pleasant, fun-loving girl Joel signed up to spend time with. It’s hard though, to not break open this dam of emotions that’s been full to bursting. Everything has just been too much this past week.

This arrangement. That woman. Joel. School. Your parents. Lying.

You have nobody to lean on, nobody to understand the stress, the diamond forming amount of pressure you’re put under to be somebody you don’t want to be. You’ve been dodging calls from your father, not having the energy to make up lies about the firm you’re supposedly interning for. You know it’s only a matter of time before he figures it out somehow - knowing him he’ll likely try to call the CEO using his own influence just to try and keep tabs on you. To make sure you’re doing it all right, up to his gold standard. When this comes to light, the fallout could be catastrophic, and you wonder if it might be better to just come clean now, maybe helping to absorb some of the blow.

The thought of doing that instantly makes you feel nauseous, and you realize you’ve gone the entirety of the way back down the elevator and out onto the street with Joel, barely paying attention to your surroundings. Joel has been talking on and off the entire time, his voice a distant murmur, and you’re flooded with guilt for being so rude. The sudden city noise blaring hits your ears harshly, and you turn to look at him.

“I-I’m sorry, what’d you say?” you ask him.

“Oh, jus’ that we should walk to lunch. It’s nice enough, and the place is just a few blocks. That alright with you?”

“Right, um, sure,” you reply, stumbling over your words when you feel Joel’s questioning gaze on you. You try to brighten up to avoid suspicion, tuning in to the autumn sun on your face and Joel’s presence beside you. It doesn’t seem to help the constant loop of anxiety swirling in your gut like you'd been hoping.

“How’s school goin’?” Joel asks, sounding far away.

“Alright. Just trying to get through the semester until I figure things out,” you tell him on autopilot. You know he’s only being polite, trying to check in, but the question pulls up pressure from inside of you, choking your already anxious stomach. It’s like the weight of the world crashes on your shoulders, like you’re supposed to have it all figured out by now. That way, Joel can stop this ruse with you and get back to his normal life, not having to continue to waste his money taking care of someone who can’t seem to sort their life out. You’ve been researching schools, ideas, and careers, wanting to do your due diligence to Joel’s generosity, but you keep coming up short or feeling indecisive. It seems too big a choice, too weighty, right now to decide your entire future when for most of your life you’ve never been able to think this way.

“You’ve got nothin’ but time,” Joel replies, seeming to either not notice or not be bothered by your flat attitude today. His hand gives your back a quick, reassuring rub as you walk, and you stiffen, but only because of the unexpected flutter it brings to your belly, momentarily distracting you from overthinking.

You let him do most of the talking as you saunter along, and are grateful it’s only those few blocks until you reach the restaurant. It’s a chic, modern looking space with high, airy ceilings and minimalist furniture. It’s bustling, apparently a hot spot for the business elite to attend their lunches with each other and their clients as you scan the room and see mostly suits and black, gray, and navy attire.

You’re seated right away despite some lingering groups clearly waiting for tables at the front, which makes you finally crack a smile. Joel always has things so figured out, so planned to perfection.

“This place is all the rage, I guess,” Joel commentates, glancing around at the busy dining room. “Ate here a few weeks ago with some folks and it was pretty damn good. We’ve got to get you one of these grilled, uh, avocado appetizer things. Wouldn’t have thought myself keen on it, but hell, it surprised me,” Joel rambles on, picking up his menu and scanning it. He holds it further and further away from himself until he sighs, pulling his reading glasses from his jacket pocket and plopping them onto his nose with a frustrated sigh. The entire series of events melts away some of your sourness, and you grin at him. It makes you glad to have someone like Joel, who so effortlessly lifts your spirits.

“Don’t say anything,” Joel snips, noticing your amusement at his struggle. “You’ll need these someday too.”

“I didn’t say a word,” you reply smugly, glancing down at your own menu. 

“This is nice, y’know,” Joel remarks out of nowhere after a beat of silence. “Goin’ out together, enjoying the day.”

“Yeah.” You smile a little brighter, almost starting to feel silly for pulling into your shell so much. Joel is always laid back in his own way it seems, acting as if it’s not a bother to be here with you. You only wish you could believe it to the degree he so effortlessly exudes it. “It is.”

Joel orders for the both of you when the server comes around, but only after finding out what you’re interested in eating. Of all the assholes you’d been set up with or asked out by, thinking they were doing you a favor by ordering for you, Joel has been the only one who actually asked. 

Whether Joel has detected the difference in your mood or not, he seems intent on keeping the mood positive, continuing to carry the conversation while you two wait for your food. You do swear you perceive some minute difference in his eyes, though, some discerning quality that's attempting to figure you out. You try to avoid suspicion, but it seems that the harder you try to act normal, the less you feel it, and the more that Joel’s studying gaze deepens, trying to read your mind. 

You answer his questions about school, about your life, and ask him how his week is going, playing the part as best you can. When the avocado appetizer Joel so excitedly mentioned comes, you rave about it, but everything feels half hearted when all you want to do is scream out in questioning about that rude woman at the office. Could Joel be secretly married or have some serious relationship you aren’t aware of? Could that be the type of woman he liked to affiliate with - someone cold and mean with no regard for other people’s feelings?

“Everything alright?” he finally decides to ask once the main course comes. His fingers wiggle together anxiously, his voice softer with a shy edge to it.

“Uh, y-yeah," you lie. You’re caught off guard, blurting it out before you can think about it. “Just tired with schoolwork and stuff. Haven’t been sleeping enough.”

That stare is on you again, his eyes slightly narrowed, but he nods. “Well alright, then,” he says faintly, looking down at his meal. You feel a pang in your chest, a desperation there to fix it. You’ve wounded him, and you open your mouth to speak, to retract what you said and tell him the truth, but something catches your eye over Joel’s shoulder. A woman is approaching, deliberate in her movements with her eyes on Joel’s back like she knows him.

“Joel?!” the woman’s perky voice cuts in. Joel turns just as the woman sidles up beside him, a cheerful look of recognition on his face. She’s dark haired, curly and wild, but in a way you know has been styled to look so effortless. She seems to have a glow about her, something glossy in her aura that’s instantly friendly and attractive. “I thought that was you!”

You hate that jealousy sears through you in an instant. You hate this protective feeling you get over Joel, over this undefined, amorphous thing you have with him. She’s everything you wonder if you should be - the perfect, shiny match to his desires for investing all his hard earned money. You’re only the latest model, after all.

“Valerie? Hey there.” Joel is up in an instant, wrapping his arms around the woman in a familiar embrace. Never forgetting his manners, he introduces you in the next breath. She flashes you a bright, inviting smile and tousels her hair before waving a hand at you.

“Valerie,” she replies with her graceful, perky body language, reaching out to shake your hand.

“Nice to meet you,” you muster up. The look she’s giving you is coy and knowing, understanding of the situation, because you’re guessing that she has been exactly where you are, who you are.

“Randy and I were just having lunch ourselves. We love this place. It’s so funny to run into you here. Did I tell you we got married last year?!” Valerie rambles on to Joel, her hands animated as she speaks, one of them held up to display the ring as if it would be hard to miss the giant, sparkling rock that sits heavily on her finger. She gestures to a table behind Joel, and you glance over his shoulder to see a man near Joel’s age, his hair a coiffed, shining silver. He’s facing away, typing on his phone, and blatantly unavailable and uninterested in his wife’s side quest to your table.

“That so? Well congrats to you two, then,” Joel says, sounding genuinely excited for her.

She nearly squeals. “Thank you, it was so beautiful! Just every girl’s dream, really. We flew everyone out to Fiji, did it on the beach at sunset and everything. But enough about me! I’ll let you two get back to your date. I just saw you here and had to say hi. It’s been too long, hasn’t it?!”

As much as Valerie steals the spotlight, you’re stuck on watching Joel’s face, the subtle ways it moves and reacts to her. The corner of his lip twitches up, clearly privately amused but not fazed by her erratic yet charming way of taking up the entirety of the space in the conversation. When he shoots a glance at you, your heart squeezes, feeling in on the little joke that this is just Valerie being Valerie. You feel part of his wide, glamorous world. 

Joel is polite and kind as they wrap up the conversation, sending Valerie back to her table with a smile where it appears she begins to animatedly recount the entire conversation to her husband.

“Who was that?” you ask, your lip curling up a little deviously, your problems half forgotten for the moment at your piquing curiosity and seemingly innate desire to tease Joel. “One of your girlfriends?”

Joel flushes, his cheeks tinged a soft pink. “You know I don -” He sighs, clearly flustered. “She’s an old friend. And married now, by the sound of it.”

“Ah, a friend. Like I’m your friend?” you ask, and Joel shoots you a pointed look. 

“Would that be a problem?” He finally snaps, latching onto your teasing and throwing it right back with a raised brow as he leans towards you. Your face heats the tiniest bit, knowing despite your teasing that yes, it actually did seem to be a problem while Valerie was here chatting up a storm. Even if whatever it was between them was ancient history, you feel insecure, wondering if you can live up to the other women he’s let into his life. You’d been feeling good about the arrangement - finally - even excited for this lunch today, until that presumptuous woman at the office threw a complete wrench in your emotions.

“I’m juuust asking,” you tell him, “So…?”

“Yes, alright?” He clicks his tongue, sitting forward and placing his forearms on the table, challenging you. “It was ages ago now, but yes, if you must know we had a similar arrangement.”

You give him a slow, intrigued nod. “I see,” is all you reply.

Joel’s lips twist to the side in irritation, but the sparkle in his eye reminds you that he’s having just as much fun as you are with this. “You see, what?”

“Nothing!” You chuckle. “I swear. I just - she’s really nice. And pretty.” You hear the way your voice falls, cracks a little without trying, on your last words, so you clear your throat, hoping to cover it up. Eyes on the table, on your half eaten meal, you can feel Joel’s gaze boring into you.

“What is this? What’s goin’ on here?” he asks, sounding a little impatient, losing that light edge to his voice that says he’s no longer teasing. 

You sigh, waving a dismissive hand. “No, nothing. I just, I mean what I said.”

“It’s true. Valerie’s wonderful person. And so are you.”

You nearly snort, but feel yourself go shy at the last minute under his praise. “I guess. Yeah, thank you.” You try to sound sincere, but you can hear the way you’re trying too hard, the strain of each syllable an attempt to hide your rising emotions.

“I don’t get it,” he says, sounding exasperated. Joel always tried his best, but sometimes he was stumped by the inner workings of the women’s minds he chose to have relationships with. Even Sarah, when she was growing up, had her share of moments just like this where he felt helpless, just wanting her to talk to him, let him help. “Are you jealous? Of a fling I had five years ago?” he asks, guessing what seems to be the first logical explanation. “Cause I promise you that I only like to focus on one woman at a time. That’s long in the pas-”

“It’s not that, I swear,” you cut in. Processing his words a second later, you flick your gaze to his, wonder in your widening eyes. “Wait, what? You - Joel, you don’t have to do that for me. This isn’t -” A relationship, you’d wanted to say. But you can’t discount that you did feel protective over keeping Joel all to yourself, even if he’d made the promise that it wouldn’t become anything more. “You shouldn’t hold yourself back because of me.”

“I’m doin’ nothing of the sort, I promise you. I’m too busy for having all kinds of relationships, and besides, I’m happy with where I’m at right now. I swear t’you.”

Joel’s reassurance instantly cuts through your racing thoughts. You put your head in your hands, your whole face hot with embarrassment. “I’m sorry. I’m acting so… so… insane right now. I mean we literally just started this whole thing and I’m already more trouble than it’s worth. God, I -”

“Stop it right there,” Joel says softly, but his voice hits a dichotomy with the biting edge to his words, urging you to listen. His hand reaches out, wrapping around your wrist. The touch is gentle but his fingers are thick and rough, sending a skittering of sparks across your skin. Affection isn’t something you’re used to, and it does the job he’d hoped of stopping you in your tracks. “Just know, whoever told you that about yourself before, it ain’t true. It’ll never be true. I chose this too, y’know. You didn’t force me to spend time with you, to want to help you out. I wanted it, too, right? Hell, I’m the one that offered, remember?”

Your breath catches, a lump in your throat thick as you attempt to swallow. You peek at Joel from where your head rests in your hands, slowly lowering them, but his hold on your wrist stays steady for a few more seconds, a comforting presence while his thumb rubs a few lazy circles. 

“I’m sorry,” you tell him with a watery smile. “Thank you. I don’t know what’s going on with me. I think this is all just new, and a lot. And worrying about everything with my parents… Or being seen together like this…” You blow out a long, stressed breath. “Yeah, it’s a lot.”

Joel gives you a nod of understanding. “It’s true, it is a lot. You know I’ve got your back now though, yeah?”

You nod. “Yeah.”

“I’m not gonna go back on things, that’s just not the kind of guy I am.”

Until the next one. The woman’s words cut in, making you nearly flinch. You believe Joel, you do. He’d already proven to be generous and steadfast, but would he really show up for you long term? Would he keep up the charade of pretending you mattered in the world, that you could find your place with his help? Or would he be distracted as soon as something better came along?

You stare at him for a long, quiet moment, biting at the inside of your lip. “The - the woman… Who is she?” you ask quietly, balling your hands in your lap underneath the table. At Joel’s quizzical look, you sigh, elaborating. “At the office earlier.”

He clicks his tongue, his head drooping and fingers coming up to swipe at his eyes then pinch the bridge of his nose. He looks decidedly defeated and tired now. “God damn it, Marissa,” he mutters under his breath. His eyes flick back to yours, burning with fresh intensity. “What did she say?”

“I - Well-”

“What did she say to you?” Joel’s sudden surge of protectiveness over you is surprising, but welcome. The intensity of it, though, takes you aback, making you start to regret bringing it up. This was a whole new side of Joel you hadn’t gotten to see yet. 

“J-Just some bullshit, it’s fine.”

You see the recognition flash across Joel’s face, now reaching a new level of anger and defeat. “I knew it was somethin’. That’s why you’ve been acting quiet today, yeah? So it ain’t fine.” 

You groan internally, hating the confirmation that he’d noticed. “She just made a dumb comment about me being the latest model, or whatever.” And looked at you like you were the scum on the bottom of her shoe, but you hold back from saying that part out loud.

Joel rolls his eyes, shaking his head. “She’s got a flair for the dramatic, especially when she’s not gettin’ her way.” You stay silent, so Joel goes on. “That’s my ex. She’s - it’s complicated.”

“Two in one day. Lucky me,” you say flatly, and Joel offers you a sympathetic, guilt ridden smile. “At least one was nice.”

“Marissa is… it’s a different situation. As much as I wish we weren’t, we’re stuck together. On account of havin’ a kid and everything.”

The realization hits you hard. You’ve never seen Sarah’s mother or heard much about her. She doesn’t show up to functions, is never mentioned, and effectively, Joel has always seemed like a single dad from your perspective. 

“Oh, shit. That’s Sarah’s mom?” you ask.

Joel nods solemnly. “It’s complicated, like I said. It’s a long history, and her favorite thing seems to be stirrin’ up trouble for me, so I’m sorry about that.”

“No, no, I’m sorry. That sounds awful,” you tell him, sympathetic to his cause. 

“She shouldn’t have said that, or said anything to you at all. I’m sorry. She showed up this mornin’ out of the blue as she does, on her usual shit and I didn’t notice the time. Should have sent her away the minute I knew you’d be comin’.”

You give him a shrug. “It’s - it’s not your fault, Joel. You can’t control what she says.”

“There’s no merit to it, I swear. I would never have let her speak t’you that way. She say anything else?”

You shake your head at first, hesitant to share more for fear of hurting Joel. You could tell how heavily the guilt of someone else’s words was weighing on him, like he was responsible for everyone in his world and how they behaved. 

 “Not really. Just… basically that I was about to expire and be replaced any minute. And if looks could speak, well, yeah. She had a lot to say with those,” you tell him, avoiding eye contact, focusing on fiddling with your fork on the table.

Joel’s mouth presses into a flat line. “Don’t pay any mind to it. She’s always done this, always wanted to make sure I’m less happy than she is, even though I’m the one that took care of things when she was too -” Joel cuts himself off, placing his palms on the table. His sudden distress causes you to snap your head back up, looking to him and seeing the worry now etched on his features. It nearly breaks your heart to see him like this. “Sorry, you don’t need my whole sob story, sweetheart.”

This time, you reach to him, placing a hand on his and squeezing before pulling it back, unsure of yourself in the intimate gesture. Joel seems to be so much better than you at this kind of thing. “If you want to share, I’ll listen. I can’t imagine what that’s like. I - I thought she wasn’t even in the picture, but…”

“She ain’t,” Joel snips. “Not really. She comes and goes when she pleases, and I - I let her walk all over me, take from me. Shit, hard to even admit it, but that’s the truth. Never do that shit for anyone, just… when it comes to Sarah, I’ll do fuckin’ anything. Marissa knows that.” Joel avoids holding your gaze, his eyeline averted to the left at some spot off in the distance. “The worst part is, watchin’ Sarah get that hope in her eyes, like maybe it could be different this time. Even after all these years. God, listen to me. Second meal together and I’m turnin’ into this big sap, ranting like some sad old man. You should be havin’ fun, being shown a good time.”

You narrow your eyes at him. “Joel,” you chide him. “What did you just tell me? About wanting to be here?”

He cracks a small smile and you return it. In a way, it’s nice to know he has this baggage, that he’s not always put together and suave. He has demons, like you do, like the rest of the world does. He’s not invincible, he’s complicated. Just like you, too.

“You’re a good one, kiddo, y’know that?” Joel says, sighing, and you try to fight the bolt of disappointment hurtling itself through your chest at the nominer. A kid. Joel says it so passively, and you know he’s not trying to undermine you, or make you feel the crush that it brings to know he doesn’t see you in the way you’d like him to, so you just smile.

“I like this kind of conversation much better, anyways,” you reply, swallowing down your hurt. “Helps me get to know you.”

Joel’s smile cocks sideways. “Right. Almost forgot this is what it’s all about, ain’t it?” he teases. “Been talkin’ your ear off, not even askin’ about you.”

“Oh, no, no. You’re not getting off that easily. I have more questions.”

He laughs, the thick tension in the air starting to evaporate as his shoulders relax. “Really, now? Alright, nosy, shoot.”

You bite your lip, reigning in your cheesy grin. “Okay. So… What happened with you and Valerie?”

Joel speaks bluntly. “We ended things. She did, actually.”

You raise one brow, unimpressed. “Well, that much is obvious. But, you just let her go? I don’t know, she seems so… nice. Perfect. Like someone every man would want to be with.”

Joel’s look shifts to something more amused. “You ever broken up with someone before?”

“I - Well, kind of, I guess. But they were assholes, and it wasn’t anything serious.”

“And maybe just not the right person for you, yeah?”

“A mistake, more like it,” you mumble, and Joel chuckles, scratching a hand through his beard as he shakes his head at you.

“My point is, some people just aren’t right for each other, no matter how perfect they seem,” he says pointedly. “Me and Valerie got along, but we were just wanting different levels of, er, commitment at the time, I guess.”

“Oh? And you… weren’t committing then?” It’s hard to see that for Joel, given what you’ve already learned about him in this short time. He was steadfast, seeming singularly focused when he put his mind to something, given his success, so it was hard to picture him shying away from commitment. Especially seeing as how whenever you’ve been in his presence, it's felt like you are his sole priority, like he's dedicated only to that moment with you - it seemed to be a gift he had. 

“She was lookin’ for more, and I wasn’t really there with her back then. We were havin’ fun, and she realized she was lookin’ for someone to marry, spend her life with, y’know? So, I’m happy for her that she found it. She’s a nice gal, deserves that.” 

You consider it, knowing there may be more to the story than he’s letting on, but you don’t press him. Maybe it’s too early to dig into things, despite you wanting to learn everything you can about him. 

“That’s really sweet, actually. It seems like things ended amicably, then?”

Joel nods. “Yeah, it did. Never was really contentious with any of the others, neither. Sometimes y’just grow out of things, or realize it ain’t a good fit, even if money's the motivating factor. For me, I want to look forward to spendin’ time with the person, too. It makes it all worth it.”

You give him a genuine smile, feeling your gaze going soft. Something about the way Joel speaks about this, so surefooted and thoughtful, and the way he regards the women he’s involved in his lifestyle, it grasps at you and refuses to let go. He recognizes where he’s at and owns it - not trying to say anything to please you, but just speaking honestly about the experience. 

“And not to mention the, you know, little boost of… motivation you get from it,” you say, poking at him.

Joel nearly chokes on the sip he’s taken from his water glass, then composes himself. “Very funny,” he grits out with an overexaggerated frown, one you can tell he’s forcing. “Keep it up, and we’ll see what happens.”

“Sorry, sorry.” You put your hands up in mock defeat. “It was just too easy. But I get what you’re saying. Uh… have the others known about that part of it, too? I - I’m just genuinely curious about all of this. I guess I never thought about the, uh, intricacies of these sorts of things.” You’d been wondering if it was obvious or expected in that kind of arrangement, or if what you knew about Joel was some kind of rarity. Was it always all about that for these men providing lavish gifts and financial stability? Or could it be something more, like what you and Joel have? Was it the big secret that all these women were in on, that writing checks and throwing credit cards their way was a one way ticket to these men getting hard in their overpriced slacks?

You’ve been feeling so naive, ruminating on it since that dinner with Joel, that you hadn’t guessed the minute he’d brought it up in his office that day. Was that the only reason he was here doing this, to get some kind of sexual satisfaction out of it? 

Joel grimaces a little, clearly anxious about toeing back towards this topic with you. “Well, yeah, to a degree. It’s not always spoken, but sometimes it’s part of the fun. Making jokes about it, or… shit, I can’t believe I’m about to say this, but we’re both adults here, I ‘spose. It’s foreplay at times, knowin’ about what’s going on for both people. Makes it fun.”

You fight the slight gape your mouth has dropped into, snapping it shut into a smug smile, nodding. “Oh,” you blurt out dumbly, feeling your cheeks go hot, curling the back of your knuckles to rest your chin in your hands, looking down. One mention of foreplay with Joel and you’re reduced to an awkward, wordless mess, unsure of how to proceed. There wasn’t any foreplay happening here, he’d made that very clear repeatedly, but your conversations always seem to edge towards something else, filled with an unspoken tension. It was messing with your mind, your ability to keep things compartmentalized for your own sanity. You pick up your fork, attempting to return to your meal just for something to do with your hands. “That’s…”

Joel seems to catch himself, leaping into action. “B-but not… this. This situation is different. I’m able to separate things, and… and… shit, I’m sorry. I’m the one goin’ on about not crossin’ those lines, and here we are. I was jus’ trying to tell you how it usually goes for lots of folks doing this sort of thing, that’s all.”

You wave your hands as if to pardon his blunder, finally collecting yourself. “No, no, I get it, and that makes sense. I was the one who asked. It sounds fun, honestly. I see why people do this.”

Joel loosens up, his tense shoulders dropping and lips giving you a small, lopsided smile. “Yeah, it is. I’m havin’ fun now, too, just to make that clear.”

“Oh gee, thanks,” you reply sarcastically, giving him a playful scrunch of your nose. “Me too, though,” you add on with more sincerity.

“Oh, so gettin’ treated to new things and meals because of me is fun, is it?”

You feign thinking for a long moment to irritate him. “Hmm, I guess so.” You laugh, grateful to be back on track with Joel, the banter right where it should be in both of your sweet spots. This was far from normal - secretly dating but not dating such an old friend of your father, accepting his money and gifts - but it felt like one of the most natural places you could be right now.

“Now, should we enjoy our meal together?” Joel asks.

Smiling at him, already feeling the hefty weight that had been pressing on your soul this entire week lifting some thanks to Joel, you nod.

You walk side by side along the busy sidewalks with Joel, his body constantly hovering close to you so as not to lose you amidst the throngs of people going about their busy days. The lunch rush is still alive and well, a blur of people in business casual rushing past, clutching their bags or talking hurriedly on their phones, likely all on their way back to their respective jobs.

Joel had insisted on walking together instead of going separate ways after lunch, seeming to have a secretive air about him that piqued your interest enough to go along with it. 

“Want to make up for everythin’ from today,” he tells you, stopping outside of a jewelry store with gold and silver alike, gemstones and diamonds glittering in the window displays.

“Joel…” you chide. “There’s nothing to make up for. This seems to be a theme with you. Wasn’t lunch supposed to make up for the mustard incident where you almost poisoned me to death?” 

Joel rolls his eyes. “Yes, but this is for Marissa.” At your insistent mouth opening to brush it off, he puts both his hands on your shoulders, stopping you. “I’m serious. I’m gonna have a talk with her about it. She shouldn’t be gettin’ into my business or yours. I really am sorry.”

You melt quickly under the softness in his tone and the bulk of his hands weighing comfortably on your shoulders. 

