fvispunk

[fvispunk]

Oh that’s no…

[fvispunk]

tuyo

[fvispunk]

LLAMEN A DIOS QUE ES ESTE DOLOR 😭

Por que me lastimarías asi?!

"The days of you and I" | part 3

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: The passing of time leads you to remember how things used to be between you and Joel. Joel starts healing while you start losing yourself.

w.c: 10.1 k

warnings: angst, mentions of miscarriage, mentions of blood, suicidal thoughts, mentions of panic attacks. No proofreading. English is not my first language.

A/N: Hello. If you had felt like I've been lost for the last few days. You're right. I hope you like this chapter; it made me cry a bit as well. Happy reading, please share your thoughts with me.

AO3 account

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Jackson. One week before the attack.

Winter had dug its claws in early this year. The snow felt heavy almost every day of the week, the flakes clinging to the branches and over the ground. The cold was difficult, sharp, clinging into your bones even breathing stung on your chest.

Joel wasn’t very fond of this time of the year. Not for the snow or the cold that made his joints ache a little bit more nowadays, but because coffee became a scarce.

And you were aware of it.

So, when a passing trade group from the south came by, you’d given up half or your belongings and winter preserves for a single bag of those beans. Even the trader had looked at you as if you were mad. Perhaps you were a bit stupid for doing this, but everything would be worth it for the look on Joel’s face when he gets to try a cup of coffee.

You didn’t know at what stage of your pregnancy you were right now, but you knew that things were more emotional for you, and you would do everything to get to see Joel smiling at the little things.

You found thermos inside the cabinets at home, you cleaned it a bit and filled it with the dark brew liquid. The scent made your mouth water, but you were aware you couldn’t drink coffee now. Then, you tugged your coat tighter around you as you crossed through Jackson, boots crunching in the snow. The wind bit at your cheeks, turning them pink, but with your fingers wrapped around the thermos, warmth spread through your veins.

You found Joel at the house he’d been working on, hammering at a frame with the help of Tommy, a few others scattered around the site. The place was barely a house yet, wood stacked and windows not even set, but Joel was there, sleeves rolled up over his flannel.

You lingered for a second, just taking a look of him. Focusing on the way his brows furrowed in concentration, the little grunt he made when something didn’t line up right. You were so in love with him it made your chest hurt sometimes.

He was too focused he didn’t even notice you right away. Not until you called out.

“Hey, Miller.”

He looked up at the sound, and his face softened the moment he saw you. That small, personal smile he got just for you.

“What are you doing out here, sweetheart? You’ll freeze your ass off.”

You held up the thermos with a grin, “Oh, I just brought you a little gift for you.”

Joel’s brow arched in amusement as he set the hammer down and walked over to you. You uncapped the lid, letting the steam curl up between you, and his eyes went wide when the scent hit him.

“Did you bring me—"

“Real coffee, yes.” You replied, not getting a chance to hide a grin. “I traded something for it this morning. I know how much you missed a good cup of coffee.”

For a second, he stood there without saying anything. Just stared at you like he still couldn’t believe you were his girl. The woman he had devoted his life to for the last years.

Without a warning, his hand cupped the back of your neck, pulling you in for a kiss that tasted like snow, cold and the taste of coffee because when he pulled away, his forehead rested on your neck, planting a kiss over your it.

“You’re a miracle.”

You laughed softly. “Yeah, well, don’t get used to it. This shit’s expensive.”

He chuckled, taking a sip from the thermos, groaning in pleasure like it was the first good thing he’d tasted in his life.

“Goddamn it.”

You smiled, watching him like it was the only thing keeping your body warm.

“I thought you need it. Winter is only getting worse and colder.”

His eyes softened, a thumb brushing over your cold cheek. “As long as I got you, baby, I can get through any winter.”

You leaned on his palm, kissing the back of his hand, sealing a promise you both had made to each other.

I’m always going to be there,

I’m always going to have your back,

until the day death tears us apart.

Jackson, present day

You barely remembered the walk home. Your legs had stumbled more than three times and your tears didn’t stop falling.

The cold bit at your skin, the world blurring past you like it wasn’t really there. The ache in your chest wasn’t sadness settled there anymore but rage. A vicious, clawing thing that crawled up your throat and made your hands shake as you slammed the door behind you.

You made it to the bedroom before it burst out of you.

A lamp went first, shattering against the floor with a satisfying crack just as the sound of your heart. Then the chair by the window, the one Joel used to sit in when he couldn’t sleep. You grabbed the small wooden carving Joel had been working on the week before the attack, and it hit the wall so hard the pieces splintered across the floor like scattered bones.

Your hand bled where a sharp edge caught your palm, but you didn’t feel it.

You reached for the framed picture by the bed, the one taken in Jackson months ago. You standing beside him, his arm around your waist, both of you caught in a rare, unguarded moment of laughter.

The glass shattered beneath your grip. The frame clattered to the floor.

For a second, just a second, your hand hovered, and something in your chest begged you to stop.

But it was drowned out by the storm roaring in your blood.

And when it was done, when there was nothing left to throw or break, you slid down against the wall, knees pulled to your chest, hands trembling.

The pain on your chest increased with each breath. It felt like a bruising mark had settled there in the middle of your sternum, it even felt like some pair of hands tightening around your heart until every fiber of it was hurting your body, taking your life out, your breath and you will of living.

Some pairs of hands you never thought they would even hurt you.

Joel’s hands, Joel’s words, Joel’s second chance of living.

Everything you had done. Everything you had lost…Grieving the death of somebody who wasn’t dead. Someone who was alive but felt like breathing reeking air.

You could come to touch him but not to caress him anymore?

How big was the damage you had done to him to make him hate you this much to push you away as if your closeness had burnt his skin, his broken bones.

The tears couldn’t stop falling. You stood up, walking towards the closet where you kept the test and onesie hidden beneath your clothes.

You had never wanted to become a mother. In fact, you had never thought about it. This world was too cruel to bring little babies to it. To have their innocence stolen or tainted by creeps committing horrors.

Joel had also gotten older. Being a father again at his age wasn’t part of his plans and you knew it, but nature didn’t stop because the world has it. But for him, being a father again wouldn’t be a source of happiness when the girl he had taken as a daughter and committed more than thousand of mistakes to keep her alive, didn’t want to be close to him.

That had scared you that much you couldn’t utter the truth for weeks.

But the moment you had found the truth, the idea of holding a baby, your own baby, started to consume your thoughts. You had started dreaming of it, of the life growing inside you. About how that baby would look like.

And that was the exact moment you had become a mother. ´

You could remember one day patrolling with Joel, and as usual, he didn’t allow you to be paired with another person who wasn’t him. Not that you complained. In the way, the both of you found a store you decided to scavenged, expecting to find something that would serve to community.

Joel was busy roaming some old stuff that would help him to fix something at home, while your gaze had lingered over a little onesie hidden under some worn out papers.

The same one you were holding now, yellow with a duck in the middle of it.

You had become a mother and you hadn’t had the chance to taste it and you couldn’t help but ask yourself a constant why.

Why you?

Why him?

Why the baby?

What have you done to lose them both?

You came back to the room but it felt too quiet now, too strange. It was too cold for you now. You sat on the ground by the bed and you started crying, but not the silent one. The kind of crying that came with tears no one couldn’t hide.

 It was a sob that tore out of you in ragged, broken sobs, your chest heaving like it was being split open.

The tears weren’t just for Joel but for everything you had gain and lost in a flicker of time. For what you’d lost. For what you still had. And for the awful truth that loving Joel Miller would never be easy.

The last remnants of twilight slipped through the window, broken glass catching the last of the light like dying stars.

Perhaps they weren’t the only losing the spark.

After going to hell and clawing your way back. After sleepless nights at his side, after forcing breath inside his book, with blood-stained hands. After watching him fight for every inch of life he didn’t want, while you begged the universe not to take him from you.

And in the middle of all that, you lost that tiny baby.

A tiny life that you hadn’t even let yourself imagine until it was gone. And no one knew. No one but Tommy and Maria. And you’d buried it so deep, let the grief fester beneath your skin, because there was no room for grief when Joel was dying.

But now, sitting there on the floor of your now ruined bedroom, surrounded by the wreckage of the quiet life you had built with him, the weight of it hit you like heavy force.

There was gnawing fear that maybe Joel Miller wasn’t coming back.

At least, not to you.

The house was dark, save for the weak, flickering light glowing from the window.

Ellie hesitated at the front door, her stomach twisting in that way it did when something wasn’t right. She wasn’t even sure what had brought her here, maybe the quiet stillness, maybe the aching pull in her gut that told her to check. She hadn’t been here much since she moved into the garage behind. Since everything had changed.

The door creaked open under her hand.

“Hello?” she called out your name, softly, but no one answered.

The stairs groaned beneath her weight as she climbed, the flicker of light guiding her like a warning. And then she reached the bedroom.

Glass crunched under her boots. The room was wrecked, drawers pulled out, shattered picture frames. And in the middle of it all, you sat on the floor, your back against the bed, face buried in your hands, shoulders trembling with the kind of grief Ellie hadn’t seen in a long time.

“Shit,” Ellie whispered, rushing forward and dropping to her knees beside you.

“Hey—hey, it’s me,” she said, voice rough as she reached for your wrists, trying to pry your hands away so she could see your face. “Talk to me. Please. Hey, please.”

But you just shook your head, a sob left your throat, while tears streaked your cheeks.

“I can’t…” you choked out.

And for the first time since she had met you, Ellie felt something crack open in her chest. She’d spent all these weeks worrying about Joel, she hadn’t seen how bad it had gotten for you too. How lost you seemed, how your eyes were nothing but a reflection of sadness.

Without another word, Ellie pulled you into her arms, holding you like Joel used to hold her when the world outside was throwing pebbles at her.

“I got you,” she whispered against your hair as if her words could soothe you into a lullaby, in a way a daughter must console her mother the first time you saw her breaking in front of you the realization that her isn’t an indestructible hero.

You didn’t even hear or flinch when Tommy and Maria came inside the room. You didn’t say a word when they gently coaxed you to your feet. Ellie stood back by the door, arms crossed tight around herself, her face pale as she took in the mess you had made.

And you, there with your hands bloodied, a yellow onesie crumpled in your fist like a scrap of hope you didn’t know you were still holding onto.

Maria stood beside you, her face etched with concern, one hand reaching for your wrist. She sucked in a breath.

“You cut yourself pretty bad,” she murmured, brushing gently at the drying blood.

You just looked past her, no crying, no speaking. There was something eerie about it, about the dead quiet in your expression. Like the light behind your eyes had gone out, and no one knew how to bring it back.

Tommy exchanged a look with Maria, something heavy without words between them. Ellie saw it, felt it settle in the pit of her stomach like a stone.

“You’re coming home with us,” Tommy said softly, like he was telling a wounded animal it was okay to come out of hiding. “We’ll clean up the-”

“The mess I made,” you finished, voice flat, detached, and it made Ellie’s stomach twist.

She opened her mouth to say something, anything, but her eyes fell to the scrap of fabric clenched in your hand. The tiny onesie. It was old, worn soft from time, a faded duck stitched onto the chest.

Ellie’s throat tightened. She hadn’t known, but now she understood.

She stepped closer; her voice quiet, thick. “Hey… can I… can I hold that for you?”

But you didn’t even look at her. Just kept staring out the window as if something far beyond it was pulling you away.

Tommy gently pried the fabric from your fingers, and Ellie took it, holding it to her chest like it was the most fragile thing in the world. She felt her own eyes sting.

Maria helped you to your feet, one arm around your shoulders. “We’ll get you cleaned up,” she murmured.

And as they led you out of the ruined room, downstairs to the kitchen. Ellie stayed behind a moment longer, holding the onesie tight in her hands, the weight of what you’d lost settling over her like a second skin.

The warm sting of water hit your hands as Maria guided them under the tap. The blood had dried, leaving dark stains in the creases of your skin, around your fingernails. You didn’t flinch when the water touched the cuts.

You said nothing. Just stared at the wall behind her like it held some answer you couldn’t quite see.

Maria’s hands were soft, careful as she dabbed at the cut with a clean cloth.

“You should let me stich this one,” she murmured, like speaking any louder might shatter what little you had left.

Out in the hallway, Ellie stood with Tommy, the dim light from the kitchen bleeding across the floor between them. She clutched the tiny onesie in both hands, her fingers fisting in the soft fabric.

“Is she…?” Ellie’s voice cracked, and she didn’t finish the question.

Tommy let out a long, tired breath, leaning one shoulder against the wall. He scrubbed a hand down his face before shaking his head, his voice low and rough.

“She lost it that night.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. “What night?”

Ellie’s throat closed up, her chest aching sharp and tight. “And nobody told me?”

Tommy’s eyes flickered toward the bathroom where Maria worked in silence. He swallowed hard.

“The night we brought Joel back. Yes, she was pregnant. None of us knew. She lost the baby when she got here.”

Tommy looked at her then, his gaze softening. “It wasn’t about you, kid. It was hers to carry.”

Ellie looked down at the onesie in her hands, stained by the blood of your hands, her eyes stinging at the thought of the storm you’d been drowning in. The hollow in your chest. The way you hadn’t been able to let Joel go, because you’d already lost too much.

That maybe the blood in it was the closest thing you have had to caress the baby that should be wearing that in a few more months.

Her thumb ran over the soft, faded stitching of the onesie clutched in her hands. She could still hear the distant sound of water, the quiet murmur of Maria’s voice, trying to coax you back from wherever you’d gone.

She swallowed hard. “Does Joel know?”

Tommy’s jaw worked, his eyes dark and lined with exhaustion. He shook his head, a weight behind the gesture. “No,” he said quietly. “And he won’t. Not yet.”

Ellie’s throat tightened. “But he should—”

“I said no.” Tommy’s voice was firmer now, though it wasn’t mad. He was just tired. “He is not in any place to carry that. Not with the way things are between then, and not while he’s looking for reasons to push her away.”

Ellie bit her lip, blinking fast. “Maybe this it’s the reason he shouldn’t.”

Tommy’s gaze softened a little. “Maybe. But people like us… sometimes we don’t get to heal things in the right order.”

Ellie glanced down at the onesie again, her grip tightening. The house felt too still, too quiet, a space heavy with things unsaid.

Boston QZ. 6 years ago

The apartment was too quiet when Joel got back. The thrum of soldiers passing by, talking’s, FEDRA looming over, it was all swallowed up by a stillness that made his skin crawl.

Tess was sitting by the door, with her arms crossed tight over her chest, and there was something in her eyes that snapped every nerve in Joel’s body to attention.

“Where is she?” he asked, already moving past her before the words even left his mouth.

Tess caught his arm. “I gave her something to sleep,” she said carefully, her voice softer than he was used to hearing it. “You don’t want to-”

But he was already inside the bedroom. And there you were, curled under blanket on that old bed, a faint swell of bruises marking your cheek, your lip split. The dim light made your face look paler than it should’ve been, but you were breathing. You were here, that was the most important thing for him.

Joel’s knees hit the floor by your side. He reached out with calloused fingers, brushing your hair back from your face, his touch so gentle it barely stirred the strands.

“Jesus, baby…” he rasped, swallowing hard. “Who did this to you?”