“It’s really not like she’s making it out to be, I want you to know that. I know you don’t know me as well as you’d like yet, but it’s always been… as respectful as I can get things to be between me and whoever I’m with at the time. She can’t see that, and doesn’t want to, ‘cause she’s bitter she’s not getting more out of me. So if she made you feel like you’re just someone to use an’ throw away, I’m sorry about that. It couldn’t be further from the truth. I’m here until we get everythin’ sorted out for you and more, yeah?”

You blink rapidly, willing away the unwelcome tears starting to make your eyes shine. You’ve never heard words even remotely like what Joel is saying to you right now, never have had anyone take the time to express a sentiment like that, make you feel worth the time of day for it. It’s… incredible, a warmth that quickly burrows itself inside your chest, so foreign but so welcome to feel like you’re truly seen, truly matter to someone else beyond what it could give them. Even if it was Joel, who barely knows you, but seems to see the merit in helping you figure your life out despite it being risky for him. Nobody had ever done anything like that for you before.

“I…” you stutter out, clearing your throat and looking down at the sidewalk. Joel’s gaze is pensive and sharp as he studies you, trying to read the emotions warring within you. “Thank you, Joel. I’m sorry, I’ve just never - you’re really kind. Not just the money thing, but you’re… not what I expected.”

He smiles, seeming to understand the struggle you’re unable to verbalize. It was obvious here, what was going on based on everything you’d told him about your father. There was a deep wound you were simply trying to fill. It should make Joel feel dirty, but he lit with pride somewhere deep inside, making him want to keep being the reason for you to smile.

“Yeah, I get that a lot,” he replies smugly, forcing a weak chuckle out of you. “Now c’mon. We’ve got things to buy.”

Joel surprises you when his hand trails down, grasping at yours, making a beeline for the door to the shop. You let your fingers intertwine with his like it’s a natural, everyday occurrence for the two of you, tugging you along. 

The man behind the counter knows Joel, greeting him by name, which amuses you to no end. Joel really has perfected this type of relationship for himself, down to the jewelry shop he frequents. Joel introduces you, and you can only offer a shy smile and hello, feeling the difference between the bustle of the outside world and placidity of the polished jewelry shop hitting you hard. You’re too aware of the way your hand is clasped tightly in Joel’s now that you’re somewhere quiet with eyes on the two of you. The more places you’re seen together, the more likely it is that your entire world could come crashing down with this secret getting out. There are millions of people in this city, yet you keep getting the sinking feeling it would be just your luck to be spotted by the wrong one.

Joel senses your shift, slipping his hand out of yours and briefly grazing the small of your back with it. “Hey, it’s okay. Nobody here knows anythin’, or would say anythin’, even if they did,” he whispers, and you eye the clerk suddenly acting very interested in wiping the surface of a case across the room to give the two of you privacy.

You shoot him a nervous look. “Should we really be out together like this? It’s been making me nervous all day. What if - what if…?”

Joel’s entire body nearly lurches forward, but he holds himself back from grabbing onto you, squeezing those anxious cheeks of yours between his hands and holding them tightly, making sure you look into his eyes while he reassures you. This instinct he has, the one he’s never been able to ignore, feels like too much with you, too suffocating. You have a father, someone to look after you that way already. Hell, all of them have had a father, but never one that he knew personally. Yet, he saw the need you had for it, the craving maybe you weren’t aware of, the one that brought you to tears the moment he’d shown you any sign of that kindness.

It hurts his heart to see you so neglected - all these years of knowing you by proxy, and he’d never seen it. How could he have missed it, how miserable you’ve been? How much sooner could he have been able to help you realize that you were worth anyone’s time, that you were worthy of living the life you wanted to live? Somehow though, he felt that this was exactly where the two of you were meant to be at this point in your timelines. Any sooner and maybe he wouldn’t have been able to make the difference he wanted to because you’d not have been ready to face it, or too late in the game, already too miserably deep in your path to CEO to care.

Meant to be - the words that kept running through Joel’s mind, despite everything in him fighting to stop thinking like that, to stop gently placing your sweet self so deeply in his heart so early on in the relationship. You yearn so earnestly for something he was so innately able to give, and that’s making it harder than it ever had been with the others.

“We don’t have to go out like this again, if you don’t want. I know, I thought the same thing, and we can stick with my place if y’want to. I just want you to feel comfortable, that’s all.”

You throw him an appreciative smile. “I - I’ll think about it. I liked today, though.”

“Me too.” He smiles. “Now can I treat you to somethin’ pretty like I’m supposed to?”

“Alright, alright, Mr. Impatient. Let’s have a look,” you reply, stepping forward to peer down at the closest display, feeling Joel’s presence sidling up beside you. Heat radiates off of both him and the lights in the glittering case, making you sweat at the proximity of it all, the nearness of his body and that cologne of his wafting invitingly into your space.

“What do you usually like? Noticed you mostly wear gold. But not many bracelets.”

You flick your gaze to him, brows lifted. “Very observant of you.”

“It’s all part of the gig. Got to know what kinds of gifts you’re lookin’ for, so I can surprise you when you least expect it.” Joel’s pleased smugness shadows his face, and you roll your eyes at him, even though you are impressed. Men don’t have the best reputation for paying attention, or at least not the ones you’ve known. Your father has never opted to buy his own gifts for your mother, always either hiring someone to do it or deferring to you, since you’d clearly know better what his wife would like.

“Well, what would you pick out for me if I wasn’t here?” you ask him, feeling emboldened.

Joel seems to like this game, taking on the challenge with an intrigued twitch of his brows. He leans the tiniest bit closer to you, but he may as well have crossed an entire canyon with the difference the proximity makes to your steadily beating heart. He seems to morph into something more right there - giving you the suave show he offers to any other woman in your position. 

“Alright, well, I’d want to know first if you don’t wear bracelets because you don’t like ‘em, or if you just don’t think about buyin’ them for yourself, which would be a damn shame. ‘Cause for some reason, I really want to be the one clasping something nice to your pretty wrists. Just a feeling I get.”

You can scarcely breathe at the way his voice reverberates so close to you, lowering to a gravelly rumble with each word weaving its way inside of you. It’s all too sensual, too evocative of an image painted in your mind for this to be the casual thing you’re both seeming to pretend it is. Your skin is prickling, warm all over as you stand with tightening thighs, your hip pressed against the jewelry case to help hold you steady. You don’t dare look him in the eye now, for fear he’ll be able to see the mortification burning its way through you at the effect his words have. 

“I - I just don’t think about it. I like bracelets, though,” you somehow squeak out, keeping your answer safe and only opting to respond to the actual question rather than… whatever the hell all the other stuff was. You simply can’t dive into it further if you want to remain sane right now and pretend that Joel didn’t have some kind of obscene hold on you.

“Alright, then. Let’s have at it,” he says casually now, dropping some of the charm. He prowls along the cases at a slow, steady pace, carefully weighing the options. “I’ll stick with gold, for obvious reasons. No point in mixin’ it up if you’re not interested.” He flashes a glance back to you, to see if he’s on the right track, so you nod for him, agreeing. You do your own browsing, admiring the wide selection of jewelry while he’s quiet for a while, stopping to observe each case with scanning eyes before he glances to the clerk across the room.

“William, I think we’re all set here,” he booms out, and you look at him curiously, walking over to the case he’s landed on. You peer down through the glass, trying to guess which one he’s selected, but Joel stops you with a gentle hand to the shoulder. “Do you want it to be a surprise?”

You consider it, pursing your mouth in contemplation. A flutter moves through your middle, making you lick your lips before smiling wide for him. “Yeah, why the hell not?” you conclude. 

Moments later, after dutifully averting your gaze from across the room as Joel and William pack up your new gift, he walks over to you with a slender, black box in hand. There’s a bag in his other for you to carry it home in, sporting tissue paper and the shop's name in a classy, black font across the front. 

“For you,” Joel says quietly, presenting the box to you and cracking it open. It’s a dainty, gold bracelet, periodically studded with flowers, daisies by the look of it, each one beautifully crafted and shimmering with diamonds. You’re accustomed to nice things like this - diamonds, designer clothing and bags, all the highest quality things your parents provided for you growing up, yet you still gasp at the sight before you. There’s something touching about it being specifically chosen for you by someone who truly wanted to do it. That makes it the most beautiful piece of jewelry you’ve ever seen, despite having laid eyes on much more elaborate, eye-catching pieces. 

This feeling was pure magic.

“I love it,” you exclaim softly, bringing a hand up to your mouth, some self conscious part of you desiring to conceal your smile, not wanting to seem materialistic. Joel’s hand goes to your wrist, moving it away, his eyes intently flashing between watching your grin and your eyes crinkling happily with it.

“Mm-mm,” he chastises you, nearly a whisper. “This is the best part, watchin’ you be happy.”

Your smile falls into something more subtle, an electricity crackling down to your very veins at the intimacy brimming in the air between the two of you. “Thank you, Joel. I love it. You did really good,” you manage to say, your breath a little shaky.

“Let me,” he says, bringing your wrist a little lower and gently pulling the new bracelet out of its box. The way he so gingerly moves, wrapping the gold chain around your wrist and clasping it, all so certain yet reverent, has something inexplicable taking hold of you. He’s an expert, this sort of thing practically a second job for him, yet you feel like it’s the first time, as if he’d never tire of making you feel this cherished and special. 

“Now would you look at that,” Joel marvels as he finishes up, turning your wrist in a slow, graceful manner to allow a moment of appreciation as the bracelet shines and sparkles. When he lets go, you feel the absence like a plunge of ice to your skin, much colder than you could remember it being before he’d touched it. You smile absentmindedly at the bracelet, shaking it to hear the tiny, pleasant jingle. 

“It’s perfect,” you tell Joel. “Thank you again.” Before you can think, your arms are thrown around him in an embrace, wanting to show your appreciation. You feel his hesitation at first, but once his arms finally wrap around you, they’re committed, squeezing you tightly to his chest. “I thoroughly forgive you now for your rude ex. And the mustard,” you say into his shirt.

You both descend into laughter, pulling away to watch his crooked smile lighting up his whole face. “Thank god. I was worried it was a deal breaker.”

You shrug. “Nah. More where this came from, and we’ll definitely be even.”

Joel’s hurried footsteps have him rushing along the sleek black floors past the front desk, not so much so as to not give Vincent a proper greeting as he passes. Thankfully Bianca, his assistant, is still on her lunch too, no questions or needs or check-ins from her buzzing in his ear. Just for these few minutes, that’s all he needs.

The office door closed in a haste, shaky hands pulling the shades on his windows into the hallway, he makes sure to lock the door before settling in at his desk. A heavy sigh escapes his lips, the half hard cock he’d been fighting for blocks now straining against his slacks, so stiff and achy it’s nearly painful. Leaking a spot onto his briefs, he palms it, sighing softly at the relief it brings.

Jerking on his cock, the length of springs out, slapping at his belly before he tugs out his balls too, resting heavily against the hastily shuffled down fabric. He swallows the tiny pit of shame growing inside of him before skimming a finger through his precum, spreading it along his head in a circular motion.

This time, he doesn’t even try to avoid picturing it’s you doing it.

He’s hardly allowed himself to let go like this for days, not since your first dinner together. It’s been too difficult to not tie it to you, to not conflate the fact that he was rock hard more often than was convenient now to the fact that he had someone new out there enjoying all the wonderful things he could provide for them. That someone being you, maybe one of the few people he absolutely should not be fantasizing about. He was coming on too strong, he knew that, unable to help himself from giving in to what seems to come naturally between you two. You’re too nice, too sweet to ruin with vain, carnal desires, so he’d have to resort to this instead - holding back until he’s nearly bursting with unplaced desire. 

He thought he could handle the jewelry store, could handle you. But just as you’d said he’s different than you’d expected, so are you. Funny and biting, but so soft and caring underneath it all, passionate and driven but without a direction yet, something in you so wanting of it, so needing, you were simply… lovely. Radiant and perfect in all your own little ways, you’ve been one of the biggest pleasures to be around after only two god damned dates. Joel hates himself for it. It’s such a shame it had to be you, the one who’d finally caught his attention in this way. It has been too long since he’d indulged himself, let someone in and taken care of them. He’d just stayed focused on work and family, ignoring the part of him that ached to be satisfied with being seen as someone’s provider.

Joel’s slick hand slides up his cock, gripping tightly, a dichotomous hope uttered on his lips that it should be you, and that he wishes it wasn’t you running through his mind during such an intimate act. 

“F-fuck, yeah,” he mutters to himself, stroking faster. You and that smile, the new bracelet hanging off your wrist, just as he’d imagined it. The new dress you’d worn to dinner, aching to see more, more, more - new, pretty things, or to watch your stress melt away as he took on all those burdens for you. You could have everything, you could have it all, because of him.

He’d never touch you, no, and never let you touch him like this. But in this moment, squeezing his own slickened cock, he allows himself just one glimpse of it in his mind - one time, and he’d be done. One moment of imagining your hand wrapped around his shaft, fingers curling delicately as they move up and down, struggling to take him all in your hand. You would struggle, with that pretty new bracelet sparkling the entire way through.

He groans. 

It’s louder than he’d meant, unexpectedly so, but that’s just what you do to him. The unexpected. A thin sheen of sweat coats Joel’s brow now as he strokes himself furiously, enjoying every second of allowing himself to relinquish his morals. It would be over too soon, he thinks to himself, catching a glimpse of his ruddy, pulsing cock in his hand, desperately imagining you’re there instead, touching it, riding it, the two of you doing something nobody has to know about.

“Sh-shit, shit,” Joel blurts out, hastily reaching for a tissue, pumping his cock a few more times, throwing his head back. When he comes, it’s harder than he has in recent memory, so much built up tension and need behind it all, but he doesn’t picture any specific thing to push him over the edge. It’s just you.

Catching his breath, he copes with the shame of it all, still feeling you buzzing pleasantly around his mind. This thing he can not rid himself of now that you’ve taken up residence there. It was a new kind of high, one he hadn’t felt in years, or maybe ever. None of the others had felt like this, his heart and mind seeming to slip out of his control and into something dangerous. Joel always found he didn’t like things to be out of his control if he could help it. You, however, were completely, irrefutably out of his control now.

Sitting there in his pool of shame, Joel cleans himself up and discards the evidence in the trash, feeling defeated. He’s already let this get too far, putting you in a dicey position, and for what? For him to self satisfy some part of him that he’s considered broken?

Isn’t that exactly what you were doing too? Could two people trying to fix what’s broken come together and not have it end in disaster? This isn't like his other relationships - there hadn’t been so much at stake, no end that resulted in upsetting the status quo of the other’s life. 

He’s pondering all of it, if he’s being fair to you, if he should be more careful with what parts of your life he holds in his hands now, when he feels his phone buzz inside his pocket.

You’ve sent him a photo of your wrist, seemingly out on the street somewhere. He catches the facade of a high end, cream colored building in the background, and he wonders in passing if that’s where you call home. Wonders if he’ll be able to see it, be let into your world a little more. Not the parts of it he knows from being on the fringes, but the bits of you that you don’t share with your parents, your friends, or maybe anyone else.

Never taking this off, you tease in the message attached to the photo, and Joel’s chest tightens and swells with affection. He longs to make you feel like this every day, to make sure you know that you have someone looking out for you even when so many people in your life seem to have forsaken that. He studies the picture, looking over every inch and promising himself to put aside his vain desires to see this through for you. To give you all the things you deserve to have, because you’re a nice girl who deserves better than the lowness he’s stooped to in his office today.

It nags at his mind though, in a way he can’t shake off despite trying, the things he feels when he looks at the photo, the new bracelet shining in the sun. The things he feels when he looks at you.

You. You were certainly going to be the death of him.

[beezusvreeland]

PEDRO PASCAL Vanity Fair

[beezusvreeland]

Happy Wednesday 🤗

[beezusvreeland]

Static

Somewhere between your midnight and his 0600 hours, your phone rings, cutting through the silence like thunder. The connection’s crap—static devours the beginning of his “hey.”

You sit up in bed, the room dark except for the glow of your screen illuminating your face, casting shapes in the darkness.

“Frankie?”

“Yeah,” his voice crackles through, low and tired. “Didn’t wake you, did I?”

“You always do,” you say, but the smile’s already there. Already reaching for the version of him that feels realer through this tiny screen than the entire world around you.

There’s a pause. The kind where both of you are just listening—breathing. Then, softer:

“Tell me something good. Anything, please.”

He sounds vulnerable, like the armor he usually wore so well is starting to crack.

You curl into yourself, blanket pulled over your knees. Rain streaks down the window, the soft patter filling the quiet.

“It rained the whole day today.”

He hums. “Miss rain. Everything’s dust here.” And you know he doesn’t just mean the environment.

You talk like that. Nothing grand. Just breadcrumbs. Your bad coffee, his bruised knuckles. A song that reminded you of him. A dream he had where you were on a rooftop, dancing barefoot under stars, music playing from a busted old speaker.

“You were laughing,” he says quietly. “I haven’t heard that in weeks.”

Your throat tightens.

“You’ll hear it again.”

“I’d better,” he says. “Or I’ll come looking.”

Silence stretches again, heavier now. The kind that says too much.

“Frankie,” you whisper, “be safe.”

“I can’t promise that,” he says, honest as ever. “But I promise I’ll keep calling. Even if it’s a shit connection. Even if you only hear half of what I say.”

And your answer, barely audible: “I hear the important parts.”

Another pause. One that aches.

“I think I’m falling in love with you,” he says, voice nearly lost in the static.

Your heart hammers. You hear it anyway, clear as anything.

“I think I already did,” you whisper, wiping your cheek.

And then the line cuts out, fading back to nothingness.

But it’s enough.

It’s always been enough.

thanks for reading 💌

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[beezusvreeland]

Your Eyes Don't Lie

AN: Hey y'all, here’s the fourth fic I wrote for @the-oscar-isaac-collective’s Coffee & Cream Zine! Please be sure to check out the full Zine if you haven’t already, so many amazingly talented people contributed to it!!

Years have gone by since your time on D’qar, since your time with him. You still hear about him occasionally; General Organa’s golden boy, best pilot in the Resistance. It still hurts a little every time you hear his name, even after all these years.

(Un-beta’d)

Rated: M+ (this is smut so, i mean, you’ve been warned?) Words: 3,188 Pairing: Poe Dameron x F!Reader Warnings: exes to lovers, p in v, kissing, please let me know if i forgot anything. AO3

——————

You still remember the first time you saw Poe Dameron. 

He’d been laughing, his smile bright, eyes alight, as he’d thrown his head back, his unruly, dark curls wreathed in a halo of light from the sun setting just outside the hangar. Your entire body had had a reaction, your breath catching, heart skipping, stomach flipping, palms sweating, mouth watering—

At the time, you’d thought it was just nerves (it had been your first day, after all), but you know now that you’d fallen in love at first sight.

You’d started as comrades, fellow pilots in pursuit of the same goal: to save the galaxy from the tyranny of the First Order. He made a point to get to know every pilot and you’d been no exception. Your friendship developed quickly, the trauma of war bonding the two of you together to the point where either of you were rarely without the other. You ate together, trained together, flew together, spent all your free time together. You’d have lived together if they’d let you.

You’re still not sure when it happened, when you became more to each other. It was like someone flipped a switch; one second your heart had belonged to you, the next it belonged to Poe. You’d wanted to tell him, so badly, but you were afraid; what if he didn’t feel the same? What if you lost him? You didn’t think you could survive that. 

The morning of your first solo mission, you’d been a nervous wreck; not because you weren’t ready, but because of Poe. You hadn’t wanted to leave him, not without telling him how you felt. The words were there, right there on the tip of your tongue. But you couldn’t say them. You’d almost left, your tongue and heart heavy with all the things you couldn’t say. But he’d stopped you, pulling you back and claiming your lips in a desperate kiss. Time had stopped, sound rushed in your ears, the hot press of his lips against yours drowning everything else out until there was just…him.

“I couldn’t let you go without doing that,” he’d said after, his forehead pressed to yours, his breath fanning against your lips.

You’d smiled, relief flooding through you as you’d pulled his mouth back to yours. He was everything you’d never known you wanted, never known you could even dream of wanting: someone kind, brave, handsome, loyal to a fault. You’d often wondered what your life would be without him.

Never had you considered that would one day become a reality.

You’d been on a mission, one that had taken far longer than it should have. You’d wanted to get back to base, to tell the General what you’d learned, wanted to get back to Poe—Maker, had you missed him—but you’d stumbled upon a piece of intel and had to see if it led anywhere.. It had been too risky to try and send word of your delay to the Resistance—what if the First Order had intercepted your comm? A gamble for sure, but in the end, it had paid off.

When you’d finally made it back, you’d immediately gone to see the General for debrief, dutifully providing the information you’d stumbled upon. So impressed was the General that she’d given the mission that came from that intel to you. You’d been so excited to tell Poe, had been so sure he’d be thrilled for you.

You’d found him in your room, had thrown your arms around him the second you’d seen him. He’d hugged you so tight, burying his face in your neck as he held you. You remember feeling so loved in that moment.

Which is why what ultimately happened seemed like it had come out of nowhere.

He’d been so proud, telling you that it was about time Leia saw how incredible you were, that he knew you’d do an amazing job. He was even more thrilled when you’d asked him to come with you.  Obviously, he’d said yes, never one to pass up any chance to be with you. 

It had gone well, so well, that a few weeks later, Leia offered you an even bigger mission, one that would take you off base for months. You’d been so torn, excited at the opportunity to help the Resistance but also not wanting to leave behind the man you loved.

When Poe found out about the offer, he’d immediately encouraged you to go, said it was an amazing opportunity and that no one was better suited for it than you. You’d been touched by his words, sure, but you wondered why had it felt like he was suddenly pushing you out, pushing you away. You chose to ignore it, assuming he’d tell you if  he had any doubts but the night before you were set to leave, he’d pulled you aside and broken up with you.

You’d been devastated—your best friend, the one person you loved most in the galaxy. If nothing else, you suppose it had made it easier for you to leave, easier to throw yourself into your work. And you had, rising through the ranks quickly, gathering intel from all sorts of places. 

Years have gone by since your time on D’qar, since your time with him. You still hear about him occasionally; General Organa’s golden boy, best pilot in the Resistance. It still hurts a little every time you hear his name, even after all these years. You just can’t figure out why—what had happened? Hadn’t you been happy? Hadn’t you been in love? Hadn’t you dreamed of building a life together someday? Somewhere quiet where you could grow old together? Perhaps he hadn’t been as serious about that dream as you, perhaps you had loved him more than he’d loved you. 

Perhaps it was time to stop dwelling on this—on him—and finally move on. 

—

Poe hurries along the corridor, BB-8 hot on his heels. He’s late, his training session with the new recruits running longer than he’d anticipated. Leia was gonna kill him. When he finally makes it to the briefing room, it’s already in full swing. Leia shoots him a disapproving glare—both for his lateness and the interruption. He winces in apology and quickly takes a seat, doing his best not to disrupt things any more than he already has. He tries to listen, to be attentive, but he can’t help but glance at the others present. There are some familiar faces, some new, and some—one specifically—old.

His breath stalls in his chest, heart pounding, eyes widening as they drink you in. You haven’t changed at all, still as beautiful as the last time he’d seen you. He can’t believe you’re here, he never thought he’d see you again. He’d wondered many times over the last few years how you were, where you were, what you were doing, if you were okay. 

Did you ever think about him? Probably not, he’d broken your heart after all. But it had been the right thing to do, hadn’t it? You’d had this amazing opportunity, one he knew you’d wanted to take, and he hadn’t wanted to be that thing that held you back. Letting you go was one of the hardest things he’s ever had to do; it had gutted him, left a hole in his heart that could never be filled. He’d wanted to marry you, had been prepared to give you his mother’s ring, but it would’ve been selfish. Instead, he’d done what he’d thought was best, for you and for the Resistance. When you left, he’d thrown himself wholly into the cause, working his ass off night and day to become the best pilot he could be. 

The sight of you is like a knife to the heart. He’s been numb for so long, he realizes, has been floating through life pushing away his feelings instead of dealing with them. Should he talk to you when this is over? Is that something you’d even want? Probably not but he supposes he should at least try.

When the briefing is over, Poe realizes he hasn’t heard a word of it, too distracted by your presence. He’ll have to get the cliff’s notes from Finn later. As everyone files out of the room, he rises from his seat, lagging behind as he watches you and Leia talk at the front of the room. You don’t even glance in his direction when you’re finished, simply nodding to the General and exiting the room. Poe doesn't know if he’s relieved or disappointed. Leia watches you go, a frown on her face, then turns to look at him. Her frown deepens.

“I have a mission for you, Commander,” she says eventually, waving him over and handing him a disc. “You leave tomorrow morning.”

—

Poe was exhausted. He’d spent half the night prepping for this mission and the other half thinking about you. He supposed it didn’t matter much now that he was being shipped off, you probably wouldn’t even be here when he returned, might already be gone, actually. He should’ve been relieved but instead he just felt…uneasy.

He yawns as he trudges across the hangar deck, slowly making his way to the small transport vessel sitting on the far side. He doesn’t have much information other than that it’s an undercover operation that will take them deep into First Order territory. He’d been studying the star charts all night. Though he’s only there to fly the ship, he knows whatever they’re going there for must be important, Leia wouldn’t have sent him on just any mission. He wishes he could’ve at least brough BB along with him but, due to the level of secrecy, no droids were allowed. 

There’s no one around when he makes it to the ship, so he decides to head inside, if only to get acquainted with the controls (not that he really needs to but he likes to be thorough). His boots clunk dully on the hollow metal floors as he makes his way on board, heading straight to the cockpit. He goes over his preflight checklist in his head, making a note to circle back and check the engine vents before take off. 

He makes it to the cockpit in no time, immediately stopping in his tracks when he crosses the threshold, his mouth falling open in surprise.

You. 

Initially he wonders if you’d specifically requested he be your pilot, but quickly nixes the idea; there’s no way, not after the way things had ended between you. No, this has Leia written all over it. Poe sighs, bracing himself for a fight; he’s betting she didn’t tell you who you’d be working with either. 

Poe clears his throat, averting his eyes briefly as you turn to face him. Your face falls at the sight of him and his heart plummets into his stomach.  You look around him, as if searching for someone else, then return your gaze to his, jaw clenched.

“Leia sent you?” you ask, your face slipping into an emotionless mask.

He swallows, nodding. “Yep.”

You nod back, then glance away, eyes landing on the pilot’s seat. “Start flight prep, we leave in twenty.”

“Yes, sir,” Poe responds respectfully, immediately moving toward the console.

His heart’s pounding in his chest, so loud he almost misses your muttered curse as you leave the room.

—

You try to be professional, really you do, but…it’s Poe. The second you saw him in that briefing, you’d known your feelings for him were still there, that they’d never truly gone away. What happened still hurts though, even after all these years.. You hate that he’s here, hate that he’s distracting you during such an important mission…but also, you kind of don’t. Hate him, that is. You’ve missed him, despite everything, and you loathe yourself for it.

The two of you fly in silence to the coordinates provided by your contact, the ship retrofitted with some special hyperdrive that Rey reengineered to be a zillion times faster than it normally is. You’d have to thank her for that when you returned, wanting to be alone with Poe for as little time as possible. 

The mission goes well—you get in, get what you need, and get out. The flight back feels longer somehow, feels like it drags on for ages. After hours of silence, of only his own thoughts for company, Poe just can’t take it anymore.

“Why did you leave?” he asks quietly, his voice rough with emotion.

Your mouth falls open in shock, the question taking you aback. You take a few deep breaths, trying to calm your agitation. You can’t look at him, can’t bear to see the look on his face, to see the hurt in his eyes, even though he’s the one that caused it.

“Why’d you let me?” you retort, your own pain evident even though you try to hide it.

You know he hears it, he was always good at that, at reading you.

“I didn’t want to hold you back,” he explains, regret and uncertainty lacing his tone.

You scoff, shaking your head, still refusing to look at him. “Please. Just admit you didn’t love me as much as I loved you.”

“You think I  didn’t love you?” he asks, sounding offended as he stands to his feet, “I was gonna ask you to marry me.”

You freeze, stunned by his admission.

He pauses too, realizing what he’s just said, what he’s let slip. He sighs, running a hand through his hair as he turns away, embarrassed.

“You were?” you ask softly, your anger weakening somewhat.

He hesitates, glancing at you over his shoulder. He nods, swallowing thickly as he looks away again.

Regret, hurt, and joy all war within you. All this time. All this time you’d thought he hadn't loved you but he had. You suppose you can understand why he’d done it, it made sense on some level, though it doesn't lessen the hurt his actions caused.

You still love him, and while it might not be the best decision you ever make, you can’t let him go, not again, not with the knowledge that he still has feelings for you too.

“Poe,” you begin, standing to your feet.

He turns, cautious.

“I–” you start, throat closing around the words.

He seems to understand though, his face crumbling in a mixture of relief and earnestness as he races to your side. “I’m so sorry, I–”

You hold up a hand, stopping him mid sentence. “It’s—well, it’s not okay but, I think it could be. Someday.”

He smiles softly, nodding as he holds your gaze, his hand gently cradling your elbow. The warmth of him seeps through your sleeve, the familiar scent of him invading your nose. Maker, it’s been ages since you were this close to him, to anyone.

Suddenly, all you want is to kiss him. Something familiar flickers in his eyes and it makes you ache, a longing so strong settling in your gut you hadn’t even known was even possible. He must feel it too, his eyes almost black as he inches closer, jaw slack. He whispers your name, breath ghosting over your lips. You swallow, reaching up to grab his collar, your fingers sliding over the soft fabric as you pull him closer. 

You both sigh when your lips touch, the familiar warmth and taste of him comforting, like coming home. He slides his hands up your arms to your face, palms cupping your cheeks as he greedily licks into your mouth. Your fingers are clenched in the fabric of his shirt, holding him against you, as if he might try to pull away, might try to leave you again. Your hip bumps against his and he moans, breaking the kiss. Poe pants, mouthing his way across your cheek, down to your neck. Your fingers tangle in his curls, pulling at the silken strands when he nips and sucks at your skin. He groans, the sound skittering across your skin, raising goosebumps.

“Poe,” you moan, eyes fluttering shut as he soothes the bruise he’s made on your neck with his tongue.

Your movements are desperate, frantic, your clothes quickly falling to the floor, mouths barely parting. Everything is blurred, time slowing as you melt into one another, becoming one once more. When he’s finally sheathed inside you, you can’t help but feel complete, like you’ve reclaimed a piece of your soul you hadn’t realized was missing. It’s overwhelming. There are so many things you still need to talk about, things you still need to work through, but you know now that you’ll do it together.

He’s still above you, just enjoying the feel of you, of the sight of you, gazing at you with unfiltered love in his eyes. When he catches your gaze, he smiles, and you can’t help but pull him down for another kiss. Poe sighs, his breath shuddering as he pulls back slightly, pressing his forehead against yours.

“Marry me,” he breathes, the weight of his mother’s ring resting contentedly against your bare chest.

Tears well in your eyes, a giddiness racing through you, escaping in the form of a surprised laugh. Was this a dream? It had to be, right? Less than 24 hours ago, you would’ve told anyone who asked that you hated Poe Dameron, yet here you were about to accept his offer of marriage. 

“Yes,” you whisper, smiling wide as you pull him in for another kiss.

He laughs, your kiss muffling the sound as he finally begins to move hips. His thrusts are unhurried and deep, stoking the fire inside you until it’s a raging inferno. He feels so good, better than you remember, his cock stretching you, hitting you just right, every move sending shockwaves through your entire body. You cling to each other, exchanging moans and breathy sighs, eyes locked as if the other might disappear.

“I love you,” he slurs, drunk on you, on the pleasure coiling in his belly. “Love you so much, sweetheart.”

You can only whine in response, his public bone brushing deliciously against your clit with every press of his hips, pushing you higher and higher. You’re so close already, can feel the edge of the cliff looming, can feel the final peak before the plunge.

“Come for me,” he pants, his growing movements sloppy as he nears his own peak. “Please. Wanna feel you.”

You come with a shout, the force of it slamming into you like a freighter. Distantly, you hear his broken moans, your blood rushing in your ears as your body shakes with pleasure. The fluttering of your cunt sends Poe over the edge, his eyes rolling back in his head as he empties himself into you, filling you to the brim with his release. He collapses on top of you, your bodies slick with sweat as you try to catch your respective breaths. You fall asleep, wrapped in each other once more, hope blossoming in your chest for the first time in a long time.

If you enjoyed this, please let me know! I appreciate every single reblog and/or comment. Thank you. 💖

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[beezusvreeland]

[beezusvreeland]

redemption : self-doubt. l Harry Castillo

❤️‍ broken hearts seek redemption ❤️‍

Summary: they decided to show you your place

Warnings: Self-doubt, complexes, imposter syndrome, crying, breakups, writing emails, movie spoiler, Harry is sweet as candy

A/N: a few people reminded me of the need to write this redemption. I really had plans to do it because I remember about this series, but recently… well, the most important thing is that it finally appeared. I've been reading some really beautiful and emotional stories about Harry lately, so my text is really just scribbles, but I'm giving it to you anyway. be gentle with me (psst! you always are and I love you for that)

your feedback is very important to me and I thank you for all the reblogs, comments and likes. 🖤 sorry for all the mistakes

first part is here >> self-doubt <<

a few ways to break a heart [masterlist]

broken hearts seek redemption [masterlist]

Harry was a man who didn't give up easily. Not just in business, but also in terms of who or what he cared about. And he definitely cared about you.

Your phone call broke his heart. And it wasn't even because you had ended your relationship, it was because of what was going on in the background. Because even though Harry couldn't see you at the time, he could feel the sadness, uncertainty, and regret in your voice. It wasn't you, it was all your fears speaking, so he couldn't just leave you like you wanted.

However, Harry Castillo respected your request enough to give you three days to cool down. A full 72 hours later, the first bouquet of flowers appeared on your desk.

Not too big, not too small. Big enough for you to guess they were from him. No note, just flowers. The courier showed up the next week, the bouquets changed, but Harry was persistent.

A week later, an email appeared. It was safer, you could read it in a safe and comfortable place for yourself. Just a few sentences so it wouldn't overwhelm you.

Sweetheart, I won't hide it and I don't care how pathetic and sappy this sounds, but I miss you. I don't know what happened, but it must have been something bad because I heard it in your voice. I can't believe that the woman who just said she loved me decided to disappear like that. I need to know that you're okay, baby. If not, tell me what I can do to fix it. I care about you more than anything. You are and always will be the brightest ray of light in my life. I love you always, Harry.

Tears rolled down your cheeks as you read the message for the umpteenth time. You missed Harry so much that it hurt. The relationship you had created lasted a few months, but it was really deep and sincere, full of feelings and understanding.

Harry was a man who really listened and to whom you had truly opened your heart for the first time. This time, however, you felt ashamed and uncertain, you didn't know if you could accept it from him.

And even though you hadn't answered his email for two days, flowers still appeared on your desk. When you ran out of vases, you had to do something about it.

Harry. I don't know if you decided to buy all the flowers in New York, but if you did, please stop this madness. Yes, they are beautiful, but my living room is starting to resemble a flower shop. Thank you for each and every one of these bouquets. I didn't know what to write back to you. I had composed this letter in my head so many times, but my fingers still didn't press the right keys on the keyboard. I won't lie or pretend, not to you. Because you deserve the truth. That night my heart broke twice. Once when I heard the words that hurt me more than I expected. Second, when I told you it was over. I know you didn't deserve to be treated like that and I will always carry the guilt of doing so. But I'm a coward. Yes, I'm just a coward for not being able to stand in front of the man I love and tell him how I felt. And I feel like I'm not worthy of you, Harry... My background or how I look compared to all the beautiful women around you... You deserve so much and I don't think I can give it to you. I love you, I'm sorry.

For several long minutes Harry stared at your message. He rested his chin on his folded hands, the words you had written flashing before his eyes. "how I look compared to all the beautiful women" "you deserve so much". He knew your self-esteem was shaky, but he thought his support and admiration for you had already changed something. How wrong Harry Castillo was...

He wasn't in your head, he didn't know what words you might have heard, but he understood perfectly well that you might have felt devastated. The modern world wasn't kind to anyone, and certainly not to those who didn't fit the rigid norms. Although even such people felt a huge pressure on themselves. With each passing minute, Harry felt more and more disgust at the standards and canons that hurt the person he loved. You.

For the next two days, you didn't get a reply to your message. The courier with flowers didn't show up either, so you assumed that your message must have been the one that finally ended your relationship.

Yes, it broke your heart and you knew you would never forget Harry, but you were too deep in your head and insecurity to think about anything else. His absence only confirmed that you did the right thing.

So when you heard a knock on the door the next evening, you were surprised. The huge bouquet of flowers hid the person standing behind it, but you sensed it before you saw them.

Harry.

"You didn't think I'd let you go so easily, sweetheart" he said, peeking out from behind the flowers.

"You should have" you replied, but the joy in your eyes at seeing him said otherwise.

"Can I come in?"

You let him into the apartment, the bouquet of flowers was on the table and it was truly huge, the biggest you had ever seen in your life. Meanwhile, Harry turned to you, longing written all over his face.

When he spoke, his voice low and deep filled the quiet room. "I know you wanted to end it, but I can't leave it like this. I'm sorry, but I can't." He saw you fold your arms across your chest, listening to him, but he continued, "I don't know exactly what happened, but I can see how it affected you. It breaks my heart, my love. You're the most important person in my life, I love you, and I can't watch your insecurities eat you up."

He took a step toward you and took the fact that you didn't back down as a good sign. "You're so hard on yourself, so demanding, and... I understand that. I really do. But when I told you about my insecurities, about how ashamed I was of my height, you accepted all of me. Let me do the same for you."

"Harry..." you sighed, as if a heavy burden was resting on your chest, "I appreciate it, but it's not that simple."

He walked over to you with quick steps and grabbed your shoulders. “And I’m not afraid of the hard parts. When I look at you, I see a beautiful woman, but that’s not all. Do you know what else I see?” You looked at him, even though tears were stinging your eyes painfully. “I see a strong, intelligent, quick-witted, funny, and sensitive person. I see someone I want to spend the rest of my life with, no matter what that looks like. Someone I can rely on when the bad days come and someone I can share the good ones with. Someone I want to grow old with. You’re my friend and my lover, all wrapped up in one person. Do you know how lucky I am?”

Tears began to flow down your cheeks and you didn't even try to stop them. Harry embraced you, hugging you to his chest, stroking your head and back, letting you let out your emotions. It was necessary and cathartic.

You stood in your arms, and Harry never once rushed you, never told you to stop. His presence and closeness soothed all the pain you felt.

"I wanted to be right for you so much, I wanted to be like all the women around you..." you sobbed, clenching your fingers in his sweater, "But I'll never be enough and I'll always be too much."

"I know you feel it, but it's not real, love." He kissed the top of your head. "You're perfect for me, in every way. Listen to the man who loves you."

Your giggles mixed with your sobs and it was so adorable that Harry smiled, for the first time in a long time, since you disappeared. It was only after a few minutes that you pulled away, wiping the tears from your cheeks and looking at him with reddened eyes.

"Thank you, Harry." you said quietly "For everything. For being here."

"I will always be with you and on your side, just like you are on mine." he took your face in his hands and kissed you tenderly. "I love you and nothing will change that."

You knew he was telling the truth, he was saying it from the bottom of his heart. And I knew that change wouldn't be easy, but you weren't alone anymore. With Harry, you could face it.

☆☆☆☆☆

Thank you for your time.

[beezusvreeland]

I did a nice exfoliating shower today & my tits r soooo soft l wish Frankie or Joel (ᵒʳ ᵇᵒᵗʰ) were here to appreciate it :( like SO SOFT. Should be roughened up a lil w some clamps & teeth idkkkkkkk

This is Frankie. He speaks to me as I read this.

Frankie loves your 'everything' showers. Sure, it eats up into his cuddle time with you and definitely isn't friendly to his water bill. but when you step out, all cozied in your towel turban and bathrobe, and the steam billows out, increasing the humidity of the room by 300%, it gives him shivers. What usually follows is your incredibly silky soft skin brushed up against his body, and the heat radiating from your flesh. All of it tickles his brain and muscles just right.

you grin, bouncing on the bed very excitedly. "mmmm," you hum, barely able to contain yourself. you start tapping your thigh, sighing loudly.

"you shaved?" he asks with a chuckle.

"AH HUH! DO YOU WANT TO fEEL?!" immediately you shove your legs at him, grasping his paws to drag against your calves and up your thighs. "ooooooohhhh smooooooooooooth," you whisper for him.

He knows you like being silly but fuck its turning him on so much. "Baby, I--"

"AND--!" you sit up and straddle his hip by surprise, eagerly shoving him down. you don't pay mind though, and neither does he the second you spread your robe from the chest, exposing your breasts.

"I exfoliated EVERYTHING. feel 'em!"

His jaw drops as you flash your beaming smile proudly. He doesn't need told twice; his hands slip up your ribs and cup the underside of your tits. "Jesus," he mumbles, mouth agape. "They're fuckin--"

"Soooffttttttt--I know!"

He gulps, nodding. You really had no concept of what you do to him. He tenderly squeezes them, one in each hand. Your tits had always been perfect, but there's almost an impossible extra softness to them. So warm and pillow-like, they practically melt in his paws. Experimentally, he pinches your nipples lightly between his thumb and finger. You groan, faltering a bit. It has him growling deeply in his chest as he continues to fondle your breasts. those soft puppy brown eyes get lost, staring at them with a drooling lip he keeps licking.

"You in there, Morales?" you laugh, twirling his curls.

He open his mouth but says nothing. Like his own breath is caught in his throat, and the only noise that comes up is a half gurgle, half groan. His response is to move his hands over your shoulders, dropping the robe further and exposing you fully to him. He licks his lip, staring at your chest hungrily.

"F-Frankie?"

Less than five minutes later, your silly mood had disappeared entirely. replaced by the desperate, whimpering little mess, like putty in his hands, rutting against his hard cock desperately. "Fish..."

He hums around your tit. Sucking harshly, he releases with a pop. "So sweet and soft. I love 'em." He smirks before dipping his head again to catch a nipple, kissing it softly before enclosing his teeth around it like a shark catching its prey. "Do this f'me more often babygirl?"

He kneads and pokes, licks and suckles your boobs. You feel like fainting when he squishes them together, sticks his tongue out and swirls around both nipples, trying to fit both into his mouth together. All while staring up at your with hooded, lust filled eyes and an mischievous grin.

You nod quickly, trying to stay focused through hazy vision. But when he clamps down on them again with the full width of his jaw, you fall back with a moan. Even as you try to squirm free, he wraps his arms around you, pulling you right back into his greedy mouth.

You really though this was going to be a fun, relaxing, movie cuddling night.

His hard length pokes your soaking core once again. You swear to yourself to only exfoliate 'everything' when you're ready to be pinned to the bed and devoured all night.

[beezusvreeland]

[beezusvreeland]

Under the Influence

Pairing: Matt Murdock x fem!Reader Word Count: 2.8k [Tuna-Tober Masterlist]

Tuna-Tober Prompt: Drunken Confession

Warnings/tags: 18+; Fluff, light humor, drunk Reader, pining

Summary: Drunk after a girl's night out, you accidentally slip up about your feelings for Matt.

a/n: This fic is literally months overdue, but it was written and I finally was able to edit it and share. Feedback and reblogs are always appreciated!

Stumbling into your apartment, you felt far less capable of walking in the heels you’d put on earlier than when you'd first slipped them on and left to grab drinks with your friends. But tonight's girl's night out with everyone had been long overdue with how constantly busy everyone had been, which meant you'd accidentally gone a little overboard with the drinks. In all honesty, you’d drank a bit more than you usually did whenever you went out with Foggy, Marci, Karen, and Matt to Josie’s on your usual Thursday night outs. So now, admittedly, you were a bit drunk.

Slipping out of your heels after you shut your apartment door, you balanced yourself with a hand against the wall. The room around you spun ever so slightly and you tried to blink away the sensation, focusing on removing the uncomfortable shoes from your aching feet one at a time. It had been so long that you’d forgotten just how painful it was to go out drinking and dancing in heels. Shoving your shoes to the side with a foot once they were off, you pushed yourself off of the wall and nearly tripped over your own feet in the process of turning around.

“Far, far too much alcohol,” you mumbled to yourself. 

Barefoot, you sluggishly padded your way over to the kitchen and stopped in front of your fridge, pulling the door open to retrieve a bottle of water from the side door. You twisted off the cap, letting the fridge door fall softly shut as you drew the bottle up to your lips. Beginning to chug the cold liquid down in the hopes that it would help to ease your growing headache, you closed your eyes and internally begged the room to spin less–or at least slower. 

Lowering the bottle from your lips, you wiped the back of your other hand across your damp mouth, feeling your exhaustion from the evening beginning to finally settle into you. But just as your body had begun to relax, a sound from outside your living room window quickly caught your attention and caused your eyes to snap back open. Growing alert, your head darted over your shoulder in a delayed response, the room once more spinning in your vision as you squinted at where you thought you’d heard the noise. Another metal groan from your fire escape met your ears and a brief surge of fear rushed through you. 

“No need to panic,” Matt's familiar and somewhat muffled voice called out from behind the glass. “It’s just me.”

You almost immediately relaxed at the sight of him rising to his full height on the dark fire escape. Expelling a soft sigh of relief, a little smile slipped its way onto your lips next, thrilled that he was here even if you hadn’t been expecting a visit from your masked best friend this evening. 

“Why’re you out there?” you called back. 

“Because I'm…on patrol?” he answered through the glass. 

Your grin grew wider as you turned more fully towards the window in your living room, the red form of him more noticeable with how he was standing on your fire escape just beside your window, the faint light from inside your apartment washing over him. Or rather washing over the two red forms of him, but you assumed the second was due to the alcohol in your system and not the sudden existence of a second Daredevil. 

“You can come in,” you called out again, taking a few unsteady steps towards the window before immediately halting and grabbing onto your kitchen counter to steady yourself. “‘S’always unlocked for you,” you slurred out. “Unless you're–you're waiting for me to play you a theme song to enter to.”

“Theme song?” Matt’s confused voice called back.

“Y’know,” you continued, an amused grin pulling at your lips, “like if–if superheroes had a theme song or…something.”

You caught the sound of his laughter from out on your fire escape, the noise drawing forth a warm, pleasant feeling in your chest. You loved making him laugh. 

“I’m not even going to ask what you’d suggest that would be right now,” he called back.

Teetering unsteadily on your feet, one hand still clutching the kitchen counter to keep yourself upright as your other hand still held onto the cold bottle of water, you giggled at the idea as he raised your window wide enough to climb through. The first song that came to mind was “Birthday Cake” by Rihanna, most likely due to it having been one of the last songs playing before you left the bar tonight, but also because you’d noticed how nice of an ass Matt had from the moment you met him–even if that was not what the song was about. Though the idea of him easily slipping through your window right now as that song played had you biting your bottom lip and fighting down a laugh. But of course Matt's sensitive ears still caught the sound, his head darting up before he smiled in your direction. A pang of sadness punched you in the gut at the sight of his charming smile beneath his cowl.

Why was he only your friend?

“Keeping this unlocked just for me?” he asked, righting himself in your living room before turning and closing the window after himself, shutting the sounds of the city back out of your apartment. “I'm touched but also now greatly concerned about your safety,” he teased as he focused back on you. “You're just on the third floor, don't assume I'm the only one willing to risk climbing up that.”

Your eyes followed the movement of his gloved hand, watching as he gestured at the fire escape behind himself. Before you had a chance to respond, the sound of his voice drew your vision back to the red lenses of his cowl, your hand gripping the counter even tighter in your grasp.

“But a theme song?” he asked in amusement. “Really? How much have you had to drink tonight?”

You laughed lightly, the thought of that particular song being the theme song for Matt's alter ego becoming more entertaining by the second. 

“You're so dramatic,” you teased back, your words slurring together a bit as you ignored that little ache in your chest at the continued sight of his handsome smile. “You'd definitely have a theme song playing as you enter places.”

His head cocked curiously to the side at your comment and you couldn’t resist the grin at the sight. You always thought his head tilts were adorable; the way he listened closer to what you were saying often reminded you of a dog. The image of him on all fours hovering over you in bed briefly surfaced in your mind at the thought and you felt your pulse accelerate. Faintly through the haze of alcohol you caught the briefest twitch of his lips before he was speaking again.

“Excuse me, but, dramatic?” he shot back.

His voice quickly pulled you back from the mental image in your mind and you felt your face growing flushed. You hoped he’d blame the alcohol for the shift in your body as you nodded, the movement causing Matt to once more double in your vision. 

“Yeah, I mean you–you're wearing a costume, Matt,” you said as you gestured at him. “That's pretty dramatic.” 

He placed a hand against his chest, your eyes following the movement. You knew how strong and solid that chest was from the few times you'd had an excuse to hug him, but now you were itching to place your hand against it, too. Or to run your hand along the mysterious material of his tight-fitting suit in general.

“This is armor,” he pointed out simply. “It's not a costume.”

His voice once more drew you out of your thoughts, your attention returning to his mouth. The earnestness in his words had you biting your lip and fighting back another giggle. You noticed his smile had grown at the sound, his ears having still caught the noise.

“Matt, it–it has horns,” you countered, biting back a smile.