Your eyelids fluttered open at his voice, hazy and slow from whatever Tess had slipped you. And when your gaze found him, even though the busted lip, you smiled, faintly.

“Joel,” you whispered.

“Hi, baby.” He leaned down, pressing his forehead to yours. “I’m here. I got you.”

And in that moment, nothing else mattered. Not the filth outside these walls, not the people who’d done this to you, not the bloody trail Joel would leave in his wake come morning. Only this. Only you.

“The thing went wrong” you murmured, emphasizing the “thing.” When it came to you, he was always protective. He didn’t like you were doing his business by yourself, not because he didn’t trust you or thought you weren’t good by yourself, but because he couldn’t prevent.  

“I can see.” he told you, brushing your cheek with his fingertips. “Rest, baby. I got you.” He kept caressing the skin there until your eyes closed again.

“I’m always going to be next to you, baby.”

Jackson, hospital, present time.

The transition between winter and spring was going slow, the grey of the days bleed through the blinds in thin, reluctant slants. Joel woke up to the sharp, familiar ache on his chest, the one that made his breath difficult to leave his lungs. His heart felt heavy.

His hand instinctively moved to his side, expecting the familiar warmth, the weight of your head resting there the way it had every morning since he came back from the death.

But there was nothing but just the cold stretch of empty mattress, and the quiet silence of your absence.

For the first time, you weren’t there.

His throat tightened as his gaze flicked to the chair beside the bed. The blanket you always used was draped neatly over the back of it. No cup of cold herbal tea on the nightstand, no faint scent of your shampoo clinging to the air. The room felt wrong without you in int. Heavy in a way he hadn’t noticed until it was stripped of him.

Joel rubbed a hand over his face, the weight in his chest something different now. Something he couldn’t blame on busted ribs or torn muscles.

He told himself it was what he wanted, what you needed. But the hollow in the room, in him, said otherwise.

The door creaked open and Mara stepped inside with her usual clipboard and soft expression. But the moment she saw the look on his face, her steps slowed.

“She’s not coming today,” she said quietly, as if testing the weight of the words before speaking to them.

Joel’s jaw clenched. “I didn’t ask.”

“You didn’t have to.”

Mara crossed to the other side of the room, busying herself with the medication tray, giving him the space to be what he was. But Joel didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

He sat there in the quiet, and for the first time in weeks, the nightmare that haunted him wasn’t some bloodied memories, that fist beaten his face, or the disappointment on Ellie’s eyes.

It was your face, your tears falling down your cheeks.

It was the fear of you leaving him forever.

Mara lifted her gaze, looking at Joel’s brown eyes and there was hurt written all over them.  “I haven’t seen her, but if she isn’t here must be because she doesn’t want to.”

Joel’s voice was rough, catching on the words before he could fully get them out.

“Is she… is she okay?”

Joel’s gaze broke, but he tried hard to hide the pain.

“I’m coming back later to do the exercises, okay?” Mara said, changing the subject.

“Okay.”

Mara lingered a moment longer than she should’ve, her lips pressed into a tight line, as though she wanted to take the words back, but she didn’t. She just gave a small nod, then turned and left, the soft click of the door closing behind her sounding louder than it should have in the quiet room.

Joel let out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding, his hand coming up to rub his face, the coarse scrape of his beard rough against his palm. The ache in his chest wasn’t from his injuries, it was deeper, old and new grief twisting together.

He looked over to the empty chair by the bed again.

You weren’t there and his stomach turned, the air too heavy in his lungs.

Some minutes had passed, heavily quiet, that thick, oppressive quiet that Joel had come to dread in the last few weeks. He sat in that bed, staring out the window as the light bled from the sky, the colors outside turning from grey to light blue in mere second. Every now and then, his fingers twitched, aching to hold something, to fix something. But there was nothing left in the room except the steady silence torturing him.

When the door creaked open again, Joel’s heart stuttered.

Tommy stepped inside, his posture tense, the lines of exhaustion deeper on his face. He looked like a man who was carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders, and Joel knew he was responsible for most of it.

Joel cleared his throat. “How is she?” It came out rougher than he meant, but the need in it was sharp.

Tommy didn’t answer right away. He just crossed the room, setting down a bundle of clean clothes on the dresser before finally turning to face Joel.

His silence stretched, thick and weighted.

Joel’s stomach twisted. “Tommy,” he rasped. “Just— tell me.”

Tommy let out a breath, running a hand over his face.

“Well, she’s finally sleeping,” he said quietly. “First time since…you know.”

Joel closed his eyes, the ache in his chest like a fist tightening around his ribs. “Is she… eating? Is she talking?”

Another hesitation.

“She’s quiet,” Tommy admitted. “She didn’t react very well to whatever thing you told her.”

Joel swallowed hard, his eyes burning. “Did she… ask about me?”

Tommy hesitated, and that alone was answer enough. “You don’t get to do that, brother.”

Joel’s throat worked around a knot of grief. “I deserve that,” he muttered.

Tommy didn’t argue. He just stepped closer, his voice lowering.

“Listen… whatever happened between you two, whatever you think you were doing by pushing her away…you’re killing her, Joel. How could you do that to her after she…?”

Joel’s gaze stayed on the floor; his jaw clenched tight.

“I didn’t want to hurt her,” Joel whispered. “I was trying to…” He trailed off, not even sure what excuse he was reaching for anymore.

“You wanted her to stop loving you,” Tommy finished for him, bitterness in his tone. “But it doesn’t work like that. You don’t get to decide when someone gives up on you.”

Joel flinched, the words cutting deep because he knew they were true.

Tommy stared at him for a long moment, then finally spoke, softer this time. “She already lost—” He stopped himself before he could spill your truth.

“What?” Joel pressed. But he was met by Tommy’s silence

“What did she lose?” Joel pressed further.

“You should rest, brother. Because one way or another you’re going to have to face her soon.” He said, changing the subject. As much as Tommy loved his brother, he also loved what you were, to him, to this community, to his family and he owned your loyalty and secrecy.

“I’ll come back later, okay?” He said before leaving Joel alone with his guilt and the quiet.

You woke to a dull, deep ache in your muscles, your head pounding like you’d been dragged through hell and back, and maybe you had. The dim light in the room felt too sharp against your eyes, and a low groan escaped your throat as you shifted, your body stiff and sore like you’d been fighting ghosts in your sleep.

It took a second before you realized you weren’t in your bedroom and another before you noticed the figure sitting quietly beside the bed.

Ellie was there.

She was perched on the edge of a worn armchair, legs pulled up to her chest, eyes shadowed but sharp as they fixed on you. There was a guarded kind of worry in her face, the kind she usually tried to bury under jokes and sarcasm.

You blinked at her, throat dry, words slow to form.

“Ellie,” you rasped.

You tried to sit up, but a fresh bolt of pain shot through your whole body and your hand, you winced, hissing out a curse.

Ellie let out a breath you hadn’t noticed she’d been holding, her shoulders sagging a little.

“You scared me last night,” she muttered, but there was no bite in it, just something soft, frayed at the edges.

Ellie moved fast, steadying you with gentle hands on your shoulders.

“Easy, easy. You’re got your hand pretty banged up,” she said quietly.

Your gaze drifted around the room, not yours, you realized now. Tommy and Maria’s guest room. A glass of water on the nightstand. A blanket draped across your legs you didn’t remember pulling up.

And then you noticed the little bundle in Ellie’s lap. The onesie.

Your breath caught. Ellie followed your gaze and swallowed hard.

“I, uh… I thought you might… I didn’t want to leave it there,” she said, voice small.

Your chest twisted, a sharp, awful thing. The grief pressed so tight against your ribs you felt like you might break open again.

“I’m sorry,” Ellie blurted, her words rushing out now. “I… I didn’t know. I— when I saw you like that, I thought… fuck, I don’t know what I thought. But I should’ve been there. Before. I should’ve noticed.”

You closed your eyes, a tear slipping free despite yourself.

“It’s not your fault, Ellie,” you murmured hoarsely.

“It’s not yours either,” Ellie shot back, voice firm, a little desperate.

A long, thick silence settled between you, broken only by the sound of the clock ticking somewhere in the room.

Finally, Ellie spoke again, quieter now. “Tommy told me not to tell Joel.”

You opened your eyes, looking at her. “Why?”

She shrugged, a bitter edge to her voice.

“Because you don’t need to see him right now. Not like this. Not when you’re barely holding it together.” She hesitated.

Your heart twisted painfully in your chest.

Ellie let out a sigh, leaning forward to rest her elbows on her knees. “I don’t know what the fuck is going on between you two,” she said. “But whatever it is… it’s eating you alive.”

“He told me to leave and that he wasn’t sure if he even loved me.” You replied.

Ellie’s head snapped up at that, like you’d struck her with a thunder.

For a second, she just stared at you, her expression caught somewhere between shock and fury.

“He what?” she spat, her voice sharp.

Your throat tightened again, fresh tears burning at the edges of your vision, but you forced yourself to swallow them down. You were so tired of crying.

You let out a humorless, broken little laugh, wiping at your face with trembling fingers.

“Yeah,” you rasped. “He said he wouldn’t have done for me what I did for him, what he did for you in Salt Lake. Told me to go. Like I was a burden to him.”

Ellie was silent for a long, thick moment, her jaw clenched so tight you could see it ticking.

“That’s bullshit,” she finally ground out, voice low and shaking with anger. “That’s not true. I don’t care what the hell came out of his mouth — it’s not true.”

You didn’t answer. Because maybe part of you knew that. Knew Joel Miller didn’t have it in him to stop loving you, not after everything. But pain makes people cruel. And grief? It turns them into something else.

“He’s scared,” Ellie said, like she was trying to convince herself as much as you. “He’s scared and stupid and he’s pushing you away because he doesn’t know how to deal with any of this shit.” She gestured toward the onesie still clutched tight in her lap.

You closed your eyes, breathing through the ache.

“It doesn’t matter,” you whispered.

Ellie’s face crumpled, her eyes stinging. Ellie’s throat worked as she swallowed hard, her voice rough when she finally spoke.

“How… how far were you?” she asked, so quietly it was almost a breath.

You opened your eyes but didn’t look at her. Couldn’t. The ceiling above you blurred, swimming in a fresh sheen of unshed tears.

Your voice cracked when you answered. “Six weeks.”

Just two words, but they felt like a scream.

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her hand tightening around the fabric of the onesie in her lap.

“Jesus…” Ellie murmured, like the air had been punched from her lungs. She didn’t know what to say. What the hell could she say?

You gave a dry, humorless laugh, shaking your head.

“It wasn’t planned. Wasn’t… anything. I didn’t even tell him.”

That made Ellie flinch. She wiped at her face, trying to keep herself steady for you, but her eyes were glassy.

“I wish you’d told me,” she said softly.

“I couldn’t,” you whispered. “I didn’t want to make it feel real.”

And for a while, neither of you spoke. The only sound was the clock on the wall ticking too loud in the quiet.

“I pictured her,” you cut the silence, voice raw, like it hurt to drag the words out. “I pictured her as baby girl, how she would look like, with dark hair, brown eyes just like Joel’s. Maybe his crooked smile. I used to—” your breath hitched, but you pushed on, eyes still fixed on the ceiling, “I used to imagine him holding her in the mornings, making him coffee while she slept on his chest.”

Ellie swallowed thickly, blinking fast as her heart splintered.

“I’d think about how he’d grumble about diapers at his age, or how he’d fall asleep on the couch with her on his chest.”

You let out a shaky breath, a ghost of a laugh, so heartbreakingly sad it barely sounded human.

“And now I keep wondering if it would’ve hurt less if I’d never let myself imagine any of it.” You sobbed, “If I wouldn’t have gone there I would have her growing inside me, but I would have lost Joel.”

“And now anything of that matters because he doesn’t even love me.” Ellie was crying now, though she tried like hell to pretend she wasn’t. She reached out, hesitating, then carefully slid her hand over yours.

It was cold. Your skin rough and cut, but she didn’t let go.

“You’re not alone, you know,” Ellie whispered. “Even if he’s too fucking broken to remember how to hold you right now. You’ve still got us.”

Your jaw trembled; your free hand still clutched tight around that onesie.

“Doesn’t feel like it.”

“I know.” Ellie’s voice cracked. “But I’m not going anywhere from you.”

You stared at her for a moment before hearing the steps outside the bedroom, Tommy stepped inside, worry evident on his eyes.

Worried about you, about Joel.

He was the perfect image of a helplessness man watching two people he loved tearing themselves apart.

“Hey,” he greeted softly.

You didn’t answer right away. Ellie’s hand still gripped yours, her thumb brushing against your skin in small, grounding circles.

“How’re you feeling?” Tommy asked, voice rough.

You shrugged; the onesie still balled up in your fist. “I’ve been better.”

A sad huff of air left Tommy’s chest, and he rubbed a hand down his face before sitting on the edge of the bed. “Of course, you have.” Then, he cleared his throat “I… uh, I told Joel you weren’t feeling really well. That you were resting.”

Your stomach twisted at his name. “And him?” you asked, your voice barely there.

Tommy hesitated, then finally spoke.

“He asked about you. First thing when I saw him.” He glanced at you; his gaze gentle but heavy. “He didn’t say much. He just asked if you were okay.”

Your throat tightened.

“Is he mad?”

Tommy shook his head. “No. Not mad. He is scared and lost as hell without you, if you ask me. I know that face of him. I know him” He let out a breath, leaning forward on his knees. “I think he doesn’t know how to deal with all of this.”

A sharp ache flared in your chest. The silence stretched, thick with everything no one could fix.

“I don’t know if it matters anymore,” you whispered, voice catching.

“It does,” Tommy said firmly. “You matter to him. He is broken to say it right now. And I know it don’t make up for what you’ve been through. But you aren’t alone, alright? Me, Maria, Ellie, we all got you.”

Ellie squeezed your hand, her eyes shimmering again but her jaw set.

And though it didn’t fix the hollow in your chest, for a moment the thought of having a family warmed your heart.

The room went quiet again.

“I’ll check on him later,” Tommy said, rising to his feet. “You just rest, okay?”

You nodded, your grip loosening around the onesie at last.

As he stood up, you could hear his thoughts roaming inside his head, “I think you should keep seeing Gail.”

You let out a tired, humorless breath through your nose. “I don’t need a shrink, Tommy.”

Your voice wasn’t sharp, it was flat, worn down like something eroded by the tide over too long a time.

Tommy hesitated by the doorway, one hand on the frame. “Just keep talking to her.”

You looked away, your eyes tracing the ceiling. Ellie still held your hand like she was afraid to let go.

“I’m not good at talking about that.”

“No one is,” Tommy murmured. “That’s why it eats people up when they don’t.”

The quiet stretched again, thick with everything you didn’t have the strength to argue.

Finally, Tommy gave a small, weary nod. “Sleep more, you need it.”

“Okay, at the count of three?”

“Okay.”

Joel held Mara’s hand tightly. His breath coming ragged, muscles in his arms trembling as he forced himself upright.

Mara stood beside him, steadying his elbow with one hand, the other curling tight around his rough, calloused palm.

“Come on, Joel” she teased gently. “You’re not dying on my watch.”

Joel huffed out a dry, breathless laugh as he finally managed to stand, his weight swaying just a little before he found his balance.

“Fuck” he rasped, “I didn’t think I’d miss feeling my own legs.”

They both laughed then, the kind of laugh born from something new blossoming.

Mara smiled up at him, her hand still around his. For a second, it felt like the heaviness that clung to his chest loosened, just a fraction. Like maybe, in this one brief moment, he wasn’t carrying quite so much grief inside his heart.

He laughed so much he didn’t even notice Ellie standing on the door, watching all this interaction happening with her hand on the frame, watching them.

The way Mara’s head tipped back when she laughed. The way Joel smiled, really smiled, for the first time in what felt like weeks. And something sharp twisted in Ellie’s gut.

I felt almost like a betrayal because while you lay at home, alone in a bed, clutching that onesie to your chest, Joel was here with someone else. Smiling as if he hadn’t broken the love of his life heart.

Like he could learn how to laugh without you by his side.

“Am I interrupting?”

Joel’s head snapped up, that smile on his face faltering from his face as he saw her standing in the doorway. Mara’s hand dropped from his arm, her expression shuttering into something serious.

“Hey kid.” Joel rasped, like he hadn’t expected to see her there at all.

“I came here to check on you.” Ellie said, her tone carefully neutral but her eyes didn’t hide the bitterness. She flicked a glance at Mara, then back to Joel. “Didn’t realize you were getting so close with your doctor.”

Joel opened his mouth like he wanted to say something, to stop her maybe, but the look Ellie gave him made him hesitate.

Mara took a careful step back, brushing her hands together as though dusting them off.

“I was just helping him with his exercises,” she said quickly, trying to defuse whatever tension was thickening the air. “I will go.”

Mara gave a brief nod to them both and slipped out, the door clicking softly behind her.

The room felt heavier after she left.

Joel let out a slow breath, sitting back against the bed with a wince. “What’re you really here for, kid?” he asked quietly.

Joel’s gaze dropped to his hands, the scars those palms emotionally held, the way they trembled just a little.

Ellie’s arms crossed tightly over her chest, laughing bitterly at the tone on his voice.

“I told you I came to check on you” she muttered. “Perhaps, you could ask about her, you know?”

“I asked Tommy.” It sounded weak, even to him.

Ellie wanted to shout angrily at him, to tell him the truth you hide beneath your heart but even in her anger she understood better, she was aware it wasn’t her place to tell the truth.

“Yeah? Well, maybe you should’ve asked her, Joel,” Ellie shot back, voice breaking.

“Before you lost your fucking chance.”

“Did you really stop loving her?”

Joel’s gaze met Ellie’s, his eyes teary, shaking his head. His voice came out ragged, raw.

“No.” A beat. His voice cracked. “God, no.”

Ellie’s throat tightened, the ache in her chest spreading throughout her body. She looked away, trying to steady her breathing, to hold back the sting in her eyes.

“Then why did you say it?” she whispered.

Joel scrubbed a trembling hand over his face, like he could wipe away the memory of those words. Of the way your face had crumbled. “Because it hurts not being the man she needs now, I didn’t know what to do but push her away. I thought that if I was cruel enough, she’d stop loving me too.”

Ellie let out a shaky breath, her stomach twisting. “You’re so fucking selfish, Joel. You broke her.”

Joel’s face crumpled as the tears finally spilled, his head bowing under the weight of it. 

“I’ve always admired the type of love the both of you share. How you’d always been there, are there for each other. How well she knew you were in danger that day that she dragged me with her in middle of a fucking snowstorm just to save you…”

Joel’s chest heaved, his shoulders shaking with the force of the guilt he could barely contain. The image of you that day, blood on your hands, refusing to let him die, it gutted him. It had changed him as a person.

Ellie’s voice cracked, the memory of that day hitting harder than she expected. She swallowed hard, fighting the lump in her throat. “I’ve never seen anyone love someone like that, Joel.”

Her hands balled into fists trying to contain the anger she felt. “And you…you threw it away because you were too fucking scared to hurt.”

“Ellie…” he whispered, voice breaking.

“She held your hand the whole time. She didn’t sleep for weeks, sitting at your side, praying to God or whatever was out there for you to wake up. And when you started coming back, even just a little, she smiled again because the world made sense to her again.” Ellie’s throat wobbled a sob. “And then you broke her.”

Joel looked away, not being strong enough to face Ellie.

She took a step closer, her voice softer now. “She was waiting for you.”

Jackson, the day of the attack, dawn.

The snow had stop falling by the time you arrive to Jackson. Dawn was breaking into the horizon, and your body felt like it had been dragged back and fort through war. Your entire body hurt, your heart was breaking at the sight of Joel on that stretcher, as Jesse and some others were helping him.

You saw Tommy first and run, holding onto him, your hold body shaking now that the adrenaline had begun to fade. You could finally breath for a second, you had made it back to Jackson.

But then Tommy pulled back, looking at you, at his brother, and his brow furrowed as he looked down.

There was blood on your thighs, dark, smearing on the fabric of your jeans.

The air left his lungs in shock.

“Hey, what—?” Tommy started; his voice soft, terrified to ask what he already suspected.

But you shook your head, eyes lost beneath tears, throat too tight to utter words.

“It’s fine. It’s—” you croaked, your voice breaking as your arms clutched around yourself.

“We need to get you inside,” Tommy said, waving over Maria, his hand on your arm. “Come on—"

“No. Him first,” you rasped, pointing at Joel, who was unconscious now, as they began to wheel him toward the hospital “He is first priority.”

Tommy’s throat worked as he nodded, but he didn’t miss the way you swayed on your feet, or the blood trailing down your legs.

He caught you on time when your knees buckled, holding you up as you clung to him like you might disappear if you let go.

“We’ll take care of both of you, alright?” Tommy promised, his heart breaking as he realized what it meant.

+++++++

You stood beside Joel’s bed. The room was too quiet you could hear the thoughts running around your head. Tormenting you, torturing you. How much you had done to have Joel laying on this bed with a tiny chance of surviving.  His face was barely recognizable beneath all the swelling and bruises, blood still crusted along the edges of his hairline, lips split. The sedatives had him still, too still.

your hand wrapped around his, though you weren’t sure if you were holding him or holding onto yourself. The tears wouldn’t stop. They ran hot down your frozen cheeks, leaving tracks that burned.

Tommy stood in the doorway, watching you with a knot in his throat. He’d never seen you like this, so small, so crumpled. He had always known the strong version of you but amidst the storm this is what you were now.

“Hey,” Tommy murmured, approaching slowly, crouching beside you. “You should rest, you both need—”

“The baby is gone.” You spoke, your voice was barely a whisper, cracked and raw.

You didn’t look at him. Couldn’t. Your gaze stayed fixed on Joel’s face, your thumb brushing along his knuckles, as if trying to memorize every ridge of bone and scar before it was ripped out of you too.

Jackson, present day

“How do you feel?”

You let a chuckle, as if that question was a joke. But Gail’s eyes kept looking at you with stern on her gaze, perhaps there was a bit

“I feel I lost the baby because I murdered those guys” you confessed, “And I thought it wouldn’t hurt because Joel was going to survive, which he did but you now see how it turned out.” You paused for a moment, gathering your thoughts. “And I don’t know if he despises me for bringing him to life or for what I did.”

You lifted your gaze to meet Gail’s.

“The day he finds out about the baby, I don’t know what is going to happen to me.”

“Do you feel betrayed by him?” she asked, trying to make you talk, to ease the pain. The truth was that Gail wasn’t very fond of you due to your relationship with Joel but she felt pain when looking at you now.

After all she knew you were a woman in love who would have burnt the whole world to bring to save Joel.

“Yes,” you whispered. “I do.” Your voice cracked at the truth, but you force yourself to keep going “I feel like I died out there, too. That day, I saved a man that is not Joel anymore. Not the man I—" You stopped yourself, but it was already out there between you.

Gail’s gaze softened. She wasn’t good at this, at being soft by someone else, but what she saw in front of her was just another woman bleed in a different way.

Both of you had lost the love of your lives in different ways.

“I know you love him,” Gail said quietly. “I never doubted that.”

You met her eyes again, not making the effort to mask the ache that had settled in your bones “I love him so much it scared me. you admitted, voice trembling. “And I still do. Even if he can’t look at me. Even if he resents me. I’d still do the same thing over and over again.”

A long silence stretched between you. Gail took a breath. “You didn’t lose the baby because of what you did.” She said it firm, leaving no room for doubt.

But you didn’t believe it. Not fully. Not yet.

“When he finds out,” you whispered, the dread sinking, “I don’t know if it’ll break him or if he’ll break me.”

“He has no right to ask anything from you right now.” She said, trying to make you understand.

“What do I do now?” you asked, changing the topic, “What do I do with all the love I was holding for that baby?”

Gail was left speechless. Ever since she met you, she had known the strong force of a woman you were, but what she got in front of her now, was a glimpse of her.

You were losing the spark, your willing to live and she didn’t know how to help you.

You wiped your tears, streaming down your face, feeling the exhaustion of the past weeks taking a tool on you, pression down on your heart with a force. Heavy. “And I don’t know how to live in a world where he hates me.”

“He doesn’t hate you,” Gail said quietly. “He hates himself. That’s a different kind of grief.”

Jackson, two week later

Joel had lost the count of how much time he had spent inside the four walls of this room at the hospital. Every time he opened his eyes it was the same view, blue walls, white covers, a small window, an empty chair where the only person he wanted truly see was you.

Joel was struggling more than anyone wanted to admit. His body was healing slowly, but his mind wasn’t at all and that was a different story.

Mara was trying so hard to get him through his physical therapy, guiding him through some stretch and light exercises to help him to recover the strength he had lost. His face pinched tight in pain and frustration.

Ellie was looking at him, sitting in the corner of the room, with arms crossed, jaw tight, with worry and simmering resentment she hadn’t managed to let go of yet.

Because she was glad, he had made it. She was glad they would have time to fix their bond, but she still couldn’t stop looking at him as the man who had stole her choice from him.

Tommy was also there, standing by the doorway, he felt helpless watching his brother falling apart. How easy it was for him to walk to steps and then not being able to truly improve anymore.

It felt like time stopped. Joel’s breath hitched; his hands started trembling violently as Mara tried to coax him through a simple movement. His chest heaved, eyes darting around the room like a trapped animal. The walls closed in on him all at once, the smell he was sick of, the blinding light from the window, the ache in his bones, the emptiness inside his chest.

His voice cracked, “I—I can’t—I… I need her. Where is she?”

Mara heart went heavy, she tried to calm him, assuring she was here by placing a hand on his shoulder, but he recoiled like the touch burned.

“Not you, my girl. I need her.”he choked out, panic lacing his voice, his breathing ragged and uneven. “Nothing works without her. I can’t—I can’t fucking breathe without her.”

Ellie’s stomach twisted. She stood abruptly, “I’ll get her.”

But until what point this was fair to you? 

“Please, Ellie,” Joel rasped, eyes glossy with tears, “tell her I’m sorry. Tell her I… tell her I didn’t stop loving her. I don’t know how to do this without her.”

Ellie found you by the stables, hands buried in the hay, eyes unfocused, staring at nothing. She called your name four times until you finally looked up, there was so much exhaustion in your face it made her chest ache the same way it ached for Joel.

“Joel is asking for you”she said, voice hoarse by looking for you everywhere.

You didn’t answer. Not at first. The weight of it sat between you both like something heavy and jagged. Finally, you shook your head, eyes stinging.

“No.”you whispered.

“What do you mean no?”

“I can’t face him.”

Ellie’s jaw clenched, the sharp burn of frustration rising in her throat. It wasn’t anger, but she was really grieving the love you and Joel share. She didn’t know how to carry the pain you both have.

“He had a panic attack today. He couldn’t breathe. He only asked for you.” She said, stepping closer.

You closed your eyes, a tremor running through you. Her words dug into your chest.  

“I can’t face him, Ellie.” Your voice cracked. “I can’t see him and not tell him. Not tell him what I lost. I don’t know if I can carry it in front of him because he will resent me even more.”

Ellie swallowed hard, her hands trembling at her sides. She wanted to grab you, to shake you, to hold you, she didn’t know what, “Then tell him. Or don’t. But he’s drowning without you, and you are too.”

You didn’t answer. The only sound was the quiet shuffle of the horses behind you, the sun faintly making the pain on your face glow.

Ellie’s voice softened. “I don’t want to lose you both, please.

Jackson Hospital, at night.

The hospital was silent at night, the kind of silence that felt almost sacred in the dead hours while everyone slept. Most of people in Jackson was asleep, including the nurses in the front room, curled in their chairs, a single lamp flickering.

You moved slowly through the hallways, the ache in your chest making every step feel more difficult than the last. It had been two weeks since the last time you had seen Joel and your heart somehow knew you were about to see his face again.

And when you reached his room, you lingered at the door.

Joel lay there, still, chest softly rising. His face had recovered color. It wasn’t pale and bruised. Now it was almost the same man you had loved for so long.

You stepped inside the room without doubt and sat down beside him, at the edge of the bed. For a long moment, you just watched him. You draw traces of his face inside your mind. Then, your hand reached for his, trembling a bit as you took it into both of yours. His skin felt you achingly familiar still it made your heart burst. You brought his knuckles to your lips and kissed them, the salt of your own tears catching in the corner of your mouth.

“Please, don’t hate me” you whispered against his skin. “I can’t live with that.”

Your voice cracked, the words breaking free from the cage you got them under.  I don’t know how to live in a world without you in it, Joel.” You squeezed his hand tighter. Your forehead dropped to the back of his hand, your tears hot against his skin.

And you felt the faintest, instinctive squeeze of his fingers around yours.

A soft shuffle at the door made you lift your head, eyes blurry with tears as you blinked toward the sound.

Mara stood there with her arms crossed, the faintest edge of tension in her jaw. Her hair was loose, eyes tired, expression unreadable.

“You can’t stay here,” she said quietly, stepping inside the room.

You stared at her, your hand still cradling Joel’s as if letting go might broke you.

“But he asked for me,” you whispered, voice rough.

Mara sighed, a flash of something like sympathy darting across her face before it hardened again.

“I know. But you’ll confuse him,” she said, softer this time, glancing toward the still form of Joel in the bed. “He doesn’t know what’s real right now, what day itis, where he is. You being here…”she hesitated, “I just… it isn’t good for his recovery.”

You felt like your heart was unraveling thread by thread. “You think I’m hurting him.” you said quietly, a bitter ache rising in your throat.

“I think you’re both hurting each other,” Mara admitted, not unkindly. “And I think right now, what he needs is stability. Familiar routine. No surprises.”

She approached, kneeling slightly so you were level. “I’m just staying tonight.”

You looked at Joel again, at his face again.

“No.” she said, this time sternly.

Your body ran cold, but you nodded, brushing Joel’s knuckles with your lips one last time before slowly setting his hand back down.

“If he asks for me again…” you started.

“He won’t” she said, looking at you as if you were poising threatening to hurt Joel.

Outside Jackson, the next day.

Spring was making it presence noticeable. Landscapes were greener and flowers were blossoming everywhere on the route. You and Nick were riding in silence, the breeze caressing your skin with a delicate ease.Nick gave you a wary glance as he rode his horse beside you. He was younger that you, a few years maybe, with a heart too big for this world. You’d always appreciated that about him. Sometimes he felt like the little brother you never had.