The corner of his lip twitched at your comment. “Fair point,” he agreed. “But you are drunk.”

“And that–” you said, swinging a finger towards his chest, “–is a poor change of topic.”

His head further canted to the side, his lips straightening along his face. “From the ever so important costume discussion?” he asked.

“No,” you said, setting your half-empty water bottle down and taking a step towards him. You stumbled and threw a hand out, catching yourself on the counter beside yourself with it again. “From why you're here.”

An amused chuckle rumbled out of him and you swore the sound itself vibrated through your entire body. Dammit, you would never cease loving being the cause of his laughter, even if somewhere in your mind you were aware he was laughing at you a little right now.

“Sweetheart,” he began, “we weren't discussing that even remotely. I can’t change the subject from a subject we weren't even on in the first place. I mean I know I smelt the alcohol on you from the sidewalk but…you’re far drunker than I anticipated.”

A heat ignited in your stomach at the term of endearment Matt occasionally threw out at you, your ears hardly hearing much else he’d said. Matt and you had only ever been friends, and in the years you'd known him he'd never called anyone else ‘sweetheart’ before–at least, not from what you'd ever heard. It both confused and excited you every time he called you that, the term slipping out of his mouth almost as if by accident each time.

“I uhm,” you began, pausing as your inebriated brain tried to catch up. “I may have…drank quite a bit tonight.”

Matt expelled a breathy laugh, one hand finally reaching up to remove the cowl from his head. You watched with bated breath as his handsome face revealed itself to you in the dim light of your living room. His other gloved hand reached up, combing through his dark strands of hair. Your heart clenched at the sight of how beautiful he was–as if you needed the reminder right now when you were about to go to sleep alone and drunk.

“I know,” Matt told you.

He took a step towards your coffee table and placed the cowl down on it, the gesture so casual that you wished it happened more often. Licking your lips nervously, you forced your gaze to return to Matt’s face once he began speaking again.

“You mentioned going out tonight, so I figured I’d make sure you got home safe,” he told you. “It wasn’t a busy night so I came up to check on you once I noticed just how much you smelled like alcohol. Wanted to make sure you were doing alright.”

“Oh,” you breathed out, surprised at his concern. “You–you didn’t have to…”

He grinned back, shrugging a shoulder. “I know,” he agreed. “I wanted to.” His expression shifted to something softer, his eyes focusing down on your body. “You sound very tired though. Maybe you should get to bed?”

Nodding your head, the room once more spun around you as you tried to push away that part of your brain which was still stuck on the way he’d called you ‘sweetheart.’ There was a nagging thought somewhere in your brain telling you that him showing up like this was something he never did for your other friends. Instead of focusing on that, you took a few steps towards your living room in an attempt to make it to your bedroom, but you swayed so much that your foot caught along a floorboard and began your inevitable drunk descent to the floor. 

Matt immediately darted forward as you'd begun to fall, his gloved hands catching you by the shoulders in a tight grip before you'd gotten too far. Your hands instinctively flew up in response, grabbing onto Matt’s biceps to further steady yourself as your eyes snapped shut, a wave of dizziness rolling through you. Somewhere in your mind, though, you still noted how firm his muscles were beneath your death grip.

“Okay, you’re incredibly drunk, sweetheart,” Matt teased, your ears catching the affection in his voice and the term of endearment again. “Maybe I should help you.”

Swallowing hard, you slowly opened your eyes. His face was right before yours, the concern written on his expression was plain as day even with the hint of amusement. For a moment you lost yourself staring at him though, almost as if you were in a trance examining the laugh lines beside his eyes and the flecks of color inside of them as they focused on your chin. He had the prettiest eyes.

“You alright?” he asked.

Blinking rapidly, you realize you’d just been openly gawking at him. Flushing, you nodded and tried to right yourself, your hands releasing his biceps. “Yeah, sorry,” you muttered.

Matt didn’t completely release his hold on you, though he did instead wrap one of his arms around your shoulders as he began to help guide you through your living room and over towards your bedroom. The walk felt like it was longer than it really was with your mind hyper-focused on the weight of his arm around you, gently leading you across your apartment and into your bedroom. 

When you reached your bed, Matt’s gloved hand darted out and pulled back the bed sheets before you had a chance. Not feeling as if you could easily slip out of the dress you’d worn tonight, and far too shy to ask Matt for help with something like that, you carefully climbed up into your bed still dressed in it. Sliding your legs beneath the sheets, your earlier exhaustion once more washed over you, your eyelids growing heavy as you began to lower your head down to the pillow. Beside the bed, Matt gently tugged the blankets up and over you, a hard to read expression on his face that was a vast difference to the amused one he’d had when he first showed up. Briefly you wondered what was on his mind before the thought vanished.

“You should get some rest,” Matt said softly, tucking you in. “You’re going to be feeling that in the morning, I can promise you that.”

Groaning at the truth in his statement, you rolled onto your side towards him. “I hate that you’re right,” you grumbled.

He chuckled lightly, the sound drawing a faint smile to your lips as you continued to stare up at him. The urge to reach out and touch him grew so strong that you had to force your hand to hold onto the sheets of your bed, fisting the material in your fingers. What you wouldn't give to trace the line of that jaw, to feel the scratch of his stubble along your fingertips.

“Close your eyes, sweetheart,” he murmured. “Get some sleep.”

Eyes growing half-lidded, you emitted a discontented groan at his words. You much preferred the idea of staring at his handsome face with that confusing expression on it instead. Matt’s amused chuckle met your ears in response.

“You’re clearly exhausted, are you really going to fight me on going to sleep?” he asked.

The words tumbled out of your mouth in a tired jumble, your brain too exhausted and inebriated to know what you’d even said even after you’d said it.

“I’d rather look at you.”

Somewhere in your mind, you registered that Matt had stiffened beside your bed. A soft, warm look grew in his eyes as he gazed down at you lying there, but you weren’t fully aware of everything coming out of your mouth at this point, so the words only continued to spill out.

“‘Cause you’re so beautiful,” you continued. “And I like looking at you. I could stare at you all night, really.”

Matt paused for a moment, a crease forming between his brows. Silence momentarily fell over the bedroom as the exhaustion continued to drag you under.

“You…like looking at me?” he hesitantly asked.

Eyelids lowering against your will, you faintly nodded against the pillow. “Mhmm,” you hummed out, sleep gradually beginning to take you. “Always…liked you.”

“You–you have?” Matt questioned in surprise.

Barely awake, you hummed out an affirmative. “Shame we’re just…friends,” you murmured.

You swore you felt something rough brush gently along the side of your cheek, but with your eyes closed you couldn’t tell if you’d imagined it or not. And then just as quickly afterwards, you’d fallen asleep.

Matt Murdock One Shot Tag List: @pazii @shouldbestudying41 @kmc1989 @ebathory997 @yeonalie @shiorimakibawrites @xxdrixx @wkndwlff @leikelle @pinkratts @lazyxsquirrel @1988-fiend @marvelcinematiquniverse @carstairswife @stilldreaming666 @kiwwia-wiwwia @willwork4dilfs @will-delete-this-later-probably @mattmurdocks6thscaleapartment @theetherealbloom @yarrystyleeza @dramaholic18 @ladywholikesreading @millennial-birkin @tartbeanpuzzles @harleycao @sunflower-tia @gamingfeline @juskonutoh @kezibear @ninacotte @withyoutilltheendoftheline @justanerd1 @scriptedmoon @lucienofthelakes @sarahskywalker-amidala @flowher @loves0phelia @a-half-empty-g1rl @zomtart @justvalkyrie @steve-chandler

[beezusvreeland]

"I cannot change my feelings for you, believe me I fucking tried." Marcus Moreno

Angry Confessions ❤️‍😠

bio : this story is part of the Angry Confessions series (you can still be a part of it)

requested by : @baronessvonglitter thank you!

warnings: fluff, one lie, some beer, two idiots

“Are you going with Derek?”

You looked at Marcus, tearing your gaze away from the computer screen for a moment.

“With who?”

Moreno smiled slightly in surprise. “With Derek. Your boyfriend.”

“Oh, sure.” You waved your hand, trying to downplay the situation. “I have a lot on my mind right now, sorry. At that pub near here?”

“Yeah, where we usually meet.” Marcus checked his watch, then grabbed his briefcase. “I have to go. I’m taking Missy to my mom’s. See you there? I’ll be waiting for you.”

He smiled as he left, and you buried your face in your hands a moment after closing the door and groaned for a long time.

A company party wasn’t exactly where you wanted to be. And you were sure Derek wouldn’t be there either, no matter how much you wanted him to. But it was a team-building event for all employees, and Marcus Moreno, the leader of Heroics, made sure you were there for the umpteenth time.

He wouldn't take no for an answer, and you knew none of your excuses would work. So that evening, with your heart in your throat and the only dress you had in your closet for such an occasion, you entered the pub. You could hear laughing voices mixed with music from the entrance, someone dancing, someone playing pool or darts.

You were supposed to have two, maybe three drinks and leave the party gracefully. Until you saw him. Marcus Moreno, your coworker, looked like he had stepped straight out of a catalog in a fitted navy shirt with a few undone buttons. You finished your drink, feeling like you were in a lost cause.

You worked at Heroics HQ for almost two years, and you and Marcus became friends almost immediately. He was charming and nice, and you quickly started to feel something for him. However, at your obvious signals, he started to tense up and withdraw. So you figured you'd rather be friends with him than not have him in your life at all, and that's how Derek came along.

Derek, the head of IT at a big company, a fan of bike trips and movies, who made great pasta and read before bed. The perfect man.

"Hey!" Marcus approached you. "I'm glad you made it."

"Me too." You nodded at the bartender, asking for another drink. "Everyone seems to be having a good time."

"Yeah." Moreno's brown eyes swept around the pub. "Is Derek here yet? Will you introduce us?"

He noticed the embarrassment on your face, the uneasy shifting in your chair. "Ummm..."

Marcus leaned towards you with a rather serious expression on his face. "Don't tell me he didn't come with you. How could a guy say no to a girl like you... Idiot."

"That's not it." You mumbled, but Marcus was clearly outraged.

"He's doing it again, so don't defend him. You were supposed to come to the barbecue, and he found an excuse too. Forgive me, my love, but a man's role is to be there for his woman."

Even though Moreno's words were really nice, you felt worse by the second. Derek was getting beat up, and it wasn't even his fault. You downed another drink in two quick gulps, then slid off the chair, feeling your legs buckle. That immediately caught Marcus's attention, who had been sipping the same beer since he entered.

"Wooh! Be careful." he said, grabbing your elbow and helping you steady yourself. "Do you feel bad? You haven't had that much to drink."

"I didn't eat dinner." you replied, standing more firmly on your feet. "I think..."

"What?! Derek should..."

"Stop it!" you hissed, not caring at all about being considered rude. "Stop talking about him, Marcus!"

Surprise was written all over his handsome face, but he quickly regained his speech. “Don’t defend him. He’s your boyfriend, he should take care of you, look out for you… You deserve it.”

There was something in your gaze that made him take a step back. He let go of your arm, then saw you hesitantly walking towards the exit. And here Marcus Moreno should have let go, but he couldn’t. You were friends. He could always count on you, you always listened to him and supported him. Now you needed him.

As he was leaving the bar, he saw you standing on the sidewalk, trying to hail an Uber.

“Wait,” he said, walking over, “We’ll go together. I don’t want you to go back alone.”

“No need,” you replied, “I can handle it myself.”

“But you know you don’t have to, right?”

You rolled your eyes, then inhaled the cool evening air. You turned to face Marcus, your eyes shining and your face showing resignation.

“Derek doesn’t exist,” you said. Moreno frowned, not understanding. “He never existed. I made him up.”

“Why?” he blurted out, surprised.

“Because I like you, Marcus! Maybe too much… But when I thought something would come of it, you started to back away. So Derek came along.” You sighed. “I guess you stopped being afraid that I’d hit on you or something, I don’t know. It was like before again… I’m sorry, Marcus, but… I can’t change the way I feel about you, believe me, I fucking tried. I understand that you don’t want to know me now, but I’m so tired of this…”

Silence fell. In the distance, you could hear conversations and music, and you stood across from each other, completely broken.

“Were you lying the whole time?” you nodded "Because you wanted..."

"Because I wanted to have a friend who was important to me, so I wouldn't feel uncomfortable around you." You finished the sentence for him "Marcus, you were more relaxed, more open when you thought I had someone. But over time I started to worry that what if... What if you met some woman, started dating her? It hurt me so much..."

"I've already met someone like that."

You lifted your head, worried. Damn it! How could you not notice? When did it happen? Didn't he tell you anything? You felt your heart speed up and a cold shiver ran through your body.

"You met someone." You unconsciously repeated after him. "That... That's great. Really great."

Tears sparked in your eyes. Marcus could see it clearly. The woman in front of him was trying to be strong, she really was, but her eyes said it all - you wanted to sink into the ground.

"I met someone." He repeated slowly. “And she’s really… great. I wanted to go out with her, but she already has someone. That guy is a complete idiot, he doesn’t appreciate what he has, he doesn’t appreciate her.”

“Oh, I’m sorry to hear that.”

Marcus’s lips formed a smirk, something you didn’t expect. “But you know, they probably broke up. Good for me. I was too much of a coward to talk to her, but I will now.” He took a deep breath. “Are you free Friday night?” 

You looked at him, completely stunned. “Yes. I am.” You stuttered, and Marcus smiled.

[beezusvreeland]

[beezusvreeland]

[beezusvreeland]

[beezusvreeland]

Miggy smut just hits different

FUNNY FEELING.

starring: fwb!miguel o’hara x female reader summary: your friends bet you at girl’s night that you wouldn’t try a royal honey packet. momma didn’t raise a bitch but you may need a little help with the… side effects.

content warnings: 18+ MDNI, choking, breath play, cockwarming, p in v, unprotected sex (use a condom guys), squirting, some degradation, creampie (sorry, I literally can't help it. breeding kink go brrr 😵‍💫) and not proofread cause I simply cannot be arsed

You should never, under any circumstances, do anything under the influence of alcohol or the influence of your no good best friends.

That’s what you learn on a Friday night in some shoddy bar not far from your apartment in Nueva York.

The music is meh and the atmosphere leaves a little to be desired but the drinks are cheap and that's what you came for. Plus, if you show enough cleavage, the bartenders are heavy-handed with the pours. Your girls are on display in a strapless mini dress that’s so tight it looks painted on and all of your vodka sodas have been extra strong because of it. You can’t complain too much.

You and two girlfriends are sitting in a booth talking about what seems to be the number one thing that comes up when the three of you get drunk: your sex lives.

Jules and Maia start comparing their recent Hinge hookups to see who’s had the worst one night stand. You listen, amused and thankful you have no horror story to add this time.

“He came, rolled off of me, then immediately called his mom after!” Maia taps her finger on the tabletop as she lists the mystery man’s actions. “While I was still lying there!”

“Jules, honey, I think she’s got you beat.” You chime in with a faux frown.

“You know what? Fine by me!” Jules snorts and downs the last sip of her Heineken.

This contest has no real winners.

“Ok enough about our sad love lives,” Maia shakes her head. “What about that sexy scientist you’re dating?”

“Ooh, yes. Let’s talk about hot nerd!” Jules is of course all ears. Hot nerds are exactly her type.

“We’re not dating.” You stress for what feels like the millionth time since this arrangement between you and Miguel began. “We’re just.. hanging out.”

The excuse sounds as lame as it feels to say.

“Oh, do you fuck everyone you hang out with? Because we hangout,” Jules waves a finger between the two of you. “And I don’t fuck you.”

“You know what I mean.” You shove her shoulder. It hardly deters her from grilling you with more questions.

“So you and the scientist—”

“—Geneticist.” You correct. You don’t know why. He’s not here to pat you on the head for it.

“Potato, tomato. You two are seeing each other, exclusively, but you still don’t have a title?” Jules squints at you.

You hate when she puts things the way that they actually are. Though, it never really bothered you before that you couldn’t call him your boyfriend because you were never looking for one.

Casual sex works for you. Casual sex with Miguel works really well.

Now you realize that, in addition to him not being your boyfriend, you can’t even call him a friend either.

You barely know anything about him because he won’t let you in. Hell, you're in a bar telling your friends that you and him “hang out” because you aren’t crass enough to say that he fucks you and sends you home before the sun comes up. You don't even see him in daylight hours.

Jules is waiting for an answer but your heart is lodged in your throat. You just shake your head. No. You don’t have a title. You don’t have any place in his life.

Maia can see that the question has brought your mood down a bit so she tries to give a positive spin. “I mean it’s only been two months…maybe that little nerd just needs a little more convincing.”

There's no way to make Miguel O'Hara do anything he doesn't want to— you know this, but you're still curious.

“Convincing how?”

“Wellllll,” Maia fishes around in her purse until she pulls out what looks like a sauce packet. “I do have this.”

“I don’t really see how ketchup is going to help her, Maia.” Jules deadpans.

“It’s not ketchup! It’s-It’s one of those like, horny.. honey packet thingies. You know, the ones that make you… excited.” She explains with a blush.

The sip of your vodka soda you just took doesn't go down your throat right.

“Excuse me?" You cough. Jules pats your back. She's in just as much shock.

"Why do you have one of these, Maia?”

“Because I’m not a prude and I like to try new things!" She snarks. "Anyway, I think it would be fun for you and for him. Go rock his dorky world and see how he feels about you in the morning!” She tosses the packet at you and you scramble to catch it.

You start down at it in contemplation. You’re certainly no prude either. Especially not after everything you and Miguel have done. Though, it’ll be really embarrassing if it changes nothing and he’s still just as cold to you after.

“Dooo it. Dooo it. Dooo it.” Jules chants. She waves her hand to get Maia to join in and Maia does. They both chant in unison now. “Dooo it. Dooo it. Dooooo it.”

God, they're always so belligerent when they drink.

“I dunno..” You stall.

“We dare you.” Maia says.

“We double—no, triple dog dare you." Jules adds on. "Don't be a scaredy cat!"

You look down at the packet resting on the table again. If nothing changes, well, nothing changes. The worst that can happen is the worst still happening.

“Ok fine, what the hell.” You roll your eyes and rip the corner off the packet. “Sláinte.” You squeeze the whole thing out onto your tongue before you can second guess it.

“WOOOOO!” They both cheer.

You swallow it and chase it with the last of your vodka soda. The aftertaste has a faint tinge of regret, though it’s too late to go back. Your fate has officially been sealed.

“How long until it kicks in?” You almost want to brush the taste off your tongue. You can taste the honey for sure but there's something artificial underneath.

“No clue, girl. I haven’t tried it yet so you’re my little guinea pig.” Maia tweaks your nose. You frown.

“Alcohol might kickstart it sooner.” Jules tips her head at you. “You may wanna head on over to lover boy’s before you wig out in front of everyone at the bar.” She wiggles her fingers in your face with a cackle.

You brush her hand to the side. “Yeah, yeah. I’m booking the Uber.”

The area was crawling with drivers looking to pick up drunk bar patrons in need of a ride home so you had no problem finding one.

You find your chauffeur for the night in Mary. A middle aged lady who you would trust with your life and maybe a pair of knitting needles.

After confirming and paying, you bid your girls a good night and set off in the back of a Toyota Rav4 to Miguel’s apartment.

He has no idea you’re even on your way. If your mind weren’t so foggy from the drinks and the.. stimulant you’d recognize that this is not a good idea. Not even a little bit. 

You never stopped to run it by him, though you should’ve because you never do surprise visits. All your meetups in the past have been on his terms. Miguel calls and you come. That’s how it’s always been.

You can’t approach unless he wants you to and doing too much will drive him away completely. He’s like a feral alley cat in that way. He’d certainly warmed up to you a bit. Enough to fuck you senseless at least. That’s why you put up with his standoffish nature.

Miguel is the best you’ve ever had, bar none. Which may also be why you’re not thinking straight.

All you can really think about is his hands all over your body, caressing and groping the way that he does when it’s been a while since you’ve seen each other. The hungry way that he kisses you, like he’d devour you whole if he could.

How his wet kisses trail down your body from behind your ear to your throat, your collarbone, your chest, your nipples, the plane of your stomach, your inner thighs and your soaking wet clit.

You can’t wait for him to slide past your lips and fill you up nice and deep until he has nothing left to give and—

Oh. Oh.

It definitely just kicked in. If you couldn’t already tell from the thoughts you were having, the egregious amount of wetness forming between your thighs would be your next clue.

You start to feel increasingly warm all over like someone lit a match inside you. That fire beneath your skin is extra concentrated between your thighs. You hate to admit it but it feels… good. Jules and Maia won’t let you live it down once you give them the full report they’ll be demanding afterward but right now you don’t care.

Your body is a live wire, raw and sensitive to the touch. To every touch. At one point, you nearly choke on your moan after hitting a particularly deep pothole.

Mary apologizes and you sheepishly brush it off, the jolt went straight to your clit and you can barely keep up appearances. It makes you want to cry out when usually you just want to curse your mayor for not getting these things fixed.

Shifting around and crossing your legs doesn’t help. It just makes your nipples press against the fabric of your dress and the rough seatbelt glide across your neck. Two of your most erogenous zones. You have to bite your bottom lip to hold everything in but even that feels good.

God, you’re a mess and no one’s even touched you yet.

Your breaths are shallow and they barely fill your lungs. It makes you lightheaded and dizzy which doesn’t help your situation at all. You didn’t even think about the side effects it could have on you, too caught up in Miguel.

You have to roll the window down a bit to get some air on your face and cool yourself off. Miguel’s place is coming up as you recognize the buildings on this route.

Just keep it together you think to yourself.

You fly out of the car before it can really come to a true, complete stop and mutter a quick thanks to your driver. If she picked up on your behavior, she doesn’t let on and you’re thankful for it.

The walk through the ornate lobby to his building, one of the tallest in the city, is muscle memory at this point. You could walk off the elevator right up to his doorstep blindfolded. By now, even the doorman knows you. You don’t have to tell him who you’re here for and he knows exactly which button to push for you.

You both love and hate that. You take up enough space for Miguel’s doorman to recognize you but that’s just about all the space you take up in his world.

It makes you wonder if you’re the only regular visitor Miguel gets or if there are other women who get off on the twentieth floor and knock on the same door as you.

Before the elevator doors can close all the way, a woman rushes in nearly out of breath. She’s drop dead gorgeous, tall and svelte, like a model. Maybe she is one.

“Glad I caught you guys.” Her laugh is breathless and perfect. Her voice is silky smooth. “Twentieth floor ple—Oh! Nevermind, I see you’ve already got it.” She smiles at Hank, the man working the elevator tonight.

Jealousy distracts you from your aroused state momentarily. She’s new to you. Maybe she just moved into the building or maybe she’s usually out around the time you normally come over. Either way, your shared destination makes you bristle like a cat.

It doesn’t help that she’s suddenly appeared, just after you wondered if anyone else came up to see Miguel besides you, like a bad omen.

Your stomach is in knots when both of you leave the elevator. The scowl forms before you can help it. There’s a real possibility she could be heading to Miguel’s and your visit being a complete surprise doesn’t help your anxiety. It’s not until she tells you goodnight and turns left, instead of toward Miguel’s place, that you let out a breath of relief.

The green eyed monster goes back to her cave.

You hate the comfort you get from seeing her go the other way. It’s superficial at best. There could still be others.

It hardly matters now, you’re still on a mission that culminates at Miguel’s front door. Your knuckles rap against the wood. You hear nothing for a few moments and then there’s the sound of shuffling feet before the door opens to reveal Miguel who can barely fit in the frame.

He’s still in his lab coat, dress slacks and shoes, glasses resting on the bridge of his nose. He must’ve just come home from work.

Miguel gives you a scrutinizing once over. Your dress feels sluttier now in front of him and you fight the urge to pull it down. You wish you’d checked your makeup and hair in the car ride over because now you’re not sure how put together you look standing before him.

He waits for you to offer an explanation. Forcing your hand without a single word.

“Surprise.” You offer lamely. It’s a surprise alright and judging from the look on his face, not a welcome one. He just blinks but it’s more of what he doesn’t say that has you antsy.

“Did you leave something over here?” Miguel asks gruffly.

“No I just.. I just, um..” You trail off. How can you even begin to explain your situation in a way that isn’t completely embarrassing?

“Just what? I’m a bit busy right now so make it quick.”

God, he sounds so annoyed. You hate it.

Looking up into his eyes seems more daunting than before. You find it hard to meet his gaze and even harder to articulate what it is you came here for. It’s too bad the honey just makes you horny and not bold or courageous.

He grips your chin and tilts your head back so that you have to make eye contact with him. Your pupils are blown wide with lust and you know he can see that. Nothing gets past him.

Miguel tuts and brushes a thumb across your bottom lip. Instinctively, your lips part ever so slightly for your tongue to dart out and wet it.

His voice is softer this time, like you might bolt if he gets too loud. “Missed me, did you?”

You nod. Honesty is the best policy after all.

He dips his head so that his lips are at the shell of your ear.

“I don’t like surprises, chula, you know that.” He reprimands like you should know better when you barely know anything about him. As if you actually have a shared rapport beyond the walls of his bedroom.

You almost laugh at the notion that you know him enough to know him habitually. The things he does and doesn’t do.

You can’t find it in you to argue, though, not when you’re this needy.

“I know.” Your chin tilts down as your gaze hits the floor. He lets you hide.

“I wouldn’t normally do this.. it’s just that I was out with my friends and they dared me to take this honey packet thing that makes you horny and now I am.. so now I’m here. Sorry.”

Your eyes meet his after your candid explanation and they have just the faintest hint of amusement shining through crimson.

“Get in here.”

You don’t need to be told twice. Hell, you barely need to be told once.

The door closes behind you and you’re swept away to his office instead of his bedroom. You’re too blissed out to even notice because his hands are finally on you and even if it’s just your wrist it’s enough to reignite that flame inside you.

You land with a squeal when he sits you on the small arm chair in front of his huge mahogany desk. It takes up almost as much room as he does with his large stature.

You’ve never seen the inside of his home office before. Just his bedroom and the path it takes to get there. It grates.

Miguel slides back into his chair behind the desk, eyes flitting across the screens of three different monitors. He gets right back to work on whatever was so important that it had to come home with him.

You’ve never really understood his profession and he’s certainly never bothered to explain it to you. You watch him work, completely in the zone, completely ignoring you. It goes on for longer than you thought it would, figuring he would take care of something real quick and then take care of you.

“Miguel..” You whine, shifting in your seat which you learned in the car ride over does not help. If you were more sober and clearheaded you would cringe at how desperate you sound.

The sound of keys on his keyboard is the only answer you get.

You don’t get him at all. Is he mad at you?

“I thought—” You begin only to be cut off.

“You thought you could barge in here and call the shots? That I would drop everything the second you show up unannounced?”

You’re afraid to say anything that might make him mad. Still it’s better than those elusive one word answers he usually gives.

The wheels on his chair roll across the hardwood floor as he shifts over to get a look at you. His heated eyes glide over you slowly like magma down the side of a volcano.

“It doesn’t work like that. I told you I was busy so you’ll just have to wait until I’m not.”

“I know, I know.” Your eyes roll and you look away from him in favor of staring at the wall. “You call the shots. Everything’s on your terms. Trust me I get it.”

“Well when you show up unannounced I start to think that maybe you don’t get it.” Miguel’s words come out harsher than they were intended to but you don’t care.

“Bad day at work?” You tilt your head and bat your lashes.

“Something like that.” He replies, more subdued than before. He’ll never admit it but you being here has calmed him down substantially.

The two of you never talk enough to argue so Miguel has no clue that you can volley the attitude right back over the net at him. “Cool. Don’t take it out on me.” 

You grab your purse and stand to leave. Clearly this was a mistake. You already know the apology will never come so you decide not to stay where you aren’t wanted.

“Sit down.” Miguel orders without even looking up from the monitor.

You scoff.

“I’m leaving.” Your hand barely touches the handle of his office door before he’s up and at your back, reaching to stop you. In the middle of wondering how he got over to you so fast and so quietly, his mouth is at your ear saying something you never thought you’d hear from him. Please.

It’s so soft you thought you imagined it at first but lightning strikes twice in his office because he asks again.

“Please. Stay.” Miguel’s massive palm grips your middle and cages you against him. Against all of him.

“Don’t talk to me like I’m stupid. I may not be a geneticist or whatever the hell you do that requires you to wear a lab coat but I am not dumb.”

“You’re the furthest thing from it.” He agrees.

You don’t know how to react to that quasi compliment. You don’t really get much from him aside from how wet you are or how good you feel around him.

Your shoulders fall with the decision to stay. He lets go of you only to let you turn and face him. There’s about as much desire in his as there is in yours only he’s not on anything.

“I still have a little work to do but I can take care of you while you wait.”

A plea. A compliment. A compromise. All in the same night.

“Okay.”

“Relax, hermosa. You can take it.” Miguel coaches as you sink down onto his semi hard length. It’s true, you can take it. You certainly have in the past.

You groan when you’ve taken him completely to the hilt, thighs resting atop his with your back to his chest. Your head falls back into the crook of his neck as you try to get your bearings. It’s common practice between the two of you to forgo the condoms, (Miguel prefers it that way and you’re on birth control anyway), but the honey packet has you wishing just this once that there was a barrier keeping you from feeling so much of him.

He slips in easy enough from how wet you are but he carves a path the whole way, molding every part of your body to him in a way that can’t be undone.

Enough time has passed for you to be acclimated to his size and feel, you know Miguel knows this so why hasn’t he started moving yet?

Your eyes flutter open at the sound of his keyboard clacking again. Seriously?

“Guel..” You whine, desperately trying to ride him. The sudden iron grip on your waist halts your movement. He won’t let you fuck him.

“Sit still, I’m working.” If you hadn’t looked back to catch his expression you would’ve missed the sly smirk his tone did nothing to convey.

This isn’t exactly what you had in mind when you pictured Miguel taking care of you.

“But..” You pout. “I need you.”

You’re past the point of caring how you sound and too clouded by lust and alcohol to realize he’s typing absolute gibberish just to seem busy.

The quick brown fox jumps over the lazy dog indeed. And the beautiful woman with the sopping wet pussy will just have to sit here on Miguel’s lap with her too-fucking-mini dress bunched around her perfect hips while he warms his slowly hardening cock in her. He may have conceded earlier but you still needed a punishment for showing up out of the blue like that.

“All soaking wet for me. How’d that happen, hm?” Miguel nips playfully at your neck. Not enough to break your skin but maybe you wish it was.

“The honey packet Maia gave me.” You gasp when two of his fingers come between your legs to rub against your clit with barely any pressure behind them. You could cum just like this you think, if he would just let you move—

His fingers are gone in an instant. The way you clench around him is likely what gave it away that you were nearing the edge.

It’s sweet torture but torture all the same. “I’m gonna kill her.” You mumble under your breath.

“I’m gonna thank her personally.” Miguel huffs out a laugh before licking those same two fingers clean. You’d laugh too if you weren’t so high strung. It’s nice seeing him playful like this.

“Miguel, I can feel you getting hard inside me just fuck me already.” You beg. You even clench and unclench around him a few times to try and push him over the edge. He feels every pulse. He just doesn’t care.

“Cállate. I need to concentrate.” He’s typing real sentences this time not that it matters, all the scientific jargon may as well be Greek to you.

You keep fluttering around him trying to make yourself cum while he works on his report. It barely deters him but it’s starting to work for you, enough that little mewls start spilling from your lips before you can stop them. But being quiet is the least of your worries now not when bliss is so close around the corner. Not when your pussy feels so full of him, completely hard.

Deep in your stomach there’s a warmth beginning to spread, the start of your release like a wave about to crest . Your lips part to release what would’ve been a throaty moan now a surprised cough tumbles out caused by Miguel’s hand wrapped around your throat and squeezing so hard that you can’t breathe.

“Oh, nena, you’re making too much noise now I’ve lost my train of thought.” He tuts. “Guess I’ll just have to start over.”

You want to say something, anything, in protest as he backspaces all his work thus far but his hand still has your throat in a vice grip. You can’t breathe but god can you gush all over him in response. You didn’t even know you liked being choked.

“It’s gonna take me even longer now to finish cause I have to make sure you keep quiet, baby.” Miguel slowly lets go of your neck so you can gulp down some much needed air.

You’re dizzy, all five senses grossly impaired but there’s oxygen rushing to your brain now at least. His hand clamps around your throat once more and he brings you face to face.

“Don’t distract me. I’m typing with one hand now and we don’t want you to pass out before I finish do we?”

You shake your head no and pray he’s secretly a super fast one-handed typist. And the game resumes.

He is typing faster this time and the grip on your throat allows for some air to come through. You suppose you should be thankful but you’re too busy trying not to pass out or explode whichever comes first. The corners of your vision are getting fuzzy and you feel like you’ve stepped outside of your body. Whatever he’s typing must be important.

Something something multiverse theory who cares? Not you.

Your eyelids droop in tandem with the coil in your stomach tightening in pleasure. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip in an effort to keep quiet. You know he would absolutely let you pass out just to teach you a lesson so you try not to rock the boat with too loud moans and whimpers.

It’s only when tears pool in your eyes that relief comes in the form of his gravely voice at your ear saying “Done.”

You’re done too. With a strangled cry you burst from all the pleasure that seemed to build exponentially inside you with every word he typed.

“Just like that pretty girl.” Miguel’s lips are at your throat, your jawline, your collarbone, all over as you gasp. “Yeah you did so good for me you deserve it baby.”

It’s a heady feeling you get from all the air after being so deprived combined with how satisfied you are finally getting your release since the honey entered your system.

But it’s not nearly enough. No. You’re an insatiable beast now. A succubus meticulously crafted for Miguel’s ruin.

“More.” Your voice is hoarse and in your position it’s mistaken for a plea but it’s meant entirely as a command.

But Miguel knows. He’s quick on the uptake and immediately grabs you by your hips and bounces you up and down like you’ve been craving all night.

The only sounds in the room are lewd and loud. Your squelching and moans, his determined grunts, the creak of his computer chair that may need to be replaced after this. You two never need words.

He doesn’t use any to lift you and turn you around in his lap so that you’re finally facing each other as you ride him. He’s wordless when he tugs your dress down far enough for him to suck a nipple into his mouth and grope the other breast in his large hand. And you don’t have to say a word when you place that hand back on your throat to get him to squeeze within an inch of your life.

His eyes meet yours in a silent dare to cum before you faint on top of him.

You taste salty sweat when you lick your lips, smell the musky aroma of your arousal coating the both of you, hear a wet plap, plap, plap, plap keeping time with a set of rough upward thrusts and black is the last thing you see before the dam breaks and sprays all over Miguel’s lap.

When you come to he’s still fucking you through it, chasing his own high. You caught him mid dialogue with no clue of what he’d said before.

“Lightheaded already, mamita?” You can’t form a response and he knows it, the bastard. “That stupid look on your face.. you don’t even care about breathing do you? No you just care about how deep I can get inside you right? Being my little toy?

You shouldn’t like the way he’s talking to you given your reaction earlier but it makes you so much wetter. Still, You frown. “Don’t talk to me like that.” You slur.

“You don’t like it? Don’t cum around my cock so hard then.”

“Miguel.” You try to warn but it’s feeble.

“You mad at me, baby? Don’t be mad at me beautiful.” He hugs you tight to his front but not for intimacy’s sake, so that your clit has no choice but to grind against his pelvis as you ride him. “I just wanna make this perfect pussy cum over and over and over again.”

“Fuck you.” You bite as your third orgasm of the night creeps up on you. It’s too much to handle but he’s making you handle it and trying to play innocent about it.

“That would be the point, doll.” His chuckle is deep and sexy and it infuriates you to no end that he can even be snarky right now when you’re barely holding it together. “Your face right now mm so fucked out and cock drunk that you can’t even frown at me like you want to.”

“Guel please.. I..” You don’t know whether you’re begging him to let you cum or to not make you cum but you know you can’t take either of those options right now. It’s too much. Everything. And you tell him so.

“I’m just doing what you asked, pretty girl. This is what you wanted right? To get fucked so good like this? That’s why you came to me and not someone else cause I’m the only one that can.”

“Shut up.” You pant, movements getting sloppier and hurried.

“No.” Miguel grins seeing the crazed look in your eye. “I’m not gonna shut up and I’m not gonna stop making you cum either so stop being mad at me and let me make you feel good.”

You decide to stop fighting and that’s when your orgasm crashes into. You clutch his shoulders leaving half moons where your fingernails meet his skin. The rhythm your hips follow is all their own and all you can do is let it happen until the undulations slow. Your head lolls backward cradled by one of Miguel’s hands as his lips meet the base of your throat in a sloppy kiss that turns into a passionate suck with a hickey as a parting gift.

His hot tongue trails up, up, up and stops at your ear. “Good girl.” Miguel purrs and you shiver.

“Still mad?”

“Yes.” You don’t mean it.

“Kiss and make up then.” He holds your chin in place while his tongue explores your mouth. Your head is spinning too much to do anything other than follow his lead. Luckily he’s gentle but no less passionate than before, sucking your tongue, biting your lip, licking the taste of you out of your mouth.

He’s filthy. Miguel only parts to let you breathe and instructs you to bend over his desk. You’re lying on his keyboard but neither of you seem to care. The task of sinking into you much more important to you both.

You can give him one more. You feel like a bottomless pit but at the same time your brain is begging you to tap out, certain you’ve had more than enough.

Miguel is deceptively gentler this time. Maybe he knows you can only take so much more. It’s unnerving. This is how a lover would do it and there is no love to be found between the two of you.

“I needed this.” He admits rocking into you, hitting that spot once again. “Needed you.” He clarifies in a rush. It spills out of him like he’s the drunk one here.

You don’t acknowledge it with anything other than a moan. You know how skittish he is. It’s best to pretend he never said it even if it makes your heart flutter.

Then you remember the whole reason you even took the packet in the first place and think maybe it’s okay if you’re vulnerable too. You can both blame it on the heat of the moment, the drinks or the drugs in your case.

You’ll both have something to regret and maybe that’ll make it okay. And so you speak up.

“Are you mine?” It feels so juvenile insinuating a man like this is a thing to be had. By you no less. But it’s out there and you can’t take it back.

“Who else’s would I be? No one else can put up with me but you.” His pace picks up speed, climax nearing and for the first time tonight he lets it.

“Am I yours?” If it’s even possible you feel more pathetic than before. But you need to know if anything will change tonight.

Miguel falters. Almost imperceptibly. Almost. You don’t know him completely but you’ve known the way he fucks for too long for that to get past you.

To his credit, he recovers quickly. Seconds from falling apart, he leans over you, chest on your back pressing you into his desk and growls in your ear, “You’re the only woman in Nueva York I give a fuck about. That should be enough.”

It isn’t. But you’ll take it.

He wishes he could tell you the truth. But everyone that belongs to him gets taken from him. This is how he keeps you a little longer, he thinks.

Before you know it you cum again, your body had always been so synced with his.

“I’m yours,” He reiterates, the bruising grip on your hips his way of desperately trying to make you understand. To read between the lines and see what he can’t say but wants to so badly.

You moan in defeat, pleasure and pain. Mostly the former. It’ll have to do.

Hot rivulets of his cum paint the walls of your puffy wet cunt and you get the feeling that this is about all the warmth you’ll ever get from him.

Your entire body is spent, you’re so weak that you can’t lift your head from his keyboard. The text in his report trails off from actual scientific findings to just:

fffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffffin.

reblogs appreciated <3

[beezusvreeland]

HEY LOVER.

starring: bestfriend!miguel o’hara x bestfriend female reader summary: your man can’t do it like he can

content warnings: 18+ MDNI, cheating on your boyfriend (he deserves it tbh), dry humping, oral (f receiving), fingering, p in v, unprotected sex (use a condom pls), cowgirl and lotus position, breeding kink, creampie, possessiveness, praise, he talks you through it

you’re all a real man can need and ever ask for 

On his back, spread out across his mattress, and staring at the blades of his ceiling fan, Miguel O’Hara knows he is royally screwed. 

He can’t even remember the last time he’s had a crush, much less one this intense. You’re the first in years and for the past few months, you’ve been destroying him completely. 

He doesn’t know up from down and he can’t tell his left from his right—all thanks to you. How it even happened, he doesn’t know but ever since he set his sights on you, everyone else became invisible. 

There’s only two things stopping Miguel from making a move. One, you’re his best friend. Two, you’re in a relationship already.

but I don’t wanna violate your relationship so I lay back in the cut with a crush that’s a trip

You’ve been friends since college when the two of you ended up in the same study group. Fate brought you together and he knows only the grace of God allowed you to tolerate him for so long. 

He’s always loved how outspoken you are. You and Miguel used to go tit for tat debating about everything from class readings, to theorems, to homework answers.

Despite all the back and forth, you shared a mutual respect for one another that survived graduation and blossomed into a real friendship when you both entered the adult world. 

Years have passed and the both of you are still joined at the hip. You know everything that makes Miguel tick (saying made up words like “irregardless”) and he knows just what to do to make you smile (usually involves bringing you food). The inside jokes between you could fill a stadium. 

He can’t lose that. It would kill him. 

still, he can’t stop me from having daydreams

But Miguel can’t get you out of his mind. Every time he’s with you he thinks about what it would be like if you were his girl. How he would hold you, kiss you, please you, make you happy, and make you feel loved. 

He wishes he could go back to before he decided he wants to be with you. That was easier. That was before Brian came along and made him realize his feelings for you. Though, by then, it was already too late.

Brian. Fucking Brian.

The scowl etched in his brows is deep, bordering on permanent if he doesn’t start thinking happier thoughts soon.

The thing is, Miguel doesn’t actually care about your romantic relationship. He just pretends to because you’re his best friend. Truthfully, your boyfriend could die today and he’d be on cloud nine.

Brian. Fucking. Brian.

He really needs to stop frowning but he can’t. Brian has you and he doesn’t. What is there to smile about?

He won’t say he hates him because “hate” implies that he cares somewhat about him—even if in a negative way. Miguel doesn’t care about Brian. Honest. He cares about how Brian treats you. So far, the reviews aren’t the best.

Any time you’ve brought up your boyfriend within the past six months it’s in relation to how much of a dickhead he’s being at the moment.

There was the time you argued over where to have dinner for your birthday. You wanted Italian and he wanted sushi and also to go 50/50.

One time you fought about him putting very little effort into your Valentine’s Day plans. He made last minute reservations at a cheap restaurant with terrible ratings and you got food poisoning.

Recently, there was a heated discussion over how much time you spent with Miguel. 

Miguel found that one particularly intriguing. Was Brian threatened by him? Good. He should be. He would never treat you the way Brian does because he would treat you a billion times better.

Bottom line: there are a million reasons to leave your boyfriend and Miguel could name them all. You’re just too nice to leave him. You want to see the good in everyone. 

To Miguel, you’re everything a man could need, more importantly, you’re everything that he wants. That idiot you’re dating doesn’t appreciate what an amazing, stunning, witty, hilarious, supportive, caring, and perfect girlfriend he has. That’s the part that drives him insane.

A sigh that crescendos into a guttural groan escapes him. He may be more than royally screwed at this rate. 

Maybe this is more than a crush.

The more Miguel thinks about it, the more he knows that he has to tell you. Friendship be damned. He can’t stand by another day and watch you be with Brian knowing that he can treat you much better. If it doesn’t work out, you can still work as friends he’s sure. Either way, he won’t let you go. 

I gotta take you from your man, that’s my mission

There’s a knock at his apartment door. He isn’t expecting anyone and he knows it’s not the mailman because they already dropped off his coupons and bills.

When he answers the door, he’s shocked to see you standing there wearing a scowl that mirrored his only moments ago. 

It’s like a cosmic confirmation that this is his chance. He can’t send his thanks to heaven with you right in front of him so he settles for a megawatt smile instead. 

“Hey.” Miguel greets you. He wants to gauge where you’re at before revealing his hand. The confession sits at the tip of his tongue. He’s eager.

“Can I come in?” You don’t even really greet him back and that’s his second clue that something is off. 

“Yeah, of course.” He moves to the side. 

You slide past him and make yourself comfortable on his couch. 

“Thought you were busy today.” Miguel mentions, still trying to play it cool. He joins you on the couch after locking the door.

“I thought I was going to be busy too.” You shrug. Your attitude is seeping from your pores.

He could tell you were a bit upset when he answered the door but now Miguel can see it’s deeper than that. There’s a grey cloud thundering over your head that makes him glad he held off on his confession for now. 

It doesn’t take a genius to pinpoint the culprit. 

“Brian did something?” It’s less of a question and more of a statement. You confirm anyway, completely fired up.

“Oh Brian did something, alright. He forgot our six-month anniversary!” You toss your hands up in the air looking at Miguel like can you believe this?!

Unfortunately, he can. Immediately, Miguel sees red. 

How could he do that to you? Is he stupid? 

“He is stupid!” You agree which makes Miguel realize he said that out loud. 

“And he’s such a dick!” 

He is! Miguel thinks. 

He’s careful not to say it out loud this time. Miguel isn’t sure if he should chime in or keep quiet while you’re in this volatile state. He chooses the latter while you continue.

“I don’t even know why I put up with him!” You’re up pacing in front of his coffee table now.

Miguel doesn’t know either.

“I do so much for him!” You really do. Too much if you asked Miguel. 

“I try to be a good girlfriend and I know I’m not perfect but I don’t think I’d forget something as important as this. I guess that’s because it’s only important to me. It’s like he doesn’t even care about me. Sometimes I feel like I’m in this relationship by myself..” 

Your steps have slowed as you process everything. Defeated, you plop back onto the couch beside Miguel. 

“Go ahead, say it.” You gesture your hand at him. 

“Say what?” Miguel’s brows furrow in confusion.

“Oh come off it, Mig, you were never his biggest fan. I know you didn’t really like Brian or think he was good enough for me. Just say ‘I told you so’ already. I can take it.” 

Miguel didn’t know he was being that obvious with his dislike but regardless he’d never make you feel worse like that. Seeing you this downtrodden hardly feels like a victory. 

I would hold you in my arms and ease your fears

“Come here.” He commands with his arms opened up. You can’t resist his embrace even when you’re not upset so of course you scoot closer and lay on top of him. His arms wrap around you and his lips press softly to your temple. You feel yourself finally relax after being mad all day.

“I’d never do that, okay?” He murmurs softly into your hair. “Not about this. I’m sorry that happened, hermosa. You deserve so much better than him. One day you’ll find someone who is.” 

Miguel just hopes that when the time comes, you’ll let it be him. 

The conviction in his tone makes you lift your head up from his chest to look into his eyes. You can tell that he means all of it.

“Yeah?”

“Are you kidding?” His hand comes up to cup your cheek. “Absolutely. You deserve someone who makes you happy. Someone who considers you and your feelings and goes out of their way to make you feel important. You’re an amazing woman… You deserve someone who can appreciate that.” 

His last statement is a loaded one neither of you want to touch. It sits between you like a motion activated bomb. This pregnant pause is bordering on awkward but you can’t stop gawking at him and he damn sure isn’t going to look away from you. Finally, you speak.

“..It sounds like I deserve someone like you.”

Miguel is quick. “No, you deserve me.” 

It doesn’t come as a suggestion. This is the confession he’s been sitting on for six months. The elephant he’s lugged in and out of every room with you like its personal caretaker. The hardest part for him is hardly over. 

“Mig… do you have… feelings for me?” 

hey lover, hey lover, this is more than a crush 

“I have a lot more than feelings for you.” He could say the L word but he doesn’t want to send you running for the hills. It’s exactly what he means though.

You can read between the lines well enough. All you’re wondering is how long had this fine print been there and how are you just now seeing it? 

“How long have you…”

“Too long.” Miguel huffs out a laugh but you know nothing is really funny right now. “Too damn long. I would’ve said something sooner but you were in a relationship… You looked happy.. I didn’t want to mess that up.” 

“I wish you would’ve.” You confess. 

Miguel’s mind must be playing tricks on him. He probably fell asleep when he was laying on his bed thinking about you earlier. That’s what this is, he thinks. There’s no way you said what you just said. 

“What?” He says stupidly. 

“I said,” You sit up straight and throw your legs over him to straddle his waist. “I wish you would’ve. You would’ve saved me a lot of time and a little bit of heartbreak.” 

His head is spinning. He told you and you didn’t turn him away. Better yet, he can feel the weight of you holding his hips down because you’re on top of him telling him you feel the same. Wait. Do you feel the same? 

“You have feelings.. for me?” Miguel asks from below you. 

This big idiot, you think to yourself. If he didn’t get it in college of course he doesn’t get it now.

You lean down, pressing your chest to his and he groans softly. “I feel like I wanna kiss you. How about that?” 

“Ok.” His hand holds the side of your chin and guides you to him. Your lips meet his it’s a soft kiss, you two are just getting to know each other intimately, and it’s sweet. 

I kissed you softly and you yearned for more 

His other hand finds your waist and urges you to grind on his erection. The bulge is rock hard even through all the layers of clothes but the friction is delicious against your aching clit. Your hips rock faster against him as your mouth falls open to spill a beautiful moan from the back of your throat. Miguel takes this opportunity to slip his tongue inside your mouth where he swirls it around and against yours. 

Both of his hands grip your waist now. He helps you rub against him even when he pulls away to ask, “So is that a yes?” 

“God,” You groan, breathless and nearing the edge, “For someone so smart you really act so dumb.” 