“Are you sure you are okay about this?” he asked, frowning.

You forced a tight smile. “Yeah. Better than sitting around.”

He didn’t press it, just gave a short nod, and the two of you keep riding in silence, looking around your surroundings.

The route was quiet for a while, too quiet. You barely spoke, and when you did, it was small things. Nick trying to make you laugh, you giving him some fake smiles.

You should’ve known it wouldn’t last. You should have known it wouldn't last. Three clicks came quickly, emerging from behind a fallen tree just as you turned onto a trail. Nick yelled, grabbing his rifle. You dismounted, but something inside you, you didn't move the way it should. You didn't reach for your weapon. You just stood there.

You could hear them, the horrible, wet smacking, their bodies jerking with hunger. And a sick, empty part of you felt calm for the first time in weeks.

You could let them take you.

You barely registered Nick's voice, distant and panicked.

“What the fuck are you doing?!” he screamed, shooting one clean in the head as it lunged.

The others came closer, too close to you and you still didn’t move. Still mounted on your horse watching as them came to take you.

Nick fired again, blood spraying the ground, then stabbed another with his knife as it crashed against him. The last one came for you and you didn’t even flinch.

Nick got it first, turning to face you with fury on his face.

“What the fuck was that?! Are you out of your fucking mind?

You opened your mouth, but no words came out.

And then you felt dizzy, the world lurched, wobbled, before slipping beneath you. You fell off your horse, hitting your head on the ground. A sharp pain, and then nothing but darkness.

The last thing you heard was Nick’s voice breaking, desperate.

“Follow me, it’s clear,” Joel murmured, pulling you through a gap in the fence.

The both of you had ended up in the middle of the woods, laying in the grass staring up at a sky you rarely got to stop to see.

Joel stood up, disappearing into the brush for a moment. When he came back, he was holding a little white wildflower and he knelt beside you, grinning at you.

“I can’t get you a diamond, darling, but I can make you this.”

You laughed, sitting up to look up at him better, “Joel, what are you doing?”

“Marrying you,” he said like it was the most obvious act.

Your breath caught when he looped the flower turning into a ring, a small, crooked one, from the flower’s stem, around your ring finger. His hand lingered in yours, warm.

“There,” he murmured, a bit shy now.

I’m always going to be there, I’m always going to have your back,

Where you go, I go, always.

until the day death tears us apart.

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

@theoraekenslover @stcrrjoon @stupidthoughtsinwriting @officialjellydoughnut @dshc99 @eleganthottubfun @mystickittytaco @fvispunk @daydreamzsworld @comicccc

@nosebeers @whirlwindrider29 @person-005 @bunnyofribbon

@ainhoetaaa @missladym1981 @keileighr @callofdiva @pinkcabinet

@tomie-it-girl @shadowpheonix @unknownomgg @22thumbs

@vanishintoyoubby @magss-07 @insertclevernamehereplease

[fvispunk]

Dios mío que es este dolor 😭😭😭😭😭

"The days of you and I" - part 2

Jackson! Joel Miller x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: Joel’s growing pain and survivor's guilt create a widening rift between you, as harsh words leave wounds deeper than any physical injury.

w.c: 7,9k

warnings: angst, mentions of murder and revenge, emotional trauma, grief trauma, survivor's guilt, discussion of death and loss. mentions of miscarriage. It contains spoilers from season 2 of the last of us. No proofreading because, you know. No proofreading because I'm a lazy sloth.

Note: Remember this story is a sequel of this one shot "What remains of us" or you can ignore it and keep reading this one haha.

A/N: Thank you so much for all your love on this fic. As I said, this fic will touch on some heavy topics related to the aftermath of events we are already familiar with. This one is not the best, I know. But it is building the tension I talked about before. I hope you like it, and I really expect to see your reactions and comments on it. Remember I created an AO3 account where these pieces of reading are being published too. Sending hugs and love.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

Six, seven, eight, nine, ten. Breathe.

He’s okay. He’s okay.

He is fine. He is fine.

You saved him.

Every time you closed your eyes, you still saw it. You still heart it. You still feel it.

You could sense the inevitable outcome of a nightmare with no end. Perceive the crackling of your heart, shattering, being ripped out from you.   

There was Joel lying, blood slicked across his face, his chest barely rising, his name caught somewhere between your throat and the crushing weight in your chest. The field of dreams built after these years of a quiet life, tearing apart.

Because inside, right at the back of your mind, there was still a reality from which Joel wouldn't make it out alive. That reality was still your trembling knees, touching the floor and caressing a face whose eyes couldn't meet yours.

But in those dreams, you also saw the bodies of Fireflies scattered around him, the smell of gunpowder and copper heavy in the air. His eyes flickering open, then closing again, and you knew, you knew you were too late.

You jolted awake with a gasp, your hand gripping his tighter than you’d realized, your head heavy against the sheets at the edge of his hospital bed. The room was dim, Joel’s chest rising and falling in slow. You turned your head, your cheek brushing against the rough calluses of his hand still in yours. It was warm. Real. Alive.

A broken sound slipped from your throat before you could stop it. Your lips pressed to his knuckles, over and over again, relieved washing all your body.

“You’re okay,” you whispered, voice shaking, salt from your tears mixing with the warmth of his skin. “You’re okay.”

But it wasn’t enough to calm the storm inside you. The room felt too small. The grief, the relief, the terror, too loud, crowding your lungs.

You carefully set his hand down, brushing your fingers through his hair one last time before quietly standing, the floor creaked under your boots. You slipped out the door just as Tommy was coming down the hallway.

He nearly bumped into you; his brow furrowed the moment he saw your face. “Hey—hey, what’s wrong?” he asked, voice low, cautious, like one wrong word might send you shattering.

You tried to speak, but your throat closed. The only thing you managed was a rough, strangled, “I—I Tommy.”

And then your hands were fisting in his jacket and you were burying your face against his chest before you could stop yourself.

“I’m so scared,” you choked out, the words spilling like blood from a wound. “I’m still so scared.”

Tommy’s arms came around you, strong and steady. He let you shake; let you break against him for a minute. “Hey now,” he murmured, “I know, I know. But listen to me — Joel’s fine. He made it. He’s in there, he is breathing thanks to you. You don’t have to keep carrying this like you been.”

You pulled back enough to look at him, your face crumpled. “I can’t,” you rasped, shaking your head. “I can’t, Tommy. If I close my eyes, I lose him. Every time. I’m terrified that I’m gonna wake up and he is going to be dead.” You looked at  him, “I cannot get back from it.”

He gave a weary, sad sort of smile. “Yeah… you can. And you need to.” He let out a breath, his thumb brushing a tear from your cheek. “You haven’t slept, not really, in near a month. You been sitting in that chair every night like a ghost. I see you. Maria sees you. Ellie does. You need to come up for air, darling. You need to grieve what you lost, too.”

You stiffened, your stomach twisting. “I can’t… we agreed,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “We weren’t gonna—”

“I know what we agreed,” Tommy said quietly, eyes steady. “But just because you made me and Maria swear not to tell anyone, doesn’t mean it didn’t happen. Don’t mean it doesn’t hurt. You lost something, too.”

And for a moment you hated him for saying it out loud, for naming the grief you’d tried to bury beneath blood and terror and a flicker of hope.

But mostly you felt yourself breaking, splintering apart, because you’d been holding it together with spit and wire and now there was nowhere left to hide.

“I’m not ready to talk about it.” You replied, “My only priority is Joel’s well-being.”

Tommy nodded, a quiet, sad understanding in his eyes. He didn’t push or didn’t offer some empty platitude or tell you it was okay, because you both knew it wasn’t.

“Alright,” he said softly. “I get it. Just… don’t forget you’re still here too, alright? You can’t bleed out until there’s nothing left of you to give.”

You swallowed hard; throat thick. “I’m fine.”

It was a lie. You both knew it. But Tommy let it be, because sometimes kindness was letting someone cling to the lie a little longer.

For the sake of it.

He gave your arm a squeeze and gestured back toward the room. “I’ll sit with him for a while. Go walk it off. Get some air. Go get to change clothes. You don’t have to be strong every second, you hear me?”

You didn’t answer, just gave a small, jerky nod before moving past him down the hall, your chest tight, legs unsteady. The grief was a storm inside you, still too raw, too sharp, but for the first time in weeks, you weren’t carrying it alone.

The door creaked softly as you stepped into the house, the familiar scent of old wood, leather, and that trace of Joel that clung to everything hitting you like a blow to the chest. It was like walking into a memory you weren’t ready for; one you hadn’t realized you’d been avoiding.

The one where things had remained still, and your quiet little life hadn’t been tainted by ghost of the past he wasn’t ready to face.

You left the door half-open behind you, the quiet hum of the wind outside the only sound filling the empty space. Your boots felt too loud against the floorboards as you made your way upstairs, each step heavier than the last.

In the bedroom, it was like time had stopped.

Joel’s glasses still rested on the nightstand; one arm crooked like he’d taken them off in a hurry. An empty glass of water sat abandoned on your side of the bed. The blankets were half-pulled down, the imprint of both your bodies faint in the mattress as if neither of you had truly left.

Almost a month had passed.

You stood there, rooted to the spot, staring at the bed like it was some kind of relic. Your chest ached at the sudden, vivid memory of that night.

Joel’s rough laugh echoed across the room when Ellie had made some comment on her willing to try and forgive him for what he had done. the way his eyes had shone just a little when he said, “Maybe she’ll come around more often again.”

How you’d nearly told him.

You remembered sitting on the edge of the bed, hand brushing his, your heart hammering as you tried to work up the nerve to say the words that had been eating you alive for days. You hadn’t gotten the chance. The attack came that morning. And everything after that was blood, screams, and a world you didn’t recognize anymore.

Your hand came up to your face, covering your mouth, as if you could press the grief back in.

Not now.

You turned away from the bed, your throat tight, and made your way into the bathroom. The light buzzed softly when you flicked it on. You gripped the edge of the sink, staring at your reflection. You looked wrecked. Hollow-eyed, pale, a shadow of the person you’d been a month ago.

A quiet, bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “Get it together,” you muttered to yourself.

But it wasn’t that easy. It never had been.

You splashed cold water on your face, trying to chase away the ghosts. The house felt too quiet without Joel in it. Too big. Too wrong.

You dried your face, took a steadying breath, and for the first time in weeks, allowed yourself to murmur the thing you’d almost said that night, so soft, even the walls couldn’t hear.

“I was pregnant.” You murmured; your voice broke on the process.

You made your way to the dresser with, every step heavier each time, like your bones knew what was coming before your heart did. The top drawer still held your clothes, neatly folded the way Joel always teased you about.

Your fingers brushed over a worn t-shirt before you pushed it aside, pulling out a clean pair of jeans, tugging them on with monotonous movements. Your hands shook as you reached for a simple tank top. It felt too thin, too unfamiliar against your skin.

Without even thinking, you crossed the room to Joel’s side of the closet, the side you hadn’t touched since that night.

His scent hit you again, sharp and familiar: cedar, soap, something distinctly him. Your chest tightened, throat burning as you reached out and pulled one of his old flannels from the hanger. The one he wore when it got cold around the house, sleeves rolled up, collar a little frayed.

You shrugged it on over your tank top, the fabric heavy and too big around your frame. The sleeves hung past your hands, the scent of him wrapping around you like a hug you weren’t sure you would even feel again.

Your fingers gripped the lapels of the shirt, holding it closed like armor.

You caught sight of yourself in the mirror then, wearing his clothes, eyes rimmed red, hair messy, face drawn.

You pressed a hand to your chest, feeling the steady beat of your heart under your palm.

He’s alive.

He’s breathing.

And you’re still here.

A tear slipped down your cheek, but this time, you let it fall.

You grabbed your jacket from the hook by the door, not bothering to wipe your face. The cold evening air would take care of that. 

And then you walked out, because you couldn’t stay in that house one more goddamn minute.

You headed back to the hospital.

Because wherever Joel Miller was, that’s where you belonged.

You didn’t bother taking the main path. Your feet knew the way, cutting through the back alleys and between old buildings like muscle memory. Every step closer to that hospital felt like pulling yourself out of a grave, but you kept going.

Because he was still there and walking to the hospital felt relieving. Jackson was still recovering from the attack, but nothing mattered to you.

It was like if you had become selfish.

You reached his room and hesitated at the door, hand on the knob, heart pounding like it wanted to crawl out of your chest.

One, two, three, four, five. Breathe.

The memory of your nightmare flickered in the back of your mind. Joel, bloody. The Fireflies on the floor. The way your hands shook as you fired again and again, the sound of someone begging.

You swallowed hard and pushed the door open.

Tommy was sitting in the chair by the bed, elbow propped on his knee, head bowed like he’d been carrying a weight too heavy for one man alone. The soft light entering from the window, accentuated some of the lines in his face, made him look older than you remembered. He lifted his head when he heard the door, and his eyes softened when he saw you standing there, Joel’s flannel drowning your frame.

He didn’t say anything right away. Just gave you that sad, understanding look that made your throat tighten all over again.

“He’s been sleeping,” Tommy murmured, his voice rough, like gravel. “He woke up before, but it seems like he is tired.”

You nodded, your eyes sliding past him to Joel. His face had recovered the same color it had before, but the wounds and scars would settle past him. Your eyes settled on his lips parted as he breathed deep and even.

You crossed the room quietly, your hand brushing over the edge of the bed as you made your way to Joel’s side, needing to see him up close, to confirm with your own eyes what Tommy had said. His chest rose and fell, slow but steady. The faint furrow between his brow had eased in sleep.

It loosened something in your chest, if only a little.

“How’s the fixing going?” you asked softly, not taking your eyes off Joel. “With Jackson, I mean.”

Tommy let out a slow breath, rubbing a hand over the back of his neck. “It’s… going good. Roof repairs, patching the wall on the south side. Got a couple of new folks stepping up too. But it’s not the same without you both around.”

You finally looked at him, brow drawn.

“You know,” he went on, his voice gentler now, “your help would be useful. It might even help you, being out there. With your hands busy. With people. Jackson still needs you. And so does he.”

His eyes flickered to Joel, then back to you.

And you felt it, that ache in your bones, that pull between needing to be right here and knowing the world kept moving outside these four walls, that grief didn’t wait for anyone to be ready.

“I don’t know if I can yet,” you admitted, voice small. “I feel like… if I leave this room, even for a minute, something might happen. I can’t— I don’t wanna miss it.”

Tommy gave you a soft, sad smile. “I get it. I do. But you aren’t going to disappear into this room to prove you love him. You already did the hard thing. You kept him here.”

You swallowed, blinking fast. You hated how constantly you were reminded of what you had done to kept him here.

He stood up then, resting a hand on your shoulder as he passed. “When you’re ready,” he murmured. “We’ll be waiting, alright?”

And then he slipped out, leaving you alone in the soft light and steady rhythm of Joel’s breathing.

You let out a trembling breath, pulling Joel’s hand into yours, and leaned down, pressing your forehead to the back of his knuckles.

“I’ll come back to the world soon,” you whispered. “Just not without you.”

The days bled together after that. Sleep came in snatches, food tasted like nothing, and the house still smelled like Joel. You’d started to force yourself to step outside, help with repairs, take walks around the perimeter of Jackson. Tommy was right. It didn’t fix anything, but it dulled the sharp edges of grief for a little while.

And Ellie… Ellie had finally come around.

It wasn’t easy for her either, carrying her own ghosts and regrets, the heaviness between them too tangled and fraught to name. But she’d shown up, a little bruised, one arm hugged around her middle where cracked ribs still ached.

You came back to the hospital late that afternoon, sun just beginning to dip, the sky streaked with orange and pale pink. The moment you stepped through the door; you could hear voices. Joel’s still hoarse, Ellie’s quieter than you remembered, both of them cautious but trying.

You made your way there, pausing by the door before they noticed you.

“—still think you should read that stupid comic,” Joel rasped, a ghost of a smile in his voice. “It isn’t as half as bad as you make it out to be.”

“I don’t know man,” Ellie shot back. “You say that now, but last time you fell asleep halfway through.”

“I was resting my eyes.”

“Yeah, sure.”

You felt your throat tighten, an ache blooming in your chest. It was such a small, ordinary thing, a normal conversation in a world that had been anything but. And it hit you how long it’d been since you’d heard them like this.

Joel caught sight of you then, his gaze softening. “Hey,” he murmured, reaching his hand out weakly toward you like instinct.

Ellie twisted in her chair, a sheepish look on her face like she’d been caught somewhere she shouldn’t be. “Hey… sorry, I didn’t mean to—”

“No,” you shook your head quickly, offering them both a smile that barely held. “No, I’m glad you’re here.”

Ellie’s lips twitched, and she gave Joel a small nudge. “Told you she wouldn’t be mad.”

Joel’s fingers brushed yours when you reached for his hand. “We were talking abou that comic we found back in those old days of us on the road.” he murmured; his voice still rough but warmer than it’d been in weeks. “It’s good, her being here.”

“I know,” you said, voice soft, squeezing his hand.

Ellie stood then, stretching with a grimace. “I should… get back. I promised Dina I wouldn’t be out too long. She says I need to take it slow.”

Joel’s expression flickered, something close to reluctant, but he just nodded. “Will you come back again?”

“Yeah,” she said, looking between the two of you. “I will.”

And with a last glance, she ducked out the door, leaving you in the quiet again, but this time, it didn’t feel quite so heavy.

That’s what you wanted to believe.

You pulled Joel’s hand to your chest, resting it over your heart. “She loves you; you know?”

Joel’s eyes closed, a tear slipping from the corner. “I’m not sure how I deserve it.”

You kissed the back of his hand. “None of us deserve half the things we get, Joel Miller.”

His brow furrowed faintly at your words, his rough thumb instinctively brushing over your skin, like he could soothe whatever storm had just crossed your mind.

“What do you mean?” he asked, his voice soft, fragile in a way you didn’t often hear from him.

But your gaze had already drifted, landing somewhere past him, past the room, past yourself. You smiled then, small, sad, a little tired, the kind of smile that felt like old wounds and memories too sharp to hold for long.

“Nothing,” you whispered, shaking your head like it could scatter the ache away. You squeezed his hand, brought it to your lips one more time, and didn’t let him ask again. Because you knew if you said it out loud, if you told him what you lost, what you gave up, what you carried so he wouldn’t have to, you might break apart in a way you couldn’t put back together.

And right now, he needed you whole. Or at least, what was left of you.

So, you just kept his hand pressed to your heart and murmured, “You just rest, Joel. I get you.”

Three days later, the room smelled clean, and old wood, the soft hum of life returning to a place that had been far too quiet for too long. Joel sat propped up in a chair by the window, the pale light of morning painting his face in soft golds and silvers. He still looked worn, the bruises faded to ugly yellows and greens, but his eyes were clearer now.

The exercises had started that morning.

Mara, a woman in her middle thirties just as you, one who’d lost her sister in the attack, had volunteered to help with Joel’s physical therapy. It wasn’t easy for her, you could see it in the tightness of her jaw and the flicker of grief in her gaze when their hands met, but she did it. Carefully, gently, guiding Joel’s arm through its slow range of motion, mindful of the broken ribs, the healing bullet wound in his leg.

Joel winced but didn’t complain, his jaw set, sweat beading at his hairline. Ellie sat on the floor nearby, legs crossed, making sarcastic remarks when she thought he needed distraction and staying silent when she could tell he didn’t.

Tommy leaned against the doorway, arms crossed, his face unreadable but his presence steady as ever. Watching, like he always did. Taking care of his big brother, switching places this time. 

And you, you’d given Gail another chance.

It hadn’t been easy, but you’d found her by the gates a couple days before, asking for a way to help. The bitterness between you hung in the air like smoke, but you let her through it. Because grief made ghosts out of people, and neither of you needed another enemy.

You were at her house. The air between you still felt heavy, like a storm waiting to break, but you’d come anyway. Because maybe you didn’t know how to tend some wounds you had on your soul.

Gail handed you a cup of coffee, her hands trembling just enough for you to notice. You took it in silence, standing by the window that looked out toward the mountains.

“How’s he doing?” she asked after a while, her voice rough, like it hurt to say the words.

You didn’t look at her, kept your eyes on the way the snow clung to the branches outside. “He is trying. Still hurts like hell. Can’t move much on his own yet. But he is fighting.” You took a slow sip of the bitter coffee. “Ellie had come. They talked. First real conversation since it happened.”

“And you?” She asked, “How are you feeling?”

“I’m glad he is fine.” You replied, no meeting her eyes.

Gail was quiet for a moment, the silence between you thick and aching. The wind outside rattled against the windowpane, a ghost of a sound in the quiet room.

“I don’t think he could,” she said softly, like she was testing the words, seeing if they sounded true spoken out loud. “A man doesn’t fight his way back from the death like that for someone he hates.”

You swallowed hard, your throat tight, your eyes still locked on the white-dusted branches swaying in the wind. “He didn’t. I was the one who…” you murmured. “What I did. What I… what I gave up.”

At that, you finally turned your head, your gaze meeting hers. There was no malice there now, just an old, worn kind of sadness you both carried like extra weight. She gave you a small, sad smile, and you felt something loosen in your chest — not forgiveness, not yet, but something close to it.

“I was afraid, you know,” you admitted quietly, voice trembling. “Still am. That when he looks at me, he’ll see what I cost him.”

“Maybe,” Gail said, taking a sip from her cup, her eyes never leaving yours. “Or maybe he’ll just see the woman who sat at his bedside every night. The one who wouldn’t let go.”

“Do you think he could come to resent me?” you asked her, meeting her gaze.

Gail let out a long breath, setting her cup down with a soft clink on the table. She rubbed her hands together like she was trying to find the right words, or maybe the courage to say them.

“I have no answer for that.” she admitted, honest in a way that stung. “People carry and react to things in different ways. Joel…He might be angry he doesn’t have the control on his hands. He might be hurt. He might not even know how to feel about it yet.”

You felt your stomach twist, a sick kind of dread curling low in your gut.

“But,” she continued, leaning forward a little, her voice softer, steadier, “I don’t think he’ll resent you for saving his life. For loving him enough to do whatever it took. I think… deep down, he’ll understand. You burn for them. You bleed for them. And I don’t think he is stranger to that kind of love.”

You bit your lip, your eyes stinging as you looked down at your cup. “I just… I don’t wanna be another scar on him.”

Gail gave a small, sad smile. “But you already are. But that’s no the same as a wound”

You sat there a moment, her words settling in your chest like a stone and a balm all at once.

“Do you still resent him for what he did to Eugene?”

“I will always despise him for it,” Gail said again, her voice steady, like she’d made peace with her anger. “But I’ll accept that you don’t deserve to lose him because of what I feel. I loved Eugene. You love Joel too. And that kind of love, well. Loving is tragic sometimes.”

Your throat felt tight. You swallowed hard, not trusting your voice right away.

“I didn’t ask for any of this,” you whispered.

Gail gave a sad little smile. “None of us did. We just get what’s left after the world takes what it wants.”

For a long moment, you both just sat there, two women bound by grief and blood and the ache of what couldn’t be undone.

“I had a miscarriage,” you confessed, like if you didn’t say it out loud it might not be entirely real. “The night we brought Joel back. Only Tommy and Maria know.”

Gail set her cup down with a shaking hand, leaning her elbows onto her knees, staring at the floor. “Jesus,” she whispered. “Why didn’t you—?”

“Because I couldn’t,” you breathed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I couldn’t deal with losing him and… and that baby. I didn’t even tell Joel. I just… shoved it down. Buried it under everything else. Because he needed me. Ellie needed me. There wasn’t room for me to fall apart.”

The room was silent, save for the ticking of the old clock on the wall. Then, softly, Gail spoke, voice rough as gravel. “I’m sorry.”

You shrugged, wiping a tear off your cheek. “It’s just one more thing, right? One more grave I’ll carry around in my chest.”

“No,” she said, and this time there was steel under it. “It’s not just one more thing. It matters.”

You looked at her, and for the first time in what felt like forever, there was no anger in her gaze. Just a tired, broken woman who understood what it meant to lose pieces of yourself you’d never get back.

“Don’t tell this to anyone,” you said, standing up, your voice steady even though your chest felt like it might cave in.

Gail didn’t argue. Didn’t make promises she couldn’t keep. She just nodded, solemn, the lines around her eyes deepening as she looked up at you.

“I won’t,” she murmured. “It’s not my place.”

You gave a tight nod, setting the empty cup down on the table. The room suddenly felt too small, the walls too close, so you crossed to the door, your hand hovering on the knob for a second.

“You ever need to… you know where to find me,” Gail said, her voice softer now, almost gentle.

You didn’t answer. Just gave a faint, weary smile over your shoulder and left, stepping out into the cold evening air. The chill hit you like a wall, but it was easier to breathe out here. Easier to feel like the world was still turning.

When you made it back to the infirmary, the late afternoon light was slipping through the blinds in thin, tired lines. The room smelled faintly of antiseptic and old paper, and there was the soft shuffle of movement, the faint sound of labored breathing.

Joel was gripping Mara’s hand, his knuckles pale as she helped him ease through another stretch, working his upper body with a focus that made your throat tighten. His face was drawn tight with effort, sweat beading along his temple, but his jaw was set, and his eyes, those goddamn eyes, burned with stubborn, quiet determination.

“You’re doing good,” Mara was murmuring, steady and calm. “One more. You got it, Joel.”

He let out a ragged breath, brow furrowed, and pushed through it. And you felt something twist in your chest. Because even after everything, even when his body betrayed him, Joel Miller still didn’t know how to quit.

You stepped inside quietly, but his gaze found you anyway. Those storm-grey eyes flickered to you, and for a moment, his hand almost faltered.

You forced a smile, crossing the room and settling on the other side of the bed. You reached out, your fingers brushing over the back of his wrist where his pulse thudded wildly.

“Look at you,” you said softly, voice thick. “You’re doing good.”

And it hit you like a blow to the ribs, not the pain of a wound, but something heavier, deeper. The kind of ache that settled behind your sternum and made your hands feel too empty, your throat too tight.

Because in that flicker of a look, no warmth, no smile, no spark of that easy, familiar ache you knew so well, you saw it. The doubt. The distance. The quiet, gnawing thing you’d been terrified of since the night you dragged him back, half-dead, bleeding out in the snow.

And maybe it wasn’t resentment. Maybe it wasn’t hate. But it was something. Something colder.

You forced your smile to stay, even though it felt brittle as glass. Let your thumb drag along his wrist, feeling his pulse there like a frantic little drum, as if it mattered. As if you could hold him to this world by sheer will alone.

“You’re almost through it,” you whispered, and your voice cracked on the last word. “I told you I wasn’t gonna let you go.”

He didn’t answer. Just looked at you a moment longer, something unreadable passing through those tired, storm-dark eyes before he dropped his gaze back to his lap, letting Mara guide his arm down carefully.

You swallowed hard and stood, backing toward the door.

“I’ll… I’ll come back later,” you managed, already hating yourself for the way your voice shook.

And before either of them could say anything else, you slipped out into the hallway. Pressed your back to the cold wall and closed your eyes, because you didn’t want to cry here. Not where someone might see.

But Tommy noticed.

Ellie too.

Perhaps this was the beginning of the aftermath you didn’t want to face.

Tommy’s footsteps were quiet but deliberate as he came to stand beside you. Without a word, he leaned his shoulder against the wall, close enough that you could feel the steady weight of his presence.

“He is…It has been a difficult day for him” he said.

You nodded slowly; your breath still uneven. “I see it in his eyes. Like he’s somewhere far away, and maybe… maybe resenting being here.”

Tommy’s gaze was steady, his voice low and rough. “He’s scared. Not just about his body. About what’s left of him, who he is now. It’s a hell of a thing, knowing you survived but feel like a ghost.”

“You had tried to keep it hidden, the blood seeping through your shirt from a wound you got during a scuffle with some smugglers. You thought you were careful, but Joel had that sixth sense, the one that made it impossible to hide anything from him.

That evening, you’d been sitting on the edge of the bed, trying to clean the cut with water, heart pounding from the pain and the fear of being discovered. You heard footsteps before you saw him.

Joel crouched down beside you, eyes narrowing as he took in the dark stain spreading across your shirt. “Are you trying to hide that from me?” His voice was quiet, but it carried the weight of concern and frustration all at once.

You shook your head, forcing a weak smile. “Didn’t want to worry you.”

He grabbed your hand gently, pulling you up. “You don’t have to do that.”

You looked away, feeling the sting of tears, not just from the wound, but from the raw truth in his words. That night, he stayed with you, helping patch up the wound, silently promising to watch over you no matter what.

That was the moment you knew Joel was never going to let you face the world alone.

That was the moment you realized you loved him.”

The next morning, sunlight filtered softly through the hospital room blinds, casting pale stripes across the worn floor. You stirred awake, your body aching from hours spent curled up in the hard chair beside Joel’s bed. Your eyes fluttered open, and for a moment, everything felt still, until you caught his gaze.

Joel was watching you, eyes sharp and clear, a faint crease of both worry and irritation etched across his brow.

“You should stop sleeping on that chair,” he said, voice low but edged with annoyance. “I’m alive. Just like you wanted.”

There was a pause, a soft breath between you. His words were blunt, but beneath them, you heard something softer, relief, and maybe even a hint of gratitude.

You managed a tired smile, reaching out to squeeze his hand. “I just want to make sure you’re still here.”

Joel’s eyes softened for a fleeting second, the weight of his pain briefly giving way to something gentler. He squeezed your hand back, his grip still weak but steady.

“You worry too much,” he muttered, a half-smile tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m not going anywhere.”

You shifted in the chair, trying to find a more comfortable position but mostly just staring at him. “I can’t help it,” you admitted, voice barely above a whisper. “Every time I close my eyes, I’m afraid I’ll wake up and you won’t be here.”

He looked away, jaw tightening. “I’m stubborn. You should’ve known that by now.”

You were about to say something when Mara appeared quietly in the doorway, clipboard in hand and a reassuring smile on her face.

“Good morning, Joel. Ready to get started?” she asked gently.

Joel glanced at you, then back at Mara, a mix of relief and determination flickering in his eyes. You squeezed his hand once more before standing up.

“I’ll be just outside if you need me,” you said softly, stepping back to give them space.