Miguel’s bottom lip is caught between his teeth watching you use him like this to get off. “Need to— mm, need to hear you say it, nena. Please.”

“Yes, Miguel,” You mewl. That lazy grin appears on his face when he peers up at you. “Fuck. I have feelings for you.”

You’re so wet that you’re starting to glide against the seat of your panties but you can’t stop. Your movements are frenzied. You’re bouncing erratically on top of him with your hands on his throat not even caring if he can breathe. Miguel doesn’t care either he just wants to watch you come apart.

“Look at you, preciosa, you’re so close. Mmhm, so close I can see it on your face." Your hands around his throat have his voice so gravelly and thick with lust. It drives you crazy. Your release is building rapidly, quicker than you can keep up with. Miguel notices this right along with your movements getting sloppier.

"Don't stop baby," He chokes out. 

"I won't." You promise with a whine. "Mig, I'm close." 

"Yeah? Keep rubbing that pretty pussy on me like a good girl. I wanna see you cum so fucking bad.” 

You want to please him, do everything he says, be a good girl for him. So you obey with a whimper. "Oh my god, Miggy. You feel so good." You completely fall apart on top of him, eyes fluttered closed, mouth wide open letting those pretty little moans escape you. He can't get enough but he holds back until he can get inside you.

"Así, baby, that's it. Back and forth, just like that. Tan perfecto, chula. My good girl. So perfect for me." Your hips have a mind of their own, still rocking against his bulge while your ride it out until they slow to a stop. 

"C'mere." Miguel sits upright and grabs your chin to bring you into a searing kiss. This one is much different from the first. It's filthier. He's hungrier. You can barely keep your head up. Both of you moan into each other's mouths. His hands are everywhere on you. He sucks your tongue into his mouth with a delicious groan. You had no idea he was like this.

"You don't know how long I've been wanting to do something like that." Miguel pants into the crook of your neck.

"I think I may have some idea." You chuckle breathlessly.

"Let's get you out of these leggings so I can paint a better picture for you." He slyly starts tugging the waistband. You hardly put up a fight and raise up so he can pull them down your legs along with your panties. 

"Can you lay back for me, pretty girl?" He can tell you love all these pet names so he keeps using them. “Need to taste you.”

kissin’ on your thighs under moonlight

You lay back with a pillow under your back to prop you up and your head settled on the arm rest. Miguel dives between your legs to plant wet kisses all up and down your inner thighs. You sigh in complete bliss while threading your fingers in his wavy locks. Your legs drape over his shoulders and his thick arms encircle your thighs, the palms of his hand ensure your legs can’t close without his say so.

searching your body with my tongue, girl, all night

"Estás tan mojada, nena. I'm starting to think you might like me or something." Miguel jokes. There's a comeback ready to go on the tip of your tongue but it dies in your throat the moment he places a wet smack of a kiss on your clit. 

"Ohhh.." Is all you can say. His tongue parts your lips in a deep swipe at your core. Over and over again he repeats. Sometimes he stops to suckle your clit into his mouth. He loves the way you taste, way better than he ever imagined. You grip the strands of his hair tighter and bring his face closer to your pussy which elicits a groan from him.

"You like using me to cum, don't you?" You nod helplessly. That isn't good enough for him though. "Be a good girl, use your words." 

Emboldened, you stroke his cheek and reply, "Yes, Miguel I like using you like a little fucktoy." 

His smile is a wicked curve. He always did love it when you two went back and forth with each other. "There she is."

"Mhm. Now spit on it and make a mess for me, cariño." You order him sweetly. You’re so wet that you don’t really need it but he complies. His warm saliva lands right on your clit and the impact makes you mewl.

Miguel wants it on every inch of your cunt, his tongue spreads and laves it all over you mixing with your slickness. The taste, god just the taste of you makes him drool even more. He’s fucked his fist more than a few times to this exact thought before. Each time has led to a mess between his thighs, on his fingers and on his chest. 

You hold his head to you with both hands bucking upwards into his mouth. So needy and desperate, Miguel thinks. He loves to see you so into it.

“That’s my good girl, mm.” He kisses your pussy between licking and sucking. “So needy.. fucking my face like this so you can cum all over my mouth.” 

“Yesss.” You cry softly. That’s exactly what you want. “Hold your tongue out.” 

Every command from you is a direct call to action for Miguel so he obeys. You grind against it and he moves his head with you, lapping like a dog at a water bowl. He pants like one too from holding his mouth open for you. 

Your thighs tighten around his head, one hand goes to your breast to squeeze and the other stays in his hair to guide him. His wet tongue is stiff against your clit and just barely slips into you when he reaches your opening. Those shallow thrusts and swirls against you have you seeing stars.

“I’m close, I’m close, I’m—” Your sentence is cut off by a gasp and then the loudest moan you’ve made all night. Miguel clamps his lips around you and sucks hard. Your orgasm is searing. Tears prick the corner of your eyes. You don’t stop flopping until Miguel’s lips let go of your bundle of nerves. 

He gazes up at you from between your legs, eyes meeting your fucked out expression. 

"You're so fucking sexy, you know that baby?" Miguel presses kisses all over your thighs and lower stomach then finally on your lips. You cradle his head in your hands. His tongue swirls into your mouth giving you a taste of yourself.

“Think you can give me one more?” 

Your bottom lip wobbles. “I need you insi—”

Just then, your phone rings. It’s Brian. Everything you and Miguel have done in the past twenty minutes comes back to you in a flash.

Miguel can tell just by your reaction who’s calling. “Answer it.”

“No! I don’t want to talk to him right now!” Your phone is still vibrating in your hand. 

“Why not?” Miguel grins. He knows damn well why not.

“Because we— I can’t just— No!” You toss your phone to the opposite end of the couch. It stops ringing once it lands on the cushion. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Don’t tell me you’re having regrets?” 

“No! Never I just didn’t expect him to call. It feels like he knows what we did.”

“Let’s tell him what we did.” Miguel runs his hand along your side, peeking under the fabric of your shirt. You shudder. His breath fans across your neck as he whispers “Leave out the guess work.”

You’re putty in his hands, pliant and eager. “Miguel—”

Your phone rings again. You try to reach it but it’s in Miguel’s hand before you can get to it. His finger hovers over the green answer button. 

“You want me inside you?” He asks, holding you by the throat. 

“Please..” You plead, eyes looking up at him through your lashes. 

“End it. Because I have no intention to share you.” He places the phone in your hand. You answer just before the last ring. 

“H-Hello?” Shit. You already sound guilty. 

“Speaker.” Miguel mouths. You press it so that both of you can hear.

“Be honest with me, are you at Miguel’s place right now?” That makes you snap. Not even a hello in response. Not a Happy Anniversary. Just inquiries of your whereabouts. 

“I.. cannot believe you right now, Brian.” You’re frowning hard but Miguel’s scowl has you beat. 

“We talked about this, babe, I don’t like you being around him so much.. I don’t trust him.” Miguel scoffs. He has every reason not to given what you two have done today but that’s not the point

You are irate and vengeful now. Hell hath no fury quite like yours. 

“Fine! Yes I’m at Miguel’s, Brian! Do you wanna know why I’m at Miguel’s? Because you forgot our fucking anniversary! All day I waited for you to say or do something to even acknowledge it but you didn’t so yes! Yes I went to his place in hopes that he would cheer me up! And he did!” You chuckle mirthlessly. 

“He let me fuck his face, Brian. I guess you can say that cheered me up a little but I’m still a little hurt from what you did to me.” 

“I’m sorry, baby, please don’t do this. I love you.. God, I’ll make it up to you I swear. Just let me make it right, please. I’m so fucking sorry.” Brian pleads. He actually does sound a little sorry. That’s too bad. Maybe it would’ve worked in the past but you’re over it now.

“Oh, I bet you are.” Your lips form a pout even though he can’t see you. 

“It’s a little too late for that because,” You look to Miguel who’s watching you with lust-heavy, half-lidded eyes. “Now he’s gonna let me ride him. Isn’t that right, baby?”

“Mhm.” Miguel confirms. His arms wrap around you and he lifts you off the couch. “Gonna make it all better, nena.” 

“See?” You tell Brian. “He’s gonna make it all better. Don’t worry about me anymore, we’re done.” You hang up not even caring to hear his response and drop your phone on the couch. 

“Take me to your bed.” 

“Sí, señora.” Miguel is practically floating up the steps as he carries you. This couldn’t have gone any better. You want him and he wants you and nothing else is in the way of you being together.

He places you down on his bed and reaches for the hem of your shirt to lift it over your head. The sight of your tits makes him groan. You’re going to be the death of him. 

“Your turn, Mig, shirt off.” You don’t have to tell him twice. His t-shirt gets lifted above his head and discarded to the corner of the room. Your eyes rake over his chest unabashedly. It feels good to shamelessly stare at him the way you used to try not to. Dammit he looks good. 

“Shorts too.” Your voice is a little shakier this time. A fresh helping of arousal pumps through you now that has you crossing your thighs. 

He goes for the waistband about to tug them down when your hand catches his. “Wait! Let me..” Miguel raises his hands amused. You hook your fingers into his shorts and slide them down. 

His fully erect length springs up against his stomach. He’s already leaking from earlier when you bounced on it through his athletic shorts. 

“My, what a big cock you have.” You gasp dramatically. 

He decides to play along. “The better to fuck you with, querida.” It makes you giggle. You lean back into the pillows and he follows you like a predator. He slides behind you so that your back is to his chest and his head rests in the crook of your neck.

“What big hands you have.” You spread your legs wide allowing his hands to run along your inner thighs. 

“The better to stuff this greedy little pussy with.” He pats your center with a flat hand. Your head falls back against his shoulder when his fingers begin to draw lazy circles, spreading your wetness all over your clit and puffy lips. 

“I need them inside of me, Miggy.” Your eyes plead better than your mouth. He can see that you’re desperate to be filled.

“Keep your eyes on me.” Miguel sucks his ring and middle fingers into his mouth and slowly plunges them into you until they reach the hilt. All without breaking eye contact. 

“Mm.” Your face scrunches up a little in discomfort, his fingers are so much bigger than yours that it feels like three maybe four.

“Mírame.” He kisses the furrow in your brow. You open your eyes again to find his reddish-brown ones admiring you. “Just like that. You’re doing so good f’me, baby.” 

“I’m so full.” You whimper up at him. The stretch is so tight but so good that your eyes start to glaze over.

“Ya sé,” He kisses your plush lips. “That’s what you wanted, right? This dripping pussy. You just want it stuffed full until you can’t think anymore, hm? Is that why you pulled my fingers right in?” Your mouth falls open but no sound comes out. 

“Answer me.” Miguel chuckles lightly. He knows you can’t. He can feel you growing wetter by the second, his fingers start to glide easier against your spongy walls. “Tell me how good it feels, bebé.”

He nips at your neck for not answering fast enough. “So good,” you choke out, “It’s so good, Mig.” You clutch the back of his neck and watch his fingers go in and out. Faster and faster.

“You hear how you sound around my fingers? They’re drenched, baby. Listen.” The loud squelching noise it makes upon every re-entry makes you sheepish.

“Ahh! I’m close, baby!” 

“De veras?” Miguel tuts and pulls his fingers out. “Can’t have that, baby.”

“Miguel.” You whine. Frustrated isn’t even the word.

“Next time you cum, it’s going to be around my cock not my fingers. That’s what you really want anyway. C’mon, bring your leg over.” Miguel lays down and pulls you on top of him to straddle. 

“I’ve thought about this a million times.” He grabs his dick and tugs up and down in languid strokes. “Now I get to make it real.” 

You can see him leaking precum from his tip. You wonder how it will all fit. You can’t wait for him to try.

“No condom?” You ask breathlessly. It's not an issue for you, you're just shocked. 

“I’ll pull out baby, I promise. Lift up for me.”

Your hips lift just enough for you to grab him at the base, line his tip with your entrance and slowly sink down. “Fuck, inch by inch, baby, you can take it. I know you can.” Miguel coaxes you further down until you bottom out. 

“Ohh..” You both moan loudly at the feeling of him all the way inside you.

“That’s it baby, good fucking girl.” Miguel praises. His hands rub up and down the sides of your body while you get used to the stretch. You can feel every vein and every twitch of his cock inside of you. “Tell me when to move.” 

“Slow.” You tell him. “It’s been a while.” 

His hands hold your hips steady while you lift up slowly to the tip and back down to his base. “Dios.” He groans almost winded already. You repeat the action a little faster loving the way it sounds when he stuffs you full. 

“Your pussy feels like heaven around me, bebé. Just like I knew it would. I love watching you bounce on me.”

All you can do is moan at his filthy words. You love it when he talks to you like this. You bounce up and down a little faster with the help of his hands on your hips. You can feel the tip of his dick kiss your cervix with each thrust. 

“Don’t get quiet on me, nena, tell me how it feels.”

“So deep, Miggy.” Your head is thrown back from all the pleasure building up inside but you can hardly articulate any of it. 

“Ay, pobrecita is that all you can say?” His poor baby, so cock drunk that she can barely hold her head up.

“You see how good it feels to be mine? Aren’t you so glad you belong to me now?” Miguel pistons his hips up into you throwing you off your rhythm. You fall forward onto his chest while he continues to fuck you. 

“Nobody else gets to have you. You’re my angel,” The sound of his thighs slapping against yours gets louder and harsher while he whispers to you. “Don’t you ever fucking leave me.”

“I won’t.” You promise meekly. 

“Good. I would lose my mind.” He shifts into an upright position and brings you with him. “Wrap your legs around me.” 

You follow his orders, resettling onto his lap. The new position hits a spot deep inside you that has you curling your toes behind his back. “I’m close, Miguel. Let me cum please.” 

“Do it, hermosa, I wanna feel you cum around my cock so bad.” Miguel encourages, rolling your hips against him.

That feeling that’s been building up in the pit of your stomach washes over you completely, making you gush around him. You bite his shoulder to keep from screaming at the top of your lungs as your orgasm shudders through you. Your pretty gasps for air fill his ear. 

He holds you close while you ride it out, making sure your hips keep a steady rhythm for him. The sound of him entering you is so much louder now with your extra wetness.

"Keep going for me, amor, I’m almost there. M’gonna put a baby in you so everyone knows who you belong to." 

"Shit, Miguel." You clench tighter around him at the idea. He picks up on it of course.

"You like that? M’gonna cum so deep inside you and I want you to take all of it. Tell me you want it."

"I want it, baby." You grab his chin and look into his eyes. "Please. I want you to fill me up so, so, so bad. I need it."

"Oh fuck, oh fuck." Miguel's thrusts get sloppier as he grunts harshly. "Only you get to have my cum, nena. It's yours, fuck, it's yours." 

You feel him shoot off thick ropes of cum deep inside your pussy. His chest heaves as he catches his breath but his hold of you remains. It's tighter even, like he's afraid to let you go. 

His lips kiss the top of your head. "Mine."

"Yours." You reply. 

we experienced pleasure unparalleled into an ocean of love, we both fell

reblogs appreciated <3

[beezusvreeland]

The Secret of My Success, ch 1

Harry Castillo x plus size reader Co-written with @absurdthirst

When not even a professional matchmaking firm can help Harry Castillo find love, he turns his attention to helping his best friend meet their soulmate instead. The surprise of finding his own in the process will challenge the attitude Harry has taken toward dating for his entire life, and open up a whole new world of romance.

(This story picks up where the last chapter of The Unbearable Weight of Perfection leaves off, and will weave in a few other soulmate characters from previous stories just for fun. Don't worry if you haven't read those stories though! I'll be dropping the pertinent references in each chapter's note section to read along with Harry and his soulmate's adventures.)

Rating: M for Mature but this blog is always 18+ Word Count: 12.6k Warnings: *Reader is nicknamed Mack* Continuous warnings for: food/alcohol consumption, tobacco smoking. Mentions of past bullying and mistreatment, a bit of humanizing judgmental behavior. Summary: Harry attends his best friend's engagement party, only to find that Percy's old childhood partner in crime is quite charming in her own right. Notes: In this first chapter, we have references to Tamara's friend the fashion designer whose husband is from Mallorca. Wave hi to Javi G and his amor as you read!

The ringing telephones and buzz of activity from even down the hall doesn’t reach the plush, insulated capsule of this office. The windows are encompassing, giving a sweeping view of the city that would stun visitors and impress investors. The power harness from floor to ceiling views of the most powerful financial district in the world. His back is to that view, phone pressed to his ear as he talks. “I think that with that kind of margin, we would be stupid to invest.” He says bluntly, aware that the news won’t be well received but that’s not his problem. “No, they’ve significantly overstated their assets and at this point, it’s looking more like fraud than idiocracy.”

The knock at the door draws Harry Castillo’s attention, making him look up and frown as his best friend motions for him to wrap up the call. Shaking his wrist and looking at the Patek Philippe watch on his wrist makes him wince. “No, I understand.” He murmurs. “Tom, we will have to discuss this later. Think about what I’ve said.” He tells the man on the other end of the line, rolling his eyes with annoyance when the entire point seems to fly right over that man’s head. “Uh huh, uh huh.” He stands. “Yes. Well, that’s an interesting way of looking at it.” He shakes his head, nodding towards Percy Stokes, rushing him along. “Okay, well, I have a meeting that I’m walking into, so I’ll get back to you on that.” He says abruptly, finally managing to break through the endless monologue before saying a hurried goodbye and pulling the phone away from his ear.

“Come on.” Percy huffs. “We’re gonna be late.” He shakes his head. “And Tamara will kill me.”

Harry grins, sliding his phone into the inner pocket of his suit and pulling down the edge of his jacket to straighten it out. Luckily his tie was still straight and he hadn’t run a hand through his hair. “She would if you were late to your own engagement party.” He agrees.

“Which is why we’re not gonna be late.” Percy says with absolute certainty. He’s waving Harry toward the door with enthusiasm, checking his own appearance in one of the mirrors build into the walls of the office. Harry is technically his boss but he’s far more of a friend. He’d become that along the way, as they both came up through the financial game together. The Castillo family’s connections were pure gold and Harry hadn’t minded being a sort of big brother figure to the new guy in the family firm when Percy had started years ago. Now they’re each other’s number one fan and best supporter in work and out of it.

“Do you have her gift?” He asks, knowing that it’s customary to give your fiancée a gift before the wedding. He had voted on the Tiffany earrings, but he didn’t know what Percy had chosen.

Percy pats the breast pocket of his suit jacket and beams. “The earrings were perfect,” he tells Harry as they dash for the elevator. “I went with the platinum setting. Matches her engagement ring that way.”

“Nice.” He holds the door open for Percy and steps in after he’s in the car, pressing the button for the lobby. “The car is outside; we should be there with time to spare.” He promises.

"Only because your guy finds like...pocket dimensions to drive through." Percy jokes. Harry's driver, an older man named Stanley with a sharp tongue and a hell of a sense of humor, is a goddamn treasure and everybody knows it.

“He’s driven in Manhattan.” Harry snorts. “That qualifies as a combat tour.”

"You're not wrong." Percy snorts. He leans back in the elevator car as it drops swiftly down the controlled track from the thirtieth floor down to the ground. He's jittery and excited and can't stop grinning. Tonight is going to be perfect.

“So who all is Tamara gonna invite from her end?” He asks. “I know that you’re moving to L.A., but we’ve planned all the wedding activities here.”

“She’s got some family coming down, and a few people in from LA.” His Canadian-born fiancée seems to have friends and family everywhere, and he fiddle with the cuff of his shirt sleeve where it lays over the white ink maple leaf tattoo he has from her. “Basically her family and her bridesmaids. If I read the guest list correctly for tonight, the husbands are all home with their kids and the girls are making a weekend of it.”

“That’s a shame.” Harry chuckles. “Seems like I’ll never get to meet the famous Javi Gutierrez.” He jokes. “People say we look like we are related.”

“He’s coming to the wedding,” Percy assures him as the elevator touches down on the ground floor. “His wife is one of Tam’s bridesmaids and apparently he loves weddings, which doesn’t surprise me after having met a bunch of their friends.”

Harry hums as the doors open. “Good, I’ve been wanting to talk about property in Mallorca.”

The two men stride out the glass doors of their office building and slide into a car, but Percy scoffs even before they get settled. “So that’s the travel obsession this month? Mallorca?” Harry itches to travel but never makes the time for himself and everyone knows it. Last month he had been pouring over travel itineraries for New Zealand.

“Yeah, I was thinking that it could be a good investment.” He admits. “Maybe a diversity into a resort style property.”

“You’re going to buy a hotel?” Percy’s eyebrow ticks up skeptically.

“Why not?” He shrugs slightly. “No different than owning the apartment buildings in SoHo.”

“From finance heir to real estate mogul.” The younger man laughs, nudging Harry’s shoulder. “Hey man, if that’s what you want to do? Enjoy it. Make sure they keep an owner’s suite ready for you to drop by whenever.”

“Exactly.” He grins as Stanley guides the car out into traffic and away from the skyscraper. ‘Castillo Holdings’ is proudly proclaimed in large gold letters at the top of the building and on the plaque mortared into the stone pillar beside the doors. “Name it ‘Harry’s Place’ or some whimsical kind of thing.”

Percy snorts. “This from the man who gets a giggle out of taking business dinners to Harry’s instead of Delmonico’s. Of course you would call it Harry’s Place.”

He smirks slightly, tapping his fingers on his knee. Forcing himself not to trace the scars on the side of his thigh like he would do if he was alone. “Like you wouldn’t do the same.” He huffs back playfully.

“Percy’s Palace,” he answers without hesitation, smirking right back at his friend. “Gotta have that alliteration.”

“Palace, huh?” He chuckles softly, nodding in agreement. “I like it. It would be a place that people would talk about.”

“Hell yeah they would.” Taking the approval as a compliment, he grins. “Build it right on the Vegas strip. Blow Caesar’s out of the water.”

“Now you’re talking serious investment.” It’s almost immediately that his mind starts turning over that information. Running the numbers.

"Tam loves Vegas." Percy reveals, his smirk slipping into something much more besotted. After meeting at that fateful Met Gala a month ago, he and Tamara had flown to Las Vegas for a week and spent time wrapped up in each other learning everything they could about the soulmate they had been searching for, for so long.

“You’re lucky.” Harry will admit that easily, not a hint of jealousy, even though he knows that he hides really well. “Honestly, she’s perfect for you.”

"You're next." Percy insists. He leans back in his seat and watches Manhattan roll past the windows, contended as a house cat. "I know you're bummed about not having marks, but I know we can find you the right girl."

“Yeah.” Harry nods, not willing to bring down Percy with his own depressive thoughts. He had tried that route, went logical. Lucy had ended up breaking up with him. “She’s out there.”

"Who knows?" He's trying to be encouraging, but Percy is in that giddy, dreamy place of a new relationship where everything is love-centric. And more than that, his love-centric. "Maybe it's one of Tam's friends?"

“It’s possible.” He chuckles, doubting it. He honestly doesn’t know if he’s meant for love. Maybe he doesn’t have marks because he’s not suitable for that kind of relationship. It happens. It’s just convincing his mother than it’s not the universes fault.

They're a little bit quieter by the time they arrive at the party. The Clover Club is a favorite bar with excellent crafted cocktails, unique beers, and gourmet bar food that is a perfect choice for the intimate engagement party of two people who grew up casual but like to indulge in the finer things now that it's not out of budget.

Tamara, radiant in a white dress with pink flowers, squeaks with delight when she sees the sleek, black Maserati pull up to the curb. She is getting out of an Uber with her parents and little sister but her focus has immediately shifted.

“There she is.” Percy barely waits for the car to stop before he is jumping out. Harry chuckles as he follows behind him a moment later after the car actually stops rolling. “See? We arrived at the perfect time.” He calls out to Percy, waving to Tamara politely even though she only has eyes for her soulmate at the moment.

The couple murmur to each of quietly for a moment, savoring a few sweet kisses after three impossibly long days apart. When Tamara can finally do something other than gaze adoringly into Percy's eyes, she sighs happily and looks back to the people around them. She introduces her mother, father, and her sister to her newly-minted fiancé and Percy introduces Harry in turn.

They seem like nice people, although it’s clear that they are a little out of their depths. He doesn’t miss the speculative looks as they try to take everything in all at once.

"It's our first time in New York City," Tamara's sister Renee explains. "It's...a lot."

"It's beautiful," her mother sighs happily.

"We can't wait to show you the sights." Percy ushers everyone inside. They're the first arrivals, and others will be coming momentarily, but he wants to have everyone settled. "Harry's going to come look at venues with us this weekend but I promise we won't overwhelm you with it. We'll have fun while you're here."

“Yes.” Harry nods, motioning everyone towards the doors. “Honestly it should be quick to pick the venue.”

"Mack is coming too, right?" Tamara asks, glancing over her parents' heads at her soulmate as he holds open the door for everyone.