Joel nodded, his gaze lingering on you a moment longer.

“You can stay.”

“I... okay,” you said quietly, moving to pull up a chair beside the bed.

Joel shifted slightly, the effort causing a faint wince, but his eyes held steady on you.

“Don’t make it a habit,” he warned, voice rough but teasing.

You smiled softly, squeezing his hand.

The days blurred together after that. Snowfall, dim afternoons, the creak of old wood floors, the sharp scent of antiseptic in every room. Joel was healing, slowly, stubbornly, as everyone expected he would.

He was soft with Ellie. She came by every other day now, bringing comics or talking about new skills she was learning with Dina. Joel would ruffle her hair, tease her about how much taller she’d gotten. There was a warmth in his voice when he spoke to her, something aching and tender you remembered so clearly from before.

He was patient with Tommy too, with his brother’s worry, with the way Tommy hovered and cracked bad jokes to fill the silence. And with Mara, the doctor helping on his rehab, Joel offered polite thank-yous and that old, quiet grit of his, never complaining even when the pain was plain in his face.

But with you… now it was different.

It was in the way his eyes slid past yours when you walked into the room. The way his voice turned clipped and careful when you spoke. The way his hands, once so instinctively reaching for you in sleep or conversation, now stayed neatly folded in his lap.

He wasn’t cruel. Joel Miller never was. But there was a distance. A wall he had lifted. And it hurt worse than anything you could’ve braced for.

It was in the little things too, like when Ellie asked about that old guitar Joel kept at your house, and he just said, "I’ll get it sometime," like it wasn’t something that had once lived between your lives like a promise.

Or when Tommy cracked a joke about you two being thick as thieves again once Joel was back on his feet, and Joel’s answering smile didn’t quite reach his eyes.

You kept showing up. Because you had to. Because you loved him.

But every day it got harder. And it felt like you were both pretending not to feel it.

It started with Joel’s nightmares and how he neglected the comfort you offered.

The first time, you woke to the sound of his ragged breathing, a low, broken sound like a wounded animal caught in its last fight. His hand clutched the blanket, face contorted in some terrible, unseen memory.

You reached for him without thinking, murmuring his name, fingers brushing his damp hair from his brow.

But he jerked away. With force enough to freeze your hand mid-air, enough to make the ache bloom in your chest like something sour.

“I’m fine,” he’d muttered, eyes still glassy, staring anywhere but at you. And when you tried again, when you offered a whispered "Hey, it’s just me," Joel had turned his face to the wall.

Night after night it was the same.

You’d stay when Tommy or Ellie left. You’d sit in that chair by his bed, or sometimes at the window, and when his sleep turned restless, you’d rise and cross the room.

And every time — every goddamn time — he brushed you off.

"Go home."

 "Don’t need you watching me."

A warning flicker in those tired eyes that begged you not to push.

But you did. Because you couldn’t not.

And that was when it started to fray, that quiet war between wanting to be what he needed and realizing he wouldn’t let you anymore.

Ellie could hold his hand. Tommy could steady him through the worst of the spasms when the pain gripped his leg. Even Mara could coax a ragged laugh from him when he managed to hold something strongly.

But you…You were the one thing he refused.

And it broke something in you. Little by little, day after day.

Because you knew the ache in his eyes wasn’t anger.

It wasn’t even disappointment.

It was grief and resentment.

And every time you looked at him, you were a reminder of all the ways he’d nearly slipped away.

Of all the things unsaid.

And that maybe… just maybe… you saving him had cost you both more than you realized.

You were kneeling beside him, one hand steadying his wrist while the other guided the small rubber ball he was supposed to squeeze, a simple exercise, but every movement made his jaw clench, sweat prick at his hairline.

The ball slipped from his fingers, hitting the floor with a soft thud and rolling toward the edge of the room.

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, voice low, tight with frustration.

“I got it,” you said quickly, already moving, reaching for it before it could roll too far.

But something in the way you said it, too fast, too practiced, like you’d spent weeks catching the things he dropped, making it easier for him to avoid asking, made him still.

When you straightened, ball in hand, you caught the flicker in his eyes. There was irritation.

“You don’t have to… you know,” Joel rasped, his voice rough around the edges, “keep picking up after me like I’m… like I can’t do it.”

Your breath caught.

“I’m not,” you said, even though you both knew you were.

He let out a slow breath, his hand flexing open and closed like the weight of it was more than just his busted bones. “Stop pitying me.”

Your hand tightened around the ball, heart stumbling in your chest at the edge in his voice.

“I’m not pitying you, Joel,” you said quietly, the words rough like gravel. “I’m here because I love you. Because you matter to me, not because I feel sorry for you.”

His jaw worked, a muscle ticking there. He looked away, and for a second you thought maybe it would stop there, like all the other half-finished conversations the two of you had let die in the quiet. But it didn’t.

“Bullshit,” Joel muttered, shaking his head, his fingers flexing uselessly. “You don’t understand what it’s like.”

“Then help me understand,” you bit back, voice trembling. “Stop shutting me out.”

His eyes snapped up to yours, and there was something raw in them, grief, anger, shame, it bled out in every word.

“I can’t even… I can’t manage to make love to you anymore,” he ground out, like it physically hurt to admit it. “I can’t touch you without feeling like a goddamn shell of who I was. And you sitting there, looking at me like I’m still him… it’s killing me.”

The words knocked the air out of your lungs. For a long moment, neither of you spoke. The room felt too small, too bright, too heavy with things that’d been left unsaid for too long.

“I never asked you to be who you were,” you managed, your voice breaking. “I just wanted you. All of you.”

Joel’s face crumpled, his hands gripping the edge of the chair like he might tear the damn thing apart.

“You deserve better than this,” he whispered.

“I don’t want better,” you shot back, voice sharp, trembling. “I want you.”

For a long second, all you could hear was the ragged rise and fall of his breathing, the distance between you still there, but cracked now, fissured with something desperate and bleeding and real.

“I should have died.” He said, “And you brought me back because you’re selfish.”

The words hit like a fist to the chest.

Your breath stuttered, eyes burning as they locked on his. There was no venom in his voice,  just raw, bone-deep hurt, the kind of grief that twisted a man up from the inside out.

And still, it felt like a knife.

“I brought you back because I love you,” you whispered, voice cracking. “Because losing you would’ve killed me too. And I didn’t—I couldn’t let that happen.”

Joel shook his head, his jaw tight, eyes glassy but refusing to fall. “You should’ve. You should’ve let me go.”

“No,” you said, the word sharp and final, your throat tight and aching. “I will never be sorry for saving you. Never. You can hate me for it, Joel, you can push me away, but I’ll carry that. Because I still wake up every day and thank whoever’s out there that you’re still breathing.”

His face twisted, pain and anger and love and loss all tangled in a single shattered look. “You don’t know what it feels like,” he rasped. “To be stuck in this… this broken thing that ain’t even a man anymore. To see you looking for a man who is not here.”

Your heart felt like it was splintering clean in half. You crossed the room slowly, not touching him yet, not forcing it, but close enough that he couldn’t avoid your voice.

“I’m not looking for the man you used to be, Joel,” you said, quietly, steadily. “I’m in love with the man right in front of me.”

For a moment, he looked like he might come apart entirely, like those words knocked something loose inside him he didn’t know how to hold anymore.

“I’m so goddamn tired,” he whispered, a crack in his voice you hadn’t heard since the outbreak years. “What you did to keep me here… you shouldn’t have done it.”

Your throat tightened, but you didn’t look away. Couldn’t. “You would have done the same for me, Joel,” you said, steady, though your voice wavered on the edges. “As you did for Ellie. At Salt Lake. When you lost it because you thought we were losing her.”

You watched something shutter behind his eyes. A flicker of the man you knew, of the truth that hung thick and sharp between you , and then he killed it. Buried it like he’d buried so many other parts of himself.

“No,” Joel said, low and cold and cruel in a way that wasn’t real, in a way he needed to be. “I wouldn’t have done that for you.”

It was a lie. A brutal, deliberate lie.

And you felt it, the way it landed like a blow to the gut, the way it cracked something open in your chest.

But you also saw it. The flicker of guilt in his eyes, the strain in his jaw, the way his hand trembled against the sheets.

You knew him like the palm of your hand.

He was trying to hurt you. Trying to drive you away.

Because Joel Miller knew one way to survive grief, and it was to cut the people you loved out before you lost them.

He didn’t say it, but you knew. He’d seen how tired you looked every day. How you barely slept, barely ate, how the light in your eyes had started to dim.

He saw you breaking under the weight of loving a man who wouldn’t let himself be loved.

So, he tried to kill it. Tried to make you hate him enough to leave. Because maybe if you hated him, you wouldn’t hurt so goddamn much when the world took him from you for good.

You swallowed, throat raw, the ache in your chest a steady, dull throb. But you didn’t move.

Didn’t flinch.

Instead, you leaned in just enough for him to hear you, your voice rough, scraped clean down to the bone.

“Don’t lie to me, Joel.”

He looked away then, eyes shining with something he’d never let fall. His jaw clenched so tight you thought it might break, then his voice came, low, rough, without looking at you.

“I don’t even know if I still love you.”

It landed like a punch. Like a knife between the ribs.

Your breath caught, the room tilting for a second under the weight of it. Your fingers clenched around your own skin, nails biting into the flesh as the words echoed through you.

You didn’t move. Didn’t speak. Couldn’t.

And then Tommy’s voice broke the quiet, stepping into the doorway behind you.

“Hey— What’s going on in here?”

You didn’t turn around. But Joel did. And when his eyes lifted, he saw it.

The tears. Silent and steady, tracing down your cheeks like they’d been waiting for an excuse.

For a final cut.

And for the first time in days, something cracked in him. Something he couldn’t lie to anymore.

But it was too late.

You didn’t give Tommy an answer. Didn’t spare Joel another word.

You just turned, walked out, your shoulders squared, your face wet, leaving both of them in that heavy, suffocating room.

Joel’s eyes stayed locked on the empty space you’d just left; regret was written all over his face.

Tommy watched him for a long moment, then spoke quietly, “You can’t let it end like this.” He pleaded his brother.

But Joel only shook his head, the weight of his own bitterness crushing him. “It’s already broken.”

Outside, the night pressed against the windows like a warning, and somewhere beyond, a threat was waiting, ready to drag them all deeper into the darkness.

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

@theoraekenslover @stcrrjoon @stupidthoughtsinwriting @officialjellydoughnut @dshc99 @eleganthottubfun @mystickittytaco @fvispunk @daydreamzsworld @comicccc

@nosebeers @whirlwindrider29 @person-005 @bunnyofribbon

@ainhoetaaa @missladym1981 @keileighr @callofdiva @pinkcabinet

@tomie-it-girl @shadowpheonix @unknownomgg @22thumbs

@vanishintoyoubby @sarahhxx03 @chick66i

[fvispunk]

[fvispunk]

Esta parte:

“And the truth was, neither of you was really hungry for anything but the one thing you both kept pretending you didn’t still want. Each other.”

Santo Cristo 😭😭😭

Los amo mucho 😭🫶🏼

"Whatever you'd like us to be" - part 4

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!sunshine!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where you fall and get your confessions of love.

w.c: 7,5k

warnings: age gap (harry is 45 and reader 29-30), angst, fluff. no proofreading because you know me.

A/N: I'm not sure if this chapter will meet your expectations, but it's pretty much what I wanted to do with it. I'm convinced this series is a lot about how you can transform into something complicated when someone who makes you feel at ease comes into your life. But whatever. This was the winner update of the day, but I'm updating all the series this week. Happy reading, and please let me know what you think about it.

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

When next day came, the vibrant excitement you had been feeling lately was gone. The sky seemed gray, soft raining was falling over New York and you stayed in bed the whole day, barely sleeping, tossing and turning, replaying every word, every look from the night before like a film reel you couldn’t switch off.

You waited for a call, a message, a knock at your door. Everything that could remind you that you were valuable to Harry as more as a simple piece of his game.

But when Monday rolled around, still no sign of Harry, you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a sweater that still faintly smelled like coffee, and opened your café with a weight in your chest you couldn’t erase.

A foreign kind of feeling, a foreign kind of pain, that was numbing your heart. Because within the jealousy, hurt, and humiliation, there was love growing its roots in the cracks of your heart.

The place was alive as always, the soft clinking of mugs, the gentle chatting of costumer conversations, even Mia’s laughter carrying from behind the counter. But you felt like a ghost in your own space because Harry had made a home inside your house and now it felt hollow without the certainty of that presence. After all, he had carved his place into your heart in such a short time.

Every time the bell over the door chimed, your head would lift, your pulse skipping in your throat. A couple of old regulars. A mother with a stroller. A pair of college students ordering iced lattes. But not him.

“Boss,” Evan murmured, sidling up to you while you wiped down a spotless table for the third time in an hour. “Are you good?”

You forced a smile that didn’t reach your eyes. “I’m fine.”

But even Evan didn’t buy it. He gave you a knowing look and said nothing else, as if he knew better.

By lunchtime, you were officially annoyed at yourself. The knot in your stomach wouldn’t loosen, and you hated that you kept checking the clock like some lovesick idiot waiting for his prince to come and get her from her solitude. That you half-expected to look up and see him leaning against the doorway with that infuriating grin, like nothing had happened.

But still, that would have shown he cared. That you were more than just a simple piece on his game.

By mid-afternoon, the steady hum of the café had lulled into a calm, that late-in-the-day quiet when regulars trickled in for their second wind and students claimed tables with textbooks and cold drinks in order to study. You were behind the counter, pretending to busy yourself with organizing the pastry case, though in truth, you were miles away inside your head.

And then the bell over the door chimed, you looked up out of habit, and your stomach dropped at the sight of Lucy at the door.

She stepped in with her perfect hair waving, soft smile playing on her lips. Her eyes swept the café before landing on you. And for a split second, both of you just stared each other. Recognition flashed in her expression, a glimmer of surprise widening her gaze, but then something else took its place. Not malice, not smugness like your overworked brain had feared, just kindness inside those blue orbits.

“Hi,” she said, approaching the counter.

You swallowed thickly, forcing your face into something resembling neutral. “Hi! Welcome in.”

She glanced at the chalkboard menu, though it felt more like a polite formality. “Could I get two vanilla lattes to go, please?”

Your heart did this traitorous little lurch in your chest at the sound of two.

Two vanilla lattes.

And immediately, the spiral started.

Was the other one for Harry? Had he gone back to her?

You hated how easily the thought slid into place, how sharp it cut. How it affected your heart in a way jealousy was everything you could feel now.

You punched the order into the register, managing a tight smile. “Coming right up.”

She took out some dollar out her wallet, glancing at you again, a small curve to her lips. “I’m sorry if this is weird, are you…? Harry’s…” she hesitated like searching for the right word, “friend?”

You gripped the edge of the counter. “I think so.”

“You think?”

“What do you want me to say?” you sounded almost exasperated, “Yes, I’m his girlfriend.”

“You are also Claire’s best friend.” She said, still smiling “I also remember you because of that.”

You nodded, “You did a pretty good job introducing her to Chris.”

Lucy’s expression faltered for a moment just a flicker, so quick most people wouldn’t have caught it. But you did. That brief tightening around her eyes, the way her fingers tapped twice against the counter before she tucked them into the sleeves of her blazer.

“I did, didn’t I?” she murmured, her smile turning bittersweet. “I think that had been my best job yet.”

You weren’t sure what to say to that. You thought her job was a kind of scam, as in the digital form of love. Offering you a hollow and shallow momentum instead of the real experience. Forcing to people to meet each other with the list of qualities set on the table.

Lucy inhaled softly, then straightened, smoothing her expression. “Well,” she said with a little shrug, “I do really think you and Harry make a good couple.”

You raised a brow at that but bit your tongue, glancing down as the machine beeped, signaling the order was ready.

You slid the two vanilla lattes onto the counter. “Here you go.”

Lucy took them, wrapping her hands around the cups. “I’m sorry if I made this weird,” she added quietly. “Honestly, I didn’t expect to run into you here.”

You forced a small, polite smile. “Well, I own this place, so you would run into me anyway.”

Her eyes widened, “Oh, that’s—that’s amazing, really. Best coffee in this city.”

Best coffee in this city

That last line made your throat tighten. Best coffee in this city. The exact words Harry had murmured more than once, usually with that surprised grin after he had found of you owned this place, like it was a secret only the two of you shared. Hearing them from Lucy’s lips was kind of disarming and made your heart clench.

You gave a small, almost bashful laugh, tucking a stray hair behind your ear. “Thanks. I really appreciate it.”

Lucy hesitated, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression, then offered a sincere smile. “Well, it was nice meeting you. Really.”

You nodded. “You too.”

She gave a little wave with the two cups in hand and slipped out the door, the bell chiming softly in her wake.

You stood there for a moment longer, the scent of coffee and vanilla hanging in the air, heart pounding in a way you couldn’t quite explain. The whole interaction had been surprisingly kind. She wasn’t the woman you had pictured it to be. There was no tension, no accusations. Just two women on different ends of a story neither of them fully understood. Being pictured very differently by the very same man.

She gave you one last look, something almost like a sorry, and then she was out the door.

You stood there for a moment, the ghost of old conversations and half-formed assumptions rattling in your head, before Evan sidled up next to you with a smirk.

“Damn, boss,” he muttered under his breath, bumping your shoulder. “You, okay? You look very grumpy today.”

You groaned, leaning forward against the counter. “I need a drink.”

“Or to see your boyfriend, huh?”

You shot him a glare, but your traitorous heart still fluttered at the sound of his name. You hated how much you missed him and how much you wanted to see him.

An hour later, you were at your office working on some inventory stuff when knock at your door took off your guard, you lifted your gaze.

"Come in" you said.

You blinked, your stomach twisting, heart leaping in your chest before your brain could even catch up. The door eased open, behind it, a huge bouquet of vibrantly red roses, then a hand, and finally the face you had been craving to see for the last 48 hours.

His face was hard to read, those stormy brown eyes you knew too well now, a little softer, a little more hesitant than you’d seen since you had met him. He stepped in without a word, closing the door behind him with his foot.

You swallowed thickly, leaning back in your chair, arms crossed like you needed the armor to protect your heart from it. “What are you doing here, Harry?”

He set the flowers carefully on your desk, as if they might break under his touch. “I owed you a hundred apologies. And maybe a small bribe,” he added with a weak grin, motioning to the roses.

You didn’t return it.  You still feel the humiliation creeping up your cheeks.

“I told you to stay out,” you said quietly. A lied, a big lie, because everything you wanted was him to come to you and to hold your face with his hands.

“I know.” He ran a hand through his hair, exhaling hard. “And I meant to. I tried to. But you have no idea how fucking loud my life feels when you’re not in it.”

The room went still. You stared at him, no uttering a word.

Harry sighted, “I missed you, even if it was just a day.”

Your throat felt tight, your heart lurching at the rawness in his voice and at his words. You wanted to stay mad, but his words still had found it way to soften you a bit.

You dropped your gaze, studying the edge of your desk like it would provide the answers to the questions you were asking to. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry,” you murmured, the fight in your voice wavering. “Showing up with flowers and pretend I’m going to say yes to every demand you have,” You lifted you gaze to meet his, “You always came here when you need something from me. You confuse me. You say you want to be my friend, then you kiss me and say your ex-girlfriend’s name, who is fact is really kind.”

Your arms stayed crossed, but your posture softer. “Why did you mention her that night, Harry?”

His expression cracked a little, like you’d pressed your thumb against an old bruise. He stepped closer, leaning his palms against your desk. “Because I’m an idiot,” he said, voice low. “And because a part of me was scared it wasn’t just a kiss.”

You felt your throat tighten, your fingers curling against the edge of the desk. “So, you said her name to what? Ruin it? Push me away before I could hurt you?”

“I didn’t plan it,” he confessed, shaking his head, his gaze never leaving yours. “I don’t even know why it came out. I haven’t thought about Lucy that way since we went our separate ways, you know that. But you—" he let out a broken breath, “you terrify me.”

“All of this started because you wanted to get back at her” you replied, “And you also lied to me about that at the beginning.”

Harry’s jaw tensed, guilt flickering over his face like a shadow. “Yeah, that and also my parents want me to marry someone for good,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “And I am pissed off. I was hurt. I used you at first, telling myself you’d never mean anything because it wasn’t supposed to be about you.”

You flinched, the words hitting like a blow even though you’d known them deep down. He saw it, his hand twitching like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t dare.

“But then it was you,” he went on, eyes glinting with something raw and unguarded. “It became you, so fast—“

“You’re a child” you interrupted, annoyed and hurt.

Harry blinked, the words striking sharper than anything you’d said before. His mouth opened like he might protest, but nothing came out. You saw the fight drain from his posture, his shoulders sagging under the weight of everything he had poured out.

“Yeah,” he exhaled, running a hand down his face, defeated. “Maybe I am.”

You shook your head, leaning back against your chair like you needed to distance yourself enough from him to properly breath again, “You don’t get to drag people into your tantrums because you’re pissed off at your parents or your past, Harry. I’m not a placeholder for your act of rebellion. I’m a person. And I deserve better than being some convenient way for you to feel in control for five minutes.”

He looked like you’d slapped him. And maybe, in a way, you had. You had broken his ego, but this time it wasn’t like anything before because now, there was love growing withing the cracks of his heart.

“I know,” he whispered, voice hoarse. “I know you did. I keep… I keep breaking the things I care about before I realize how much they matter.”

A bitter laugh slipped from your lips. “And what? Now that you realize it, you think you can just what? Patch it up with these expensive flowers?”

“No,” he admitted, his gaze steady for the first time since he walked in. “I just—” he swallowed hard; jaw tight. “I needed you to hear it. That you matter to me.”

You sat there for a long moment, the silence between you loaded, heavy with the miscommunication that comes with playing a game like this.

“I hope you figure yourself out, Harry,” you said softly, your voice steady even though your chest ached.

His eyes glistened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t beg. He knew his place now.

He just gave a small nod, turned, and left the flowers on your desk as he walked out the door.

You sat there long after the door had closed, the thud of the door felt like a final point to a story yet to be written and that made it hurt the most. The roses sat on your desk, too many and too red, a vibrancy you felt it left with harry through that door. The kind of gesture Harry always leaned on when words failed him.

Your throat burned. You hated how beautiful they were. How part of you, some pathetic, stubborn part, still wanted to believe it meant something. That maybe under all the mess and mistakes, there was a version of him that he had come to love you.

You reached out, fingertips brushing over one of the petals. It was soft. Perfect. And it felt like a lie.

The sting behind your eyes sharpened, and before you could stop yourself, you swiped the flowers off the desk. The vase hit the floor with a dull thud, water sloshing over the tile, roses scattering like discarded confessions.

You pressed a hand to your mouth, trying to swallow the ache in your throat, the tears prickling your lashes.

God, you were so tired. So tired of the way he made you feel like you were standing in a room with no walls, nowhere to lean, nowhere to run. Always hoping this time would be different. That someone would have choose you for the right reasons this time. That you would be the first choice in someone’s life.

But he didn’t. Not really.

And you couldn’t keep letting your heart be collateral damage.

You wiped at your eyes, took a steadying breath, and grabbed a rag from the counter. You’d clean up the mess. Because that’s what you did. Because life moved on, and so would you.

Another flame, another fire to ease.

A few days passed in a heavy, muted blur. You fell into a quiet rhythm, opening the café, managing orders, pretending you didn’t glance at the door every time it chimed. But it wasn’t Harry stepping through anymore.

It was his assistant.

You recognized her more now, always polite, always rushed, always ordering Harry’s usual without meeting your eyes for too long as if she knew, like he’d been sent in as a quiet, calculated replacement for the man who couldn’t come to face you.

Your heart felt heavier every time. The absence of Harry’s careless grin, his infuriating comments, the way he’d come into your life like the world only existed where you stood, it all left an ache you couldn’t name.

You told yourself this was how peace was supposed to feel, but the thing about this type of quiet was that it left too much room for your thoughts.

It was late afternoon when your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out with a sigh, expecting a supplier, but Claire’s name flashed across the screen.

You hadn’t heard from her in a few days, and you hesitated before answering.

“Hey, you” you said, trying to sound lighter than you felt.

“Hey, you.” Claire’s voice was soft as always, unaware of the conflict you were walking through right now “I was wondering… are you free tonight?”

You glanced around the café, where Evan was wiping down tables and the soft hum of the espresso machine filled the air. “Yeah. Why?”

“I want you to come over for dinner,” Claire said, then hesitated. “There’s something I need to tell you.”

Your stomach dropped. You’d known her too long not to catch the note in her voice. There was some kind of excitement and nervous on her voice.

“Claire,” you said slowly, your pulse picking up. “Is everything okay?”

“Of course, it is. Can you come by eight?”

You closed your eyes for a moment, then forced a steady breath. “Okay,” you murmured. “I’ll be there.”

“I love you, bye” she said.

“I love you too.”

At the same time somewhere, a few streets away. Harry’s assistant, was pushing open the office door with one hand while balancing a takeaway tray in the other.

“Here’s your coffee, boss,” she said, setting the cup down on his desk.

Harry glanced up from the pile of papers he hadn’t actually been reading, his fingers running through his hair. A faint, tired smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.

“Thanks,” he murmured, reaching for the cup. He hesitated before asking, the question burning behind his teeth, though he knew he shouldn’t. “How is she?”

Kate blinked, then sighed softly, sitting on the edge of a nearby chair like she’d been expecting it.

“She looks okay.” She replied carefully.

That made something in Harry’s chest tighten, a dull, familiar ache. He looked away, his gaze falling to the corner of his desk, where a small photo frame sat half-hidden behind a stack of folders.

A picture of you from Claire’s and Chris wedding.

You were sitting on the grass, a glass of champagne in hand, laughing at something someone off-camera had said. Light caught in your hair; your face flushed.

Chris had given it to him as a joke after the wedding when you had made it “official”

“For your desk, you sap,” he had teased.

Harry had played it off, acted like it was just one of those silly things people kept around. But it stayed. Day after day. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at that photo like it might speak to him.

You’d probably think I was a creep for keeping this, he thought bitterly.

But the truth was, he’d never been capable of loving someone, never let anyone carve their way inside his heart the way you had.

And he wasn’t sure what terrified him more: that he’d already lost you, or that part of him still believed you were it for him.

Some people only get one person. And he had the sinking, gut-deep feeling you were his.

…………

The taxi pulled up in front of Claire and Chris’s townhouse, the familiar white shutters and climbing ivy on the brick walls making something in your chest ache. This place had always felt like a second home ever since they moved in together. You’d laughed in this kitchen, cried on that couch, drank too much wine on the back patio under string lights.

And now, your stomach was twisted up like you were walking into something you couldn’t name.

You raised a hand and knocked.

The door swung open almost instantly, and there was Claire, in a pair of mismatched socks, hair in loose waves, wearing a simple loosen linen dress and that bright, unmistakable grin she always saved just for you.

“There you are,” she beamed, pulling you into a tight hug. You sank into it, letting your cheek press against her shoulder, breathing in the scent of citrus and vanilla she always wore.

“You look stunning as always,” she said, pulling back to give you a once-over with a teasing little smile. “Seriously, what is it like to be everyone’s favorite person in the room?”

You huffed a small laugh, grateful for the easy warmth between you. “I almost didn’t come,” you admitted quietly.

“I know,” she said, brushing a hand down your arm. Then, she glanced past you, out toward the street, as if expecting someone to be lingering behind. “I thought you were coming with Harry.”

Your stomach dipped and your brows furrowed. “Harry’s coming too?” you asked, voice careful, guarded.

Claire’s expression faltered for half a second, like she was realizing too late that she’d said something she wasn’t supposed to.

“Yeah… um… Chris invited him,” she said, quickly smoothing it over. “Did something happen between you two?

You forced a tight, brittle smile and shook your head, though your throat burned with the effort. “No,” you lied, voice too light. “Nothing happened.”

Claire gave you a look, the kind only someone who’s known you since you were eight can give. The kind that says bullshit without having to saying the exact word.

“Come on,” she murmured, pulling you gently inside and closing the door behind you. The familiar scent of rosemary and roasted garlic drifted in from the kitchen, and it made something twist painfully in your chest because everything about this felt so normal, and you were anything but fine.

Claire set a hand on your shoulder, stopping you just before the living room. Her expression was softer now, her voice careful. “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to,” she said. “But Chris said Harry has been kind of grumpy for the past few days. And you, you look like someone who is holding her shit together.”

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting away.

Claire sighed and gave you a half-smile. “Whatever it is, you can count of me, you know that, right?”

You let out a weak laugh at that and nodded. “Yeah,” you whispered. “I know that.”

Chris appeared from the hallway, grinning when he spotted you. “Hey, there she is!” he said warmly, wrapping his arms around you. You sank into it, grateful for the steady, familiar presence. Chris had become a safe place, the brother you’d never had but somehow ended up having.

“You doing, okay?” he murmured against your hair, keeping his voice low enough for only you to hear.

You gave a small shrug. “Getting there.”

Chris squeezed your shoulder gently, then pulled back with a crooked smile. “Good. You know we’ve got your back.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then a knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

The sound made your chest seize up, your pulse stuttering like a skipped beat. You saw Claire glance at you, her face unreadable, and for a second it was just the two of you, a silent conversation passing between your eyes.

The door creaked open. And then, his voice.

“Hey, man.”

Low, rough, a little hesitant in a way you weren’t used to hearing from Harry.

You couldn’t see him from where you stood, but the sound of him hit you like a slow, searing burn you’d been trying to forget for days. That voice laced with its usual confidence now dulled by something none one could pick out in a crowded room, even if you tried not to.

Claire squeezed your hand once. “You want me to kick him out?” she whispered, only half-joking.

You gave a brittle little laugh, your throat tight. “No,” you murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

The truth was a more complicated, tangled thing, but you were done running your feelings.

Chris stepped aside to let Harry in, and you caught the edge of his tall frame, the dark sweep of his hair, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets like a man walking into a storm of his own making. His eyes landed on you almost immediately, like he couldn’t help it, and you felt the weight of them burning you.

He looked tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t from sleepless nights but a soul-deep weariness, the tiredness that came from a broken heart. And he held it together in front of the others, a practiced smirk flickering to life when Chris clapped him on the back.