"Absolutely." Percy nods emphatically. "She's going to be our best ally."

“Mack?” Harry frowns slightly as he looks towards Percy. “The roommate I’ve never managed to actually meet?”

"She works nights a lot," Percy reminds him, waving it off. When Tamara's parents look curious, he goes on. "My best friend growing up became a wedding planner. The event business that she works for offered her a transfer from a smaller office so she took it. She only got to the city a few weeks ago, so there hasn't been a lot of chance to get everyone together yet."

Harry rolls his eyes at the slightly protective tone to his friend’s voice. He had asked about this friend, only to be stonewalled. It had made him a little apathetic about meeting “Mack”.

"You're gonna like her." Percy predicts, pointing one knowing finger at Harry. He'd been cautious about the introduction because he's protective of his friends, not because he thought they would butt heads.

There is no more chance to talk about it though, as they step into the club and Percy turns his attention to the staff. They've booked the event space for the night and paid premium for plenty of the gourmet food and drink options for all of their guests, and he wants the night to be perfect. As perfect as Tamara is. As perfect as their wedding and their future will be.

The warm lights reflect off the brick walls. Gleam against the tap that line the wall, but Harry is more interested in the whiskey. He slides up to the polished bar and taps his fingers lightly, eager for a drink.

"What can I get for you tonight, sir?" The bartender assigned to the private event space is a beautiful young woman with a bright smile and platinum blonde hair swept up in a ponytail. She slides over to him with ease, measuring him up at a glance just the way everyone does in this city.

He shoots her a small smile. “Double Highland Park.” He orders. “Straight up.”

"Coming right up." Her interest at least momentarily piqued, she takes another glance before sauntering away to pour the whiskey that was so very rarely ordered. That's a hell of an expensive glass. Maybe this won't be just another average party after all.

“Thank you.” Harry watches her pour, admiring the way she makes it look elegant. The smooth amber colored liquor in the heavy crystal cut glass is slid across the bar to him and he nods. “Thanks.” The twenty in his palm is left in the lacquered top as he takes the glass to lift it for a quick sip.

There is a commotion at the door as more friends pour in. This seems to be a particularly punctual group of friends and Harry tucks that information away appreciatively.

Music starts to pour in through the speakers, a little more festive than most parties, but it’s fun.

Jovial chattering fills the space as more and more people arrive, and people come and go from the bar around him as guests truly join the party. About ten minutes into the stream of arrivals, a tall woman in silk walks through the door to be greeted by raucous shouts from Percy.

Turning towards the commotion, Harry watches as Percy grabs Tamara’s arm and rushes forward to wrap his arms around the woman and squeeze hard enough to make her squeal. Intrigued by the display and wondering if this is the Mack Percy had been talking about.

They're almost of a height, Harry notes with interest — Tamara being fairly tall for a woman he doesn't suppose that she often meets others her size. But the new arrival is decidedly curvier than the willowy actress.

"Let me breathe, Perce!" The woman is laughing, shoving Percy with an air of sibling playfulness. "And let me say hi to Tam Tam, for crying out loud!"

Harry finishes his drink, watching the entire time as the statuesque woman pulls away from Percy and gives Tamara an equally enthusiastic greeting. Whoever she is, she is confident. Many women might be intimidated by the radiating beauty and obvious size difference between her and a famous actress, but not her.

"My mother Bernadette, my father Joe, and my little sister Renee." Tamara introduces her family in turn. "This is Mack. She's been Percy's best friend since they were kids."

So it is Mack. Harry hums, trying to figure out how he is feeling about this development. Percy had never mentioned that his roommate was positively beautiful, confident and voluptuous.

"Next door neighbors," he hears her explain to Tamara's family with ease. "Our mothers served together and we ended up in the same class at school. We were pretty much connected at the hip for a long time."

"I thought you moved a lot when you were a kid?" Renee asks, trying to place all of the story's ducks into a neat row.

"Oh, I did," Percy nods. "We both did. We ended up in Fayetteville when we were...twelve?" Mack nods and he goes on. "I had been in Florida before that, and Korea. But I was born in Illinois."

Harry moves back over to the bar, asking for another refill as he continues to watch the introductions and the way that this friend interacts with the people closest to Tamara and Percy. Sometimes he wonders if he’s too detached, but he also likes to people watch. He learns things about people that way. Reading them.

"We're not doing official business tonight." He hears Mack insist. "We're here to celebrate, not split hairs. I'm gonna go get a drink before you start quizzing me on vendors."

The sharp click of heals announces the approach and he has the new glass of whiskey in his hand right as the figure draped in black silk approaches.

"Hi honey." You smile when the bartender comes over and it's a bright, confident dazzle of white teeth and red-painted lips. "What's the best thing on your menu for a rum drinker?"

"Do you like mint?" The bartender asks. When the woman identified as Mack say yes, the bartender smiles back. "I've got just the thing. Give me one second."

Harry studies you up close as you turn to appraise him. Noting the carefully crafted makeup, professional but bold with the red lipstick. Like you had come from work and dressed up the look with a quick trip into your cosmetic bag. “Rum is best on a desert beach.” He jokes. “Burned to signal a ship to rescue you.”

"Only if you're a snob," you counter, leaning against the bar and noting his simple, straight glass of brown liquor. A subtle whiff reveals it's whiskey. "Sometimes it's okay to just enjoy things because they're fun."

Okay, not a Pirates of the Caribbean fan. “And rum is fun?” He asks curiously, tilting his head as he watches you judge his drink. He lifts his brows and offers it to you to try.

"Oh fuck, that was from a movie?" You snort, laughing at your own self for being the actual asshole in this scenario. "Sorry, no, I clearly haven't seen it. Them? I'm more of a Star Wars girl." When he motions to his glass you raise your own eyebrow in turn. "What is it?"

“Expensive, snobbish, whiskey.” He smirks, wiggling the glass enticingly. Playfully. Something that is a little surprising to him, normally very serious in life. “Highland Park.”

"Sounds like something I can't afford to breathe near," you joke, but since it's just a sip being offered to you by a ridiculously handsome man at a private party being thrown by your best friend, you figure it's safe enough and also too intriguing to pass up. "Cheers." You raise his glass to him and tip it back, taking just a sip but immediately shutting your eyes and practically sighing over the deep, complex flavors.

The smirk turns to a genuine smile as he watches you appreciate the whiskey. The bartender brings back a drink and announces the name “Queen’s Park Swizzle.” She grins and Harry nods. “Another glass of Highland Park.” He orders with a wink and nod towards you. “I think she’s stolen mine.”

"Well I do drink pirate liquor," you joke, and have another sip since he's offered. Once you put the glass down again, you hold out your hand. "I'm Mack." The nickname is more than a decade old now, something that you've absorbed into who you are and made a part of you. So much so that it's obvious who knows you intimately versus who knows you through business based on what they call you. Friends and family? They've all called you Mack since you were fifteen.

“Harry.” He takes your hand and instead of shaking it, he bends down and presses a kiss to the back of it. Smelling the fruity, spicy fragrance of whatever lotion you have used.

Motherfucker. He's charming, too? Your stomach twists, but only because you're not used to this kind of thing. Gentlemanly behavior, most people call it. The men you spend your days around are usually either very in love grooms or very out of love grooms. The former can look right at you and still not see you, which is somewhat sweet. And the later are decidedly not gentlemen. It's such a distracting moment that it actually takes you another few seconds to process who he is. "Wait, Harry Harry? Like Percy's boss? Apparently the only competition I've ever had for the position of that weirdo's best friend?" You motion over your shoulder with one thumb and make a mental note to smack Percy soundly for not telling you his other best friend was so hot. "It's really nice to finally meet you."

“I was starting to wonder if you were real.” He admits as he smirks, standing tall but not letting go of your hand just yet. “Percy has been frustratingly tight lipped about you.” Now he wonders if it was because you were not built like supermodel, but he would hate to believe that Percy thought he was that snobbish.

"A lot of people..." Finance bros "find it weird that we're still friends after so long. They expect one of us to be gay, or for there to be some secret romantic history or something. And there's none of that. We're kind of...extra siblings." Maybe that's why he hasn't said much. It is certainly why you tend to be tight lipped about him to people you aren't sure of. But then...Percy is sure of Harry. He talks about him all the time. "Well, here I am. And here you are. Maybe he didn't introduce us before because he thinks we'll get along too well."

He contemplates that and shrugs. “Who knows?” He snorts after a moment, “maybe it’s because he thinks we wouldn’t get along.”

"Maybe." That has you smirking as you tip back another sip of the whiskey that you're sure costs more than your car payment. "You are a snob."

He chuckles, tilting his head as he picks up his new drink after it’s been delivered. “Tend to be.” He can admit that. “Only about certain things.”

"Like whiskey." Which, you have to admit, he's right about.

“I have been known to drink Jack Daniels.” He admits. “At gunpoint.”

You snort, shaking your head at him. The last sip of the pricey whiskey is gone a moment later, and you set the empty glass aside. "You would not like my liquor cabinet."

“Let me guess…..” he narrows his eyes playfully and looks up and down at you. “Tito’s vodka, a bottle of Whipped Smirnoff, Sailor Jerry, Captain Morgan Original…” he takes another sip of his whiskey. “Annnnnd a bottle of Malibu.” He grins. “The original coconut one.” He points a finger at you from the hand holding his glass. “How did I do?”

"I was just going to say there's no whiskey there, but damn!" Clutching your proverbial pearls, you are doubled over laughing on the bar as you try to recall what is actually on your bar cart at home at the moment. "The vodka is definitely Tito's, but the rum is Kraken. Yes to the Malibu, but you missed the tequila. El Jimador Silver. Which is so much better than anyone gives it credit for."

“It actually is a good tequila.” Harry admits with a grin. “But I prefer Tapatio 110.” He doesn’t have anything against any of the alcohol you’ve listed, if he’s honest.

"That's an excellent choice." He has good taste, you'll give him that without hesitation. The cut of his suit is another, much larger, indicator of that. "So what do you do, Work Friend Harry, other than judge other people's liquor habits and quote movies to strangers?"

He chuckles. “I work.” He admits, shrugging slightly.

"I think we've solved the mystery of how we've never met." You pick up your cocktail now, enjoying the feeling of the cold glass and the sweet, sharp, sour scent. "We're both workaholics."

“Wedding planning, right?” He asks, even though he knows that what you do. “I bet you do a lot of business around Valentine’s Day and oddly enough, Christmas, right?”

"New Years Eve is popular these days, too. And all summer long is pretty constantly busy." You've also been seeing a rash of people lately getting married on their birthdays, which is kind of fun as long as the marriage is a happy one.

“I don’t understand that trend.” He admits, shaking his head. “It smacks of selfishness. Making all of your guests give up their holiday, plus all the staff.” He huffs, watching you switch to your swizzle. “Making them give up their holiday to work a wedding is just wrong.”

"I get wanting to make your event memorable." After all, wasn't that the goal for pretty much everyone? To remember their event forever? "I just think it's an unfortunate truth that sometimes people forget the staff that work these things are actual people with their own families and lives."

Harry nods, thinking about Lucy’s John. It’s strange to think about her again so often lately. Maybe it’s because he met her at his brother’s wedding. “Just promise me you won’t put me at the single’s table?” He snorts. “I’ll pay you whatever you want.”

"I promise." Not that there's even been any discussion of how tables will be set up at all, but you'll find a way to make it work. Something about Harry is very endearing despite being so easy to tease. He's a likable guy. "No bribe necessary."

He chuckles. “So how will it work being both the planner and a part of the wedding?” Other guests are mingling and talking but his focus has stayed on you since you’ve joined him at the bar.

"One of the junior girls from my firm is going to help out during the ceremony. It will help her get her footing on a big wedding with a safety net in place, because I'll still be there." The whole thing was already worked out, of course. You weren't the first planner at Sparkling Nights to ever plan a wedding they were in.

“Do you ever work with Adore?” He asks.

Your nose wrinkles, but you nod. “The matchmakers? Yeah. Our firms have a contact but I don’t like to work those events if I can help it.”

He lifts a brow again, noticing the judgement in your voice and expression. “What, you don’t like them?”

“Those girls are…deeply judgmental, at best.” Have you done some judging tonight too? Sure. But nothing like what they do. “Not in the every day way like we’ve done. Drinks or taste in movies or whatever. The ones I’ve met are all shallow to the bone and turn people into math equations. They talk shit about their clients behind their backs all the time, which is just horrifically unprofessional.”

He hums as he finishes his drink. Seeing how it could be seen as judgmental when you job is to literally assign value to someone as if they were an asset. He had stopped his subscription over a year ago, because it seemed like the women just kept getting younger and more obvious in their want of being a trophy wife without having any substantive value beyond their looks. “Well,” he says after he swallows the last burn of his drink. “Worked for my brother.” He tells you. “Married two years.”

Well shit. You glance down at the glass in your hand and remember all over again that there were multiple reasons why you got made fun of in school. Not being able to keep your mouth shut was a pretty old problem. “Good for him,” you manage, feeling very much like you’ve put your foot in your mouth.

“Um hmm.” Harry sees Scott Bledsoe behind you, motioning to him to capture his attention and call him over. “Excuse me.” He murmurs politely, setting his drink down and pulling another twenty out of his pocket to put on the bar. “I see someone I need to speak with.”

"Fuck..." you mutter under your breath, groaning at your own idiocy as he walks away.

******

The party has been going on for hours. Harry has spoken to, or greeted every person in this room and it’s sad to say that his thoughts still drift back to the conversation at the bar. He shouldn’t have walked away like that, it was rude, but it had kind of cut him when she was insulting a service that hadn’t even been successful in finding him a partner. He’s had a few more drinks, probably more than he should have, so he’s outside to clear his head and secretly craving a cigarette.

The scent of smoke is distinct, he knows there is someone out here enjoying the thing he is craving — but it’s to his dismay when that person happens to be a tall, curvaceous woman in black silk.

Harry assumes that you don’t see him, standing farther down the railing and looking over the surprisingly nice view from the roof deck. Groaning quietly when the fresh puff of nicotine wafts his way.

“Would you…like one?” That particular groan is the sound of an ex-smoker who misses it, but there’s definitely a risk that he might be offended by the offer because he’s quit. At this point you’re well aware this man doesn’t like you, but that’s your own fault. You just don’t want it to be too difficult for Percy during the wedding planning.

“I shouldn’t.” His answer is automatic, but he’s moving towards you. Towards the rich and sweet smell of burning tobacco. “My mother always scolds me, but I can’t help it.” He tells you as he pulls an ornate zippo out of his pants pocket.

"I won't tell on you." The antique cigarette case you found at an estate sale ten years ago is still with you, and you click it open to offer him one of the ill-advised treasures inside.

The case is beautiful, sterling silver and trimmed in gold. He plucks a slender cigarette out the case and nods as he puts it up to his lips.

"I'm sorry I put my foot in my mouth earlier." It's the adult thing to do, to apologize, and you'll do it even if it's only to keep things smooth for Percy. I had just come from a meeting at the Adore offices and I was still all riled up about them. I have nothing against the people who use the service, I just think it's shitty the way some of those girls talk about their clients."

He chuckles and shrugs after taking a long drag off the cigarette. Groaning slightly at the taste and approving of the flavor. He glances over at you. “You never talked back about a client before?”

“Not to another professional in any kind of connected field,” you insist. He looks good smoking. A little more rugged. Less like he’s been sculpted from marble. “Usually only to Percy, if I’m honest.”

“So the problem is that they are analytical.” He hums. “And you are emotional.” It makes sense. You probably have an emotional connection to every client you work with by the end.

"The problem is that they treat analysis like the only answer and demean anyone who believes in emotion." You have to qualify it, since you feel like he's barreling toward being upset with you again, and you're trying to prevent that. "Again, I'm only talking about the half a dozen or so women from that office that I've met."

He’s relaxed a little not that he’s figured out that you are malicious. He shrugs slightly. “It’s a numbers game to them. Basic addition and subtraction.” Dating Lucy had given him some insight into that world. It hadn’t been too far from his own, surprisingly.

"How do you figure that?" If his brother had used Adore then he might have some perspective on the whole thing that is different from your own.

“It’s simple.” He takes another drag of his cigarette. “Some men want a 5’6” woman who weighs less than 130 lbs, preferably with natural blonde hair and reasonably well educated.” He watches as your eyes narrow and wonders if you think he’s listing off his own preferences. “If 47% of their female clients don’t meet that specific criteria, then they have to narrow it down to what fits in that remaining 53%.” He chuckles. “It’s a numbers game. What adds up and what can be overlooked to get to that match that you could possibly tolerate grinding teeth or leaving the towel on the floor for the next 25 years.”

"I guess I don't understand why people care about the height and weight of their partner , or even the hair color, instead of their joys and hobbies and passions." Although, from his estimation? It certainly does hit home how you're still single. It stings like a burning welt but you don't flinch, just cast you eyes down at your cigarette and swallow a sigh.

“Not everyone is blessed to carry scars from their soulmate.” Harry hums with a shrug of one shoulder. Hating how he doesn’t carry them.

"And some of us have them but still haven't made that match." You just shrug, pretending — or pretending to pretend — that it doesn't matter. "It is what it is. I don't believe you have to find your soulmate to be happy. It's just one way of many."

“I can understand what you mean.” He admits. “You don’t have to like those ladies. They are just providing a luxury service to a lot of assholes.” He jokes.

"I guess I just don't like that the ones I've met act like they're the only right answer and still don't respect the people who use their service." A dry, low chuckle escapes you and you shrug. "Or maybe I'm just a bitter, single, fat girl. Who knows?"

He huffs slightly. “You aren’t fat.” He counters, frowning as he looks you up and down. “Not a part of you is disproportionate.” Yes, are you thicker than most women hoping to bag a rich husband in New York? Maybe, but your confidence is refreshing and it doesn’t seem to be steeped in arrogance.

"I don't think I am, either. But to most of New York, it's a sin for women to enjoy food." Either way, you wave it off and take a last drag from your cigarette.

He chuckles. “But they love to go out and be seen.” He reminds you with a smirk. “Where’s your favorite place to eat?”

"I've only been in the city a few weeks." You smile at the question, taking it to mean that he isn't one of the people who thinks eating is a sin. "So far I really like the sandwiches from the bodega at the end of my block."

“You should go to Keen’s.” He suggests. “Real old world vibes and the steak is good.”

"Should I?" A smile curls your lips up, red lipstick unbothered and un-smudged by smoking, and when faced with an abundance of Fuck it energy and the hottest man you've ever spoken to in real life, you sort of throw up your proverbial hands. "Is that where you take your dates to impress them?"

He tilts his head as a curious look enters his eyes. “Only if she’s a steak woman.” He admits. “If it’s sushi, I take her to Sushi Noz.” He arches a brow as he waits.

"I sincerely hope you're not too attached to the sushi idea now that you've said it. I'm definitely a steak kind of girl." The mischievousness of your smile hides the uncertainty there, because you don't necessarily have a lot of experience with guys like this. And even less success. But why not try? "What time should I pick you up?"

You’re bold. His curiosity turns into near amusement, lips smirking slightly as he takes another drag of the cigarette, his last. He grinds out the coal and blows out the smoke. “8.” He decides, chuckling.

"Eight." You echo it, tucking away the disbelief, and nod. You'll have just enough time after the appointments tomorrow to go home and change into something far more flattering and less practical. "Sounds good."

He nods, “sounds good.”

Wandering back into the party so you don't ruin the beautiful (and slightly unexpected) tension of the moment, you find Percy and Tamara by the bar when you slide up to get another drink.

“Sooooooo.” Tamara grins, still riding the high of actually celebrating being engaged this man, as she clings to his arm. “Tell me what you think about our choices for venues?” She asks.

“It will depend on the size of your guest list and how faithful to Manhattan you want to be,” you remind them, but extract a small notebook from your purse anyway. You know they want to stay in the heart of the city and they’re both fairly traditional. “Places like the Central Park Boathouse, Sony Hall, or the Foundry all have very different vibes but still give the traditional elegance you’re looking for.”

“Too bad we couldn’t have the Met.” Tamara sighs dreamily. “Since we met there.”

“You can,” you remind her. They have the budget, after all. “It’s just booked two years out.”

She sighs softly and shakes her head before turning those big, expressive eyes up to Percy. “I don’t want to wait that long to marry you.” She admits softly.

“Me either.” He leans down, kissing her twice and then a third time for good measure. “Wouldn’t it be easiest to book a hotel ballroom?” He looks back at you. “We’re going to have guests flying in from all over.”

“We can certainly do that,” you nod and glance back at your list. “And book a block of rooms for your guests in the process.”

She hums and looks over at Percy. “Where did Harry’s brother get married?” She asks softly. “Maybe we can book there.”

“Lotte?” Percy looks to you and you nod. “It was beautiful. And they were pretty easy to work with, I think.” Expensive, obviously, but he doesn’t care about that. He can afford it and Tamara is worth it.

“Exactly.” He had struggled with the idea of moving himself, but he knew that Tamara needed to live in LA.

“Buck up, soldier,” you tease, nudging his arm. “This is another adventure. You’ll love LA.”

“I know.” He tilts his head and shoots you an apologetic sigh. “I just wish that the timing was better.”

"That's sweet of you," you promise him. He really is your best friend for a reason. "But who are we if we can't handle a curveball here and there?"

“Have you had any luck?” He asks. “You know I can just keep paying rent.” He reminds you.

"You don't need to do that." The little two bedroom in Washington Heights that he welcomed you into when you arrived in the city had been more than enough for him alone and it was just enough for two. Without him, your savings will stretch a few months before you start to struggle, but you just can't let him pay rent on a place that he isn't living in anymore. It doesn't sit well with you. "I have a couple of interviews next week, we'll see if any of them pan out."

“This is my fault though.” He insists. “At least let me pay until you find someone.”

“We’re not talking about rent at your engagement party,” you scold. Truth be told you’ve been looking at moving out to Brooklyn or Queens as soon as his lease is up and there’s not too terrible options that way. Nothing fancy, but you don’t need fancy.

“We’ll discuss it later.” He points at you playfully. “For real.” You had a nasty habit of changing the subject if you were uncomfortable with the subject, and your finances were one of those touchy things for you.

“Sure.” An off-hand dismissal of the topic is pretty on point for you, but you squeeze his arm before turning back to the bar to order another drink. You’re not trying to be flippant, but this is a celebration.

Harry rejoins the party and mingles with the other guests. Laughing and trading jokes, telling stories about when Tamara and Percy met, proud that he had facilitated the entire thing. He chews on his lip as he considers getting another drink and decides that it’s a little too soon for another so he wanders over to the buffet spread.

“Have you tried any of the food yet?” Percy comes up on his side and picks up a small plate with an artfully styled piece of fried chicken with some kind of slaw on it. “It’s incredible here.”

“No,” he admits with a small grin. “I’ve been drinking my dinner so far.” He glances over towards you and then back to the artfully arranged appetizers.

“Any reason for that?” He isn’t going to pretend he didn’t see Harry talking to you earlier. Or that he doesn’t smell like your cigarettes now. You’re the only person he knows who still smokes Camel Turkish Royals and Harry always buys American Spirits when he stress smokes.

“Annoyance.” Harry snorts. “Intrigue.” He admits a moment later. “Ever met someone you shouldn’t like, but you do?”

“Plenty of times.” The two men stand in bespoke, expensive suits and eat gourmet finger food, surveying the pastry around them. “But I assume we’re talking about something a little more striking than a professor or coworker?”

“I’m apparently going on a date tomorrow night.” He snorts softly and picks up a plate with two teriyaki meatballs on it. “I guess I should call and make a reservation.”

“You sound…” Percy frowns. “Less than excited?”

“Given my history with dating?” Harry asks, lifting a brow. “I guess I’m not exactly hopeful.” He admits.

“So you’re not grumpy about it because of the girl, but because you don’t think it’ll go anywhere?” He’s itching to ask who. To find out if the glances he saw amounted to anything. But he doesn’t want to spook Harry too early.

“It never does.” Harry taps the plate and looks around the room. The very symbol of love existing is right here, but it always eludes him.

“It only has to be different once,” Percy reminds him.

He huffs slightly, unable to argue with that, but it’s so vague. “Of course.” He doesn’t want to bring his best friend down, tonight of all nights. “There’s plenty to look forward to, after all.”

“Not to be nosy,” Percy smirks. “But I’m gonna be nosy. Why did you ask if you weren’t excited about her?”

“I didn’t ask.” Harry admits, although his lips twist up slightly in amusement. “She did.”

“Oh shit.” That promotes the younger man to burst out in a fit of surprised laughter, though Percy quickly smothers the sound and peaks it down to an amused giggle. “Are we talking about who I think we’re talking about?”

“I’m sure we are.” Harry rolls his eyes at his friend as he picks up a meatball on the slender toothpick and takes a bite.