But then his gaze found yours again, and the mask cracked, just for a second.

Claire glanced between you two, then cleared her throat. “Well,” she said brightly, like she was trying to cut through the unbearable tension, “who’s hungry?”

No one answered. Because now Harry was standing there like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take another step. And you were standing there like your heart might break clean open if he did.

And the truth was, neither of you was really hungry for anything but the one thing you both kept pretending you didn’t still want. Each other.

Dinner was a strange, fragile thing.

The four of you sat around the table, a beautiful spread laid out like Claire always did, roasted vegetables, a bottle of wine already open, soft music playing low in the background. It should’ve felt normal. Familiar. But the air was thick with things unsaid, heavy with the weight of you and Harry sitting side by side.

You’d tried to angle for a seat across the table, but Claire, ever the meddler in the name of love, had pulled out the chair next to her, leaving only the one beside you open when Harry entered the room.

He slid into it without a word. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, his elbow brushing yours every time he reached for something. And each accidental graze felt deliberate, like a silent apology you refused to accept.

Chris was doing his best to fill the silence, launching into a story about some disaster at work Harry didn’t know that had happened, and Claire kept nudging you to eat, to drink, to smile. You managed a few polite laughs, but you could feel Harry’s eyes on you, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

At one point, when Chris went to refill the wine glasses and Claire disappeared to the kitchen for dessert, it was just you and him, the low hum of the music and the faint clink of silverware the only sounds.

Harry cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his voice rough.

You didn’t look at him. “Same.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer “You look beautiful.”

The words landed like a punch and a balm all at once.

You finally turned your head to meet his gaze. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in days. No smug grin, no cocky spark. Just the man you’d somehow let yourself fall for. Bare stripped open or you.

But before you could answer, Claire swept back in carrying a tray of chocolate cake, her voice loud and cheerful as she set it down, singing a tune you recognize.

“Okay,” she grinned, slicing into it, “I have an announcement.”

You blinked, forcing your eyes away from Harry, grateful for the distraction.

Chris’s face lit up. “Are you telling them now?”

Claire beamed and nodded. “We’re having a baby.”

The room burst into congratulatory shouts and laughter from you and Harry. Chris leaning over to kiss her, you getting up to hug her tight, pretending the burn behind your eyes was just happiness for them.

Claire clung to you for a moment longer than usual, like she sensed the ache beneath your smile but chose not to name it. When you finally pulled back, you wiped at your cheek with a laugh, blaming it on the wine and the news.

“That’s amazing, Claire,” you said, your voice thick but steady. “You’re going to be the best mother a baby could ask for.”

Claire’s grin softened into something gentler. “And you’ll be around, right? I mean… I’ll need you.”

“Always,” you promised, meaning it.

You settled back into your seat; your heart still heavy but warmed at the edges by her happiness. Harry’s eyes met yours across the table, something unreadable in them, and for a brief second, it felt like the room disappeared, like it was just the two of you again, in that frustrating, electric limbo you couldn’t quite seem to leave behind.

He smiled, small and almost sad, and you hated how your heart skipped for it.

“Congratulations, Claire,” Harry said, raising his glass, and his voice was softer than you expected. “You and Chris. You’re going to be incredible parents.”

Chris grinned, sliding an arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Thanks, man. Means a lot. I hope a raise now, Boss.”

The table broke into light laughter, Claire playfully swatting Chris’s arm.

“Oh my God, Chris,” she groaned, though she was smiling.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his glass again. “You’ll have to fight the board for that one, but maybe I’ll put in a good word.”

Chris grinned like a kid who’d gotten away with something, and Claire leaned in to kiss his cheek.

The conversation moved on after that, baby names, nursery colors, Claire’s bizarre cravings already setting in, and you let yourself drift through it, contributing where you could, laughing when it was expected, but mostly trying to ignore the constant nuance of Harry’s presence beside you.

You became silent after that. You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you, but you kept your expression easy, giving them a soft smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice gentle, threading through the cozy warmth of the room. “I’m kind of wiped… it’s been a long week. I think I’m gonna head out now.”

Claire’s face immediately pinched in concern. “You sure? You can stay, crash in the guest room if you want—”

You shook your head, offering a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s okay. I just… need a quiet night.”

Chris stood up to hug you. “Thanks for coming, really. Means a lot to us.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” you murmured, squeezing him back.

Claire wrapped you in a tight, lingering hug. “Text me when you get home, okay?” she whispered against your hair.

You nodded, your throat burning again. “I will.”

And then, you knew it would happen, and you tried not to look, but your gaze snagged on Harry as you stepped toward the door. He was already on his feet, watching you with that same quiet, wrecked expression he’d had all night.

You hesitated, then gave a polite, distant nod. “Good night, Harry.”

His jaw flexed. “Good night.”

You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the room felt heavier for a moment, like the air itself shifted. Claire stared after you, her smile gone, replaced with sharp, narrowed eyes. She turned toward Harry; her voice low but fierce, aching.

“What the hell did you do to her?”

Chris glanced between them, frowning. “Claire—”

“No,” she cut him off, not taking her eyes off Harry. “She came in here holding herself together with string, Harry. She barely spoke, barely smiled, and she left like she was running from something. And now I know it’s you.”

Harry’s expression didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked like someone already carrying the punishment she was trying to give. He set his glass down with a soft clink, the echo filling the space between them.

“I hurt her,” he said quietly.

“Then what are you doing here still?” she demanded, her voice gentler now, but no less cutting.

Harry looked at her, eyes rimmed with something real and so raw.

Claire softened just a fraction, giving a small, tired smile. “If I’m not wrong, she hasn’t left. She’s sitting on the stairs. I bet on that.”

Harry’s head jerked slightly at that, something sparking behind his eyes.

“Please, Harry,” Claire said, quieter this time. “Fix it.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, fingers flexing at his sides, battling whatever storm was churning in his gut. And then he moved, wordlessly, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.

Claire exhaled, leaning into Chris’s side as he watched Harry go.

“I swear to God,” she murmured, “I will make him go broke if he doesn’t fix this.”

Harry stepped out into the cool evening air, his pulse hammering in his ears. He moved toward the front steps, and sure enough, there you were.

Sitting there, arms wrapped around your knees, your head tilted back against the railing like you’d been holding back tears and now you were too tired to bother.

His chest cracked open at the sight.

“Hey,” he said, his voice breaking slightly around the word.

You didn’t look at him right away, just kept your eyes on the dark sky above, the cool air kissing your skin. The ache in your throat was sharp and stubborn, but you spoke anyway.

“You don’t have anyone else to bother?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, but steady enough.

Harry let out a rough breath, shoving his hands into his pockets like a man who had no idea what the hell to do with them. He took a cautious step closer.

“No,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t.”

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze. And God, the way he was looking at you.

Harry gave a small, rueful smile, stepping closer. “Can I sit next to you?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He eased down onto the steps beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence but not so close that it made your heart race out of control.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and heavy all at once, but this was the normal.

The air was cold, and your bare arms tingled from the chill. Without a word, Harry slipped off his jacket and draped it gently over your shoulders. The fabric was warm, smelling like him and the unexpected gesture sent a small shiver down your spine. You glanced at him, surprised, but all he did was offer a quiet, timid, smile before turning his gaze back ahead.

“I feel so happy for Claire. I really do,” you murmured, your voice thin and uneven, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, as if the darkness could offer answers, you hadn’t found yet. “She’s getting everything she ever wanted. The baby, the family, the life, and someone who loves her like that.”

Harry stayed quiet, not interrupting, just listening. It made it easier, somehow, like the words had been caged in your chest for too long and now, and now they could finally come out.

“And I’ll be there,” you went on, a humorless, soft laugh catching in your throat. “I’ll watch it happen. Watch them build a life, a family. And I’ll be happy for them because I am. God, I am. But it’ll still feel like losing her. Like, like I’m standing still, and everyone else keeps moving forward.”

You swallowed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes. “I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” you admitted, voice cracking around the words. “The baby. The house. The person who loves you like it’s a fact of the universe. Someone who chooses you every single day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I can’t get there. That I let people in, and they leave. And maybe it’s just… maybe it’s me.”

The ache in your throat burned and you pressed your hands together tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking. You could feel his gaze on you now, heavy, like it was stitching you together and unraveling you at the same time.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment the world shrank to just the two of you “And the moment I thought I met the perfect man…it turned out he wanted me to make his ex-girlfriend jealous.”

Harry flinched it, you saw it. The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of something sharp in his eyes, like your words had struck somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

He didn’t look away though. He stayed right there, his gaze locked on yours, the weight of it a little heavier now.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “Every word of it.”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. You hadn’t meant to spill it out like that, but once it started, you couldn’t stop.

“I kept telling myself I was fine with it,” you admitted, the words trembling out of you. “That it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t real after all. That I wasn’t… falling. But I was, Harry, I am, because you…you’re …because you’re the one I want,” you whispered, the words breaking at the edges like glass under pressure. “And I hate myself for it. For letting it happen. For hoping for something that was never mine to have.”

Harry’s eyes closed for a second, like the weight of your confession physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were shining with something raw, unguarded, and it stole the air right out of your lungs because he looked so vulnerable under your broken stare.

His shoulders sagged a little, like hearing that eased something in him. “I never came here just to get something from you. Yeah, I made a mess of it. I crossed lines. I confused you. But I kept coming because this place, you. You’re the only part of my life that feels like mine. Not my family’s, not some move, not something someone else expects from me. Just mine.”

The words settled between you like a secret too sacred for everyone else to hear. Your chest ached, your heart thrumming so loud you were sure he could hear it. You looked at him, really looked, the stubble on his jaw, the way his mouth trembled around the truth he was finally speaking.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he went on, his voice rough, cracking in places. “At… loving someone the right way. I don’t know how to love someone.”

You closed your eyes at that, standing up before he could break your heart.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm, halting you in place. The warmth of his touch seared through your skin like a brand, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Please don’t go,” Harry murmured, his voice so soft it was barely a sound. You didn’t dare turn around; afraid your resolve would crack the moment you saw his face.

“I can’t do this, Harry,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I can’t be the almost once again.”

Harry’s grip tightened just a little, not to keep you there, but like he needed to hold onto something real. His breath hitched, and for a moment he didn’t speak, like the words were too heavy in his chest, too tangled up in everything he’d never had the courage to say.

Then, finally, in a voice raw and aching, he said, “You’ve never been temporary to me. Not for a second. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt real, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise.”

Your heart clenched, and you felt your defenses crack, a splinter running right through you.

He stood up “The moment I laid my eyes on you at the wedding I could feel my heart stopping for a second because I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” Harry went on, standing there in front of you like a man unraveling at the seams. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, and his eyes never left yours. “And then you smiled and it was over for me” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, laughing softly, like he couldn’t believe he was finally saying it.

Harry took a breath like it hurt to hold it in any longer, his eyes shining in the dim light. “You came into my life so easily,” he said, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been waiting, buried in his chest for far too long. “Like you already belonged there. Like you’d always been meant to find me, even when I didn’t know I was lost.”

He shook his head, a fragile, almost disbelieving smile touching his lips. “You tugged on this string inside me, one I didn’t even know existed. Nobody’s ever found it before, no one’s ever known how. And it terrified me because I’ve spent so long building walls, convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. That love was nothing but a contract you could buy with money.”

His hand came up, hovering near your cheek, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch you yet, but God, he wanted to. “I don’t know how to love someone,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ve never been shown the kind that stays. The kind that’s safe. But with you, it doesn’t feel like something I need to run from. It feels like something I get to learn. Something worth learning.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, searching your face. “You make me want to be better. Not for anyone else, just for you. Because every time you laugh, every time you look at me like I matter, it makes me think maybe I’m not as lost as I thought I was.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Harry’s thumb brushed it away with the softest touch, his fingers trembling against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words carrying the weight of every unspoken feeling he’d buried for too long. “I love you in a way I didn’t think I was capable of. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending it’s anything less.”

A soft rain began to fall, delicate, almost hesitant drops that speckled the stone steps around you and clung to the edges of his hair. The air smelled clean, like earth and something new beginning, and for a moment neither of you moved, standing there in the quiet hush of it.

It felt like the perfect beginning of a story of love.

You felt your lips curve into a small, fragile smile. Not because the tiny pain wasn’t there anymore, it was, but Harry also was there and you couldn’t ignore that.

Your gaze met his, and the storm behind his eyes softened the moment you smiled. He let out a breath, one he’d clearly been holding for far too long.

“You have a terrible sense of time,” you murmured, a gentle tease in your voice, though your heart ached with how much you meant it.

Harry laughed, a soft, broken sound, his shoulders shaking. He loved that sound, “It honestly feels like the right moment.”

The rain came a little steadier now, but neither of you moved to leave. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the final inches between you. His jacket slipped from your shoulders, but before the chill could find you, his hands were there, one at your waist, the other brushing damp hair from your cheek.

“I want us to try something real. To get to know each other.” His thumb brushed your cheek, a tender, reverent touch, and you felt yourself lean into it before you even realized.

“I want to kiss you every single time I feel like it,” he went on, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “Not just when it’s convenient for us, not when no one’s looking, but whenever it hits me how lucky, I am you even exist and that you chose me.”

You felt your breath catch, your heart stammer against your ribs.

“I want to spoil you rotten,” he added softly. “Take you out, bring you flowers for no reason, hold your hand at the movies, listen to you rant about work, kiss you stupid when you’re in a bad mood. I want to be the one you call when you’re excited, when you’re scared, when you just need someone. I want to be yours; you still want me.”

The rain drummed gently around you, the world shrinking to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands and the aching swell of your heart out of the happiness you were feeling.

You smiled, a real one this time, wide and aching and a little disbelieving, and let your hand slide to the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough to close the last space between you.

“Then kiss me, Harry,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “And don’t stop, please don’t stop.”

tags:

@jasminedragoon @stcrrjoon @sptbear @picketniffler @greenwitchfromthewoods @fallout-girl219 @suzysface @aomi-recs @capuccinodoll @fvispunk @orcasoul @joeldarling @mystickittytaco @onlythehobi @darkheartgatita @isabella-rose-trastamara @spencercmlover @brittmb115 @correapunk @aomi-nabi @annulmaelae @32-flavors @berriesarepunk @joelmillerpascal

@lotusbxtch @dean-and-baby343 @pedrofan @hisuccubus @daryltwdixon @sourrollercoaster @holholliday @loveisacowboyyy

@hhallefuckinglujahh @primadonnasdream @chewie-bars @starstriker027 @glitterspark @casualbananapatrol @06nasyrah13

@unicornsandpugs @orcasoul @grayandthyme @sincerelywithheartt @starstriker027 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927

@ro-nahime-things @kimi01985 @pastelpinkflowerlife @isabella-rose-trastamara @majuia

[fvispunk]

*plays foolish one”

I love this so much

"whatever you'd like us to be" | part 3

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

Summary: the one where you and harry have your first fight.

w.c: 5,7k >

warnings: age gap (harry is 45, reader is 29-30), fake dating, fluff, angst, miscommunication. a lot of kissing for two people who are just pretending to date. me, and that's the biggest warning.

A/N: Hi! I wanted to share a brief update with you. This one was fun to write, but at the same time, it feels like coming