“Well shit.” Percy repeats, grinning at Harry like he’s just gotten the best gossip ever. “I mean, I’m not surprised, but I am impressed. I that makes you the third guy that she’s asked out ever.”

“Bullshit.” Harry pulls a disbelieving face because he isn’t swallowing that load of garbage for all the money in Manhattan. “That woman has only asked out three men?” He huffs, nodding towards where you are clearly chatting happily and smiling almost flirtatiously with an older man. He’s old enough to be your grandfather, but still.

"Don't let the extrovert exterior fool you." Lowering his voice, Percy glances over at you and then back to Harry. "That's a girl who lives on romance novels and period dramas, dreaming about her soulmate sweeping her off her feet." He huffs softly under his breath. "But kids are mean. She when through a hell of a lot of shit in school and got bullied pretty mercilessly. The big, brassy, bad ass thing is...it's a defense mechanism. If she asked you? She went out on a pretty big limb."

“I think she felt bad about insulting me.” Harry chuckles quietly. “She was talking shit about the women at Adore.”

"She...kinda hates them." Percy laughs along with him, but he meets Harry's eyes meaningfully. "She was telling me about the meetings she's been having and how shitty they are to her. Personal attacks. She said one of the women in the office had done a statistics sheet on her and it was awful."

“That’s because she doesn’t fit the assumed vision of what a valuable woman in this city is.” Harry agrees, knowing exactly who would have done that statistic sheet on her. “It doesn’t really mean it’s personal to them.”

"No," Percy agrees. "But it's personal to her."

“Believe me, I can understand that.” He had been encouraged to not discontinue his engagement of Adore but he hadn’t seen the point when no one had been compatible.

"All I'm saying is that if she asked, it's not out of guilt. It's genuine interest." Percy does take a moment though, letting that sink in to Harry's mind. "But if you're not really interested in return? I'm gonna ask, as both of your friend, that you tell her up front."

Harry frowns slightly. “So you don’t think this is a good idea?” He asks.

"I want you to accept because you want to," Percy says. "Not because I want you to."

“I would have said no if I didn’t want to go.” Percy should know him better than that. He sighs softly. “I guess I’m just worried that it will turn out badly.”

"No one is saying you have to marry her. But you both deserve a good date." Eternally honest Percy shrugs again. "You've both had a string of bad luck lately, that's all I'm saying."

“We are going to Keen’s.” He tells his friend, knowing that he can count on the other man’s opinion. “She’s gonna pick me up.”

Percy smirks, this time because he knows the restaurant vice was Harry’s. You would have picked Italian. “Her favorite flowers are zinnias. Just…in case you were wondering.”

“Zinnias.” Even though he hadn’t thought about getting flowers just yet he tucks that bit of information away. “Any particular color?”

“Reds. Oranges. Pinks. Yellows. Anything that reminds you of sunrise.” Patting his shoulder twice, Percy is still smiling when he steps away. “Tomorrow is going to be a hell of a day.”

Harry stares down at his plate. “Yes it will be.” He murmurs softly.

******

The morning is a complicated and energetic affair. A large, black rental car arrives in the heart of Washington Heights to pick you up with your best friend and his fiancée inside, then it’s off to get Tamara’s family from their hotel and finally Harry from his place in Tribeca. You’re in business mode this morning, dressed professionally and carrying your necessary resources. Today you’re more than the groom’s best friend. You’re the wedding planner.

Today is casually business. He dresses down, if he’s honest. Jeans, a sweater and a sports coat. Formal enough for some places but casual enough to not scream uptight. Tonight, he’ll change into something else before taking you dinner.

You go over the list of appointments for the day with everyone in the car, because everyone had (of course) had an opinion in where the wedding should be held. Even Percy’s parents had called you to give their opinion, despite currently being deployed overseas. Thankfully, the hotel that Percy and Tamara had mentioned to you last night had actually had availability today to be seen. They’ll be setting up for another wedding while you’re there, but that isn’t a bad thing.

“The hotel is fine.” Harry assures them. “Peter and Charlotte loved it. It held everyone and the staff there is very discreet.” He chuckles. “Uncle Phil got too drunk and they escorted him up to his room without any issues.”

“Everybody has an Uncle Phil of sorts,” Tamara chuckles, thinking specifically of an aunt of hers. “When in the day are we going to the hotel?” She asks, keenly interested in that particular location.

“Second,” you assure her. The earliest appointment of the day is the venue that her parents were most interested in, though you think there’s very little chance of Percy or Tamara falling in love with it. Neither of them cares much for rowing. “The Central Park Boathouse is first. It’s a beautiful venue that will hold your whole guest list with a little room to spare. And it’s perfect for some lovely photos so you wouldn’t have to leave the property for them.”

“I still wish we could book the Met.” Tamara sighs fondly as she snuggles into Percy’s side. “But I don’t want to wait two to three years.”

“I did it in a call this morning,” you let them know, but qualify it carefully. “If they have a cancellation, we’re on the waiting list.”

“Ohhhhhh you’re the best.” She beams and is a hopeful gleam to her eyes. “Whenever.”

“We’ll keep our fingers crossed, but I have a good feeling we’ll find something we love today.” If you’re honest, you don’t hold out hope for the Met. But for Percy you’d try just about anything that would make him and his soulmate happy.

“I think you have to align your expectations with reality.” Harry hums quietly. “It would be nice, but it’s a lofty goal.”

“It’s a dream,” Tamara admits. “But there are no shortage of beautiful places in Manhattan to get married.”

“That is very true.” He agrees. “You just need to find the venue that matches what you two have dreamed about together.”

It doesn't surprise you when the Central Park Boathouse isn't to their taste. You can tell almost instantly that they aren't going to take to it, and while Tamara's parents ooh and ahh and encourage them, everyone ultimately agrees that it isn't right. Focusing on professionalism means you are doing your best not to be distracted by how good Harry looks dressed down for the daytime.

You are dressed very professionally, although he can tell that the carefully crafted outfit has been one that is well used. Still, he admires that your outfit is tailored to your body, fitting it perfectly and enhancing your curves rather than detracting from them.

On the ride over to the hotel, you review numbers with Percy and Tamara. Their guest list stands at just about 150 people and all the places they’re looking at can accommodate that easily. It will feel luxurious and intimate, rather than bustling or crowded.

“Here we are.” Percy pulls the rental car into the hotel’s parking lot and smiled up at the building. He’d been a guest at Peter Castillo’s wedding and thought it was nice, but hadn’t been thinking about his own wedding at the time. The girl he had been dating at the time was…not exactly long term relationship material. By her own admission.

“The bridal suite and groomsman suites are very nice.” Harry assures them. “Separated by a floor but there is a stairwell between them in case you need to access either party.”

“Your brother got married here?” Tamara’s mother asks, remembering that had been mentioned the night before.

“Yes madam.” He tells her with a proud smile. Charlotte and Peter aren’t soulmates, neither one of them has marks either, but they have created a strong and meaningful bond. “Very wonderful societal event.”

“But did you enjoy it?” That is the important part to her. Their family isn’t a part of anyone’s society. They’re not looking to climb into it, either.

“I enjoyed it.” It wasn’t to his taste. It wasn’t even to Peter’s taste, but it was what his bride wanted so he had happily conceded. Peter had always talked about a wedding on a beach. Harry had no idea what he would want.

His tone is soothing. Smooth and reassuring, and she smiles happily, momentarily mollified. The girl is large and grand, more imposing than welcoming, but Tamara has hearts in her eyes. “Even if we don’t have it here,” she hums excitedly. “This is where everyone should stay. We can book a block of rooms.”

“The hotel is a great place to host a large group.” Percy agrees. “The room service is amazing.” Even though he had not been a part of the wedding party, he had booked a hotel room, making a little weekend of it.

“Well let’s get inside and see what you think of the event spaces,” you urge, bringing them into the lobby with you. They can Oo and Ah while you check in at the desk.

This is a space that Harry is quite familiar with. There is a charity function held here every year, so he doesn’t walk with the others. Instead, he hangs back as you talk with a sharp dressed concierge.

The woman in all black with nearly done hair and sharp make up speaks with you for a few seconds before nodding and stepping away. “You’re not going to have a look around?” You ask Harry, surprised to find him wandering toward you as the others inspect the lobby with interest.

“I’ve been here enough.” He shrugs, taking note of the way your back straightens slightly and the toe of your heels is scuffed. “How about you?”

“Never.” You shake your head, suddenly far more focused on the man in front of you than the hotel. “I haven’t had much time to explore since I got to New York.”

“Well then we should change that.” He huffs. “You have to be able to be completely blasé about every venue.” He jokes.

“Is that what’s required out here?” You let out a soft chuckle. “Raleigh has a…we’ll call it a slightly different vibe, but that’s an understatement.”

“Absolutely. New Yorkers aren’t impressed with anything.” He tells you. “They’ve seen it all, done it all and will complain the entire time.”

“Well,” you shrug. “I’ve lived in plenty of places and seen plenty of things. But I don’t mind enthusiasm.”

He chuckles. “Give it time.” He jokes. “You’ll be just a sullen as everyone else.”

“I hope not.” But rather than judgmental, your smile is beaming. Like you’re daring the city to take away your joy. “Or at least I hope it takes a long, long time.”

“You just have to find the beauty in the small things.” He suggests. “Or sarcasm.”

“Or both.” Why does he make you smile like this? It’s like your stomach is doing flip flops.

“Now you’re thinking like a New Yorker.” He jokes. “‘Why not both’ should be etched onto the Statue of Liberty.”

“That would sort of change the tone of the thing,” you joke with a grin.

“Maybe.” He snorts, shrugging slightly. “Never actually seen her up close.”

"But..." you startle, actually taken aback by that. "You live here!"

“And how many times do the locals avoid the tourist traps like the plague?” He asks, arching a brow.

That makes you huff, albeit playfully. "If I find out you've never been to the Met, I'm changing our date tonight."

He chuckles and tilts his head. “No, I’ve been to the Met.” He hums in amusement. Apparently Percy had never shared how he had met Tamara.

"Right..." you realize it just a second later and flinch, hating that you've said something stupid. "Never mind. Forget I said that."

Thankfully, like an answer to your awkward prayers, the event coordinator for the hotel appears in the lobby in the same instant and you don't have to see the realization dawn on Harry's face that his date tonight is with someone who speaks before they think.

Harry watches as you hurry away, embarrassment bloomed on your face and it finds it fascinating. You don’t weigh or measure your words around him. ‘No filter’ his mother would say. He likes it. Makes him wonder what you will say next.

The tour is fairly standard. The ballroom is available for you to tour while it is being set up for tonight’s wedding but the bridal suites are not — for precisely the same reason.

“It’s got enough space for everyone plus dancing.” Harry reminds Percy. “And we can honestly use the penthouse for the after party if you want.”

"The best man?" The event planner asks you with a knowing half-smile. The extra guy in the group who is talking about the after party? At this stage in the game, that is absolutely the best man.

"Of course." Your return smile falters a little, just in the second afterward when you catch her give Harry an appraising sweep of her eyes. Do you have any right to be jealous of someone else checking him out? Absolutely not. Yet? You can't help it.

Percy has already gone off on a tangent about the after party vibe, Harry encouraging him with an arm around his shoulder. The wedding would be for family, for memories. The after party was gonna be for getting wild.

"What do you have as far as available dates?" While Percy, Harry, Tamara, and her parents are all watching the ballroom be set up, you are going to get a little business done. Maybe it will help distract you from that touch of irrational jealousy, while you're at it.

“The first date we have is in nine months.” She rattles off a date with a smile. “There are weddings booked every weekend until then.���

Making note of the date for yourself, you know that's a little longer than Percy and Tamara are eager to wait but they seem to really like this place. "And if the couple were interested in booking a block of rooms here for there guests as well?"

“Of course.” She clicks her tablet and looks at the bookings for that date. “The bridal suite is available as well as a large block of rooms we can hold in reserve for the guests.” She clicks through pages. “We can reserve floors 5,7,9,10,11 and 14.”

"And your team is prepared to work with extra security for the night of the wedding?" Percy isn't willing to take any chances with Tamara's safety and you don't blame him. Being a Hollywood star has its benefits, but also some distinct drawbacks.

“We are equipped to handle all manner of security.” She assures you. “Though some do decide to hire independent advisors as well.”

“Of course. One can never be too careful.” She’s given you a packet of information — printed statistics and suggested floor plans along with contact information for preferred vendors — which will best going over with Percy and Tamara. You’re about to open your mouth for the next of many questions when your work phone rings.

Normally it would be on silent while you’re in a client meeting. Your personal cell phone certainly is, but the cell given to you by your company buzzes insistently in your pocket. And since there is a minimal chance of hearing from some vendors today, it’s good that you left it on. “Excuse me,” you offer the woman a polite smile. “I’ve got to take this.” The number looks familiar but you can’t remember which of the twenty calls you’ve made in the last twenty-four hours it could be returning, so you just excuse yourself to the lobby to take it.

“Hello, this is—” You use your legal name for business, and answer accordingly, “from Dragonfly Events, how can I help you today?”

“Good morning, this is Charlotte Evans, event coordinator for the Met.” She speaks clearly, albeit, a bit rushed. “I believe you had spoken with one of our assistants about being placed on the cancellation list?” The only reason she is calling is because of the name you dropped. Tamara Wilson is one of her niece’s favorite actresses and she had been given so much grief when she had learned that Auntie Charlie had breathed the same air as Tamara the night she met her soulmate.

“Yes, good morning. Thank you for calling me back so promptly.” If this is a polite refusal, as you expect, the call should be over with quickly.

“Of course.” She clears her throat. “The notes say that your clients are Tarama Wilson and Percy Stokes?” She asks. “Would that be the actress, Tamara Wilson?”

“Yes, that is correct.” And you absolutely left their names of purpose. “My clients met at the Met Gala this past May and are quite keen to be married in the same place they met.”

“I see.” Her voice doesn’t betray the wide, excited grin on her face. Auntie Charlie is gonna be the favorite for years to come. She doesn’t add that she had literally been there that night, but hadn’t realized it until the People article came out revealing the announcement about the soulmate pairing. “Unfortunately, or perhaps fortunately for your clients, we have just had a cancellation this morning.”

“Oh?” Tamara is going to lose her mind with excitement. “And what would the date be for that?”

She gives the date and pauses. “That is sixty-two days from today. I do understand if that is not plausible for your clients.”

“Are there any constraints with that date?” You ask, not wanting to blurt out that they’ll be thrilled to have a date so soon. “Vendors with contracts that must be honored, or anything to that effect?” Your own pauses, Mid note taking. “And could you tell me please, what portion of the museum the cancellation is for?” Met bookings for different areas accommodate different numbers of guests. You want to have all the information before you go talk to Percy and Tamara.

“That is actually why I contacted you first.” She says, saying without saying, that she thought famous clients would appreciate this more than anyone else. “The previous contract had booked the entire venue.” She tells you. “Although the catering contract was booked with the venue, So that would also have to be absorbed into the new contract.”

“That is perfectly fine with us, as my clients have not booked a caterer yet. Can I have their name?” The entirety of the Met? That is hundreds upon hundreds of guests, or a different location for every single part of the wedding. They’re going to scream when you tell them.

Charlotte gives you the name and telephone number of the catering service. “They are quite good, and luckily the menu has not been contracted, so there is that.”

“Wonderful.” Looking down at the notes in your book, you know this is going to work. This is going to be perfect. “I’ll speak to my clients, of course, but I’m prepared to say that we will accept the cancellation slot and the reservations that have already been made. May I call you back in about five minutes to confirm?”

“Please do.” She hopes that you will. “If not, I will have to contact others who have been requesting to be informed about cancellations.

“Five minutes,” you promise her, before politely saying goodbye and pocketing your work phone again. There’s no way it will take that long for them to decide, but you want to be sensitive to the woman here at the hotel who has taken time from her day for a last minute appointment.

Zipping back into the ballroom, you catch Percy’s eye and shoot him a grin. “Pardon me,” you reinsert yourself into the conversation politely but definitely. “If I could check in with my clients for a moment?”

Harry had drifted away but he catches your grin and knows that something is up. He quickly walks over to the very nice coordinator. “While they are talking, would you tell me about hosting cooperate events?” He asks.

It doesn’t take much effort for Harry Castillo to utterly charm just about anyone into conversation, and as he lures her away you make a note to thank him profusely tonight if the date goes well.

“So…” you wave Percy and Tamara over to you and lower your voice so it won’t echo. “The Met called.”

Percy cocks up, attuned to your mannerisms and he knows it had to be something good. “Please don’t tell me the wait time is five years now.” Tamara groans.

“They had a cancellation,” you tell them, barely containing your grin. “It’s fast, but I think we can make it happen.”

“How fast is fast?” Percy asks, eyebrows raised.

“Sixty-two days.” An amount of time that seems fleeting, but your first wedding planner job had been at a soulmate agency. You can do fast and you can do it well.

“Sixty-two days?” her eyes widen and her heart sinks. There is no way that a wedding could be pulled off in sixty-two days. Not the way that they had dreamed of. “Oh god. No. I don’t—”

"Tam." Reaching out, you set one hand on Tamara's arm and smile reassuringly. "I promise you, I can do this if you want to say yes. The previous client had rented out the entire museum, and the caterer comes with the reservation. I've got a florist that owes me a favor and a photographer who will move mountains to be able to take your wedding photos."

Her eyes widen and she tries to let the panic subside. Pushing aside the little voice of doubt in the back of her mind. Her gaze darts to Percy, but he’s already nodding. “Yes.” She whispers, clutching his hand. “Yes!”

"How do we feel about booking that block of rooms while we're here, and even the penthouse if you want that after party?" You know Percy will want it, and it was Harry's idea, so this is going to be a good bridge. It will help the hotel here feel a touch less slighted after pulling out this appointment for you, and it will still get Percy and Tamara the wedding of their dreams.

“I think that is best.” Percy nods and looks towards his bride for her input. “It’s central to all the attractions and just a half dozen blocks down from the Met.”

Tamara hesitates for just a second, but looks to you with pleading eyes. "Do you really think you can do it?"

"I do." A little nod to wedding vows is cheeky, but you mean it. You do think you can do this for them. "I really do, and I think it will be great."

“I really want the Met.” Tamara admits. Grinning at Percy and batting her eyes playfully. “Are you okay with two months? Or should we wait longer?”

"Tam..." Percy takes both of her hands in his and faces her, placing a kiss on the tip of her nose. "I would marry you at the bottom of the Gowanus Canal with nothing but mutant fish for witnesses." They both giggle — the weirdos. But they're cute weirdos. "Two months in the place we met sounds perfect."

“Are you sure?” Despite wanting this more than anything else in the world, she wants to make sure it’s what he wants too.

"I love you," he reminds her, with a sort of bashful, gleeful expression. "That's all that matters."

“I love you too.” She promises. “If you told me you wanted to get married in the subway, I’d question your sanity….” That makes him laugh and she giggles. “But I would do it. But it seems like the universe wants us to have this.”

"So we're going to do it?" You ask, letting them have their moment and a sweet kiss to seal the sentiment. When they excitedly say yes, you pull your phone back out. "Let me call Ms. Evans back and get this settled. And then we can get the rooms and the penthouse booked here, as well."

“Not the bridal suites though.” Tamara tells you. “I don’t want another couple to have to book that somewhere else because I was selfish.”

"That sounds more than reasonable." This place probably has a dozen rooms gorgeous enough to host a newlywed couple, so you aren't worried about them having a nice place to crash that night. Not at all. "Let me make this call so we can really dig our fingers into planning."

“Okay.” She is immediately turning and pressing close to Percy. Both of them whispering in excitement. Harry glances over several time as he listens to the many amenities the hotel can offer for a conference or corporate event. He normally just holds any events at the penthouse, but he’s seriously considering this for the year end party.

It takes only a few minutes to step away and make the call, but when you come back to your friends they have their dream wedding venue booked and ready. All you have to do is drop off the deposit check before the museum closes tonight.

The next half hour is spent with the very nice woman who took the time to meet with you today, and she seems more than happy to be able to book the penthouse for a private party along with two full floors of rooms for wedding guests. It may not be the full night, but it is certainly a large check and damn good business for the hotel.

Harry is pulled aside by Percy, hearing the good news and smiling happily. Congratulating the couple and agreeing that it feels like the stars have aligned for their wedding.

By the time the six of you are leaving the hotel not too long after, it seems silly to think anything else could be more productive today. "Well," you tell them, grinning as you mark of Friday, August 6 on your phone with Percy and Tamara's initials. "I know we made a big decision but we have a lot to do now in not a huge amount of time."

“I already have my dress.” Tamara tells you with a happy sigh.

"And we did agree on colors already," Percy reminds you. A clean palate of white and silver with small accents of blue will be doable with any caterer, and blue bridesmaids dresses will be easy enough to achieve. His groomsman probably all own blue ties in the right shade.

“And the caterer has already been decided, right?” Tamara asks. “What’s the meal?”

"They booked the company but they hadn't picked their menu yet." Which was an incredible boon, and feels like it's a little too lucky. "I'm going to give them a call and see how fast we can set up a tasting."

Harry hums. “What’s the name of the company?”

"It is called..." Double checking your notes, you find it scrawled under the guest count for the museum. "Stand & Deliver."

Inside, Harry is groaning quietly but he nods. "They have good food." He assures them. "They catered Peter's wedding." He tells Percy, immediately making his best friend nod and grin.

“Perfect.” Tamara is grinning so widely that her face is threatening to split in two. “So what do we do now?” She asks you, bright with excitement and anticipation.

“Today? Go and enjoy having your parents in town,” you tell her, holding in your private sigh of relief. “I’m going to spend my afternoon setting up appointments for you to meet with your vendors as soon as possible so we can get everything squared away.” Looking at the group of them, you see a hell of a lot of work in those joyful faces, but it will be worth every second. “Why not take your Mom shopping for her mother of the bride dress, or even visit the Met?”

Harry watches you manage the nerves, the expectations with an aplomb that leaves him impressed. “Why don’t you take them to lunch?” He suggests. “I can help her with anything that she needs.”

“There’s a sit down restaurant in the museum,” Tamara remembers, perking up brightly.

“Then that’s what we’ll do.” On the sidewalk, Percy gives you a squeezing hug. “Text me appointment info when you have it?”

“I promise.” There is even a pinky swear involved. A long held tradition from childhood that is an unbreakable promise. “You guys go have fun. Harry and I will take care of some business and I’ll talk to you later.” It’s sweet of him to offer, and you won’t say no, but you also don’t really expect him to want to sit around while you made phone calls and scribble notes to yourself for a few hours. Especially not when you’re supposed to be taking him to dinner tonight.

“I’m assuming the Met needs a signed contract and a payment to reserve the space?” Harry asks when you’re alone for the first time since landing their dream venue. He checks his watch as he estimates how long it would take to get there.

“We have an appointment to sign the papers tomorrow.” You had made sure that was acceptable, otherwise you would have rushed over today. “I’ll have to drop off the physical deposit check today but we’ll give them the rest tomorrow.”

“What do you need to do today besides that?” He asks.

“Phone calls. Lots of phone calls.” His expression is so earnest that you soften a little, feeling your cheeks burn. “And I was going to change before I picked you up tonight,” you admit.

“Do you have an office or do you normally work from home?” He asks, unsure of your business model.

“I do have an office.” You were going to go hang out on your couch with some leftover pizza for lunch, but something nagging in your stomach doesn’t want to separate so quickly. “Are you asking to see my cubicle?” You ask, tone teasing like he has asked to see you naked or something equally as scandalous.

He snorts and shakes his head, amused by the way you are asking. “I actually was going to offer you my conference room if you needed a space to work.”

“That sounds fancy.” There’s still teasing in your voice, but it’s softened.

“Espresso machine.” He ticks off with a small smirk. “There’s a vendor that caters lunch in the breakroom.” He shrugs. “Changes every day. Not sure what today is.”

“You have enough people working on a Saturday to warrant a catered lunch?” In your office, your company was just part of one floor. Staff are in and out all the time because of the nature of what you do. You hadn’t figured his family’s financial empire had anything but a 9-5 existence.

“It’s for the people who come in to work on the weekends.” He tilts his head. “Sometimes normal working hours don’t fit our business. We try to treat everyone like we care.”

“That is…” Your head tilts a little, considering him as much as the offer. “Both unexpected and very nice to hear.” He has a warmth to him that makes you want to believe he knows every employee by name and every birthday, anniversary, joy, and hardship. It’s easy to picture Harry giving a shit about his staff. So easy that you catch yourself smiling again — maybe even a little dreamily. “Alright, sure. Let’s go to yours.”

He nods and he finds himself smiling back at you. You have this way of slipping past his defenses. Making him go on instinct and try to figure you out like some kind of puzzle. “Good, because I’m hungry.”

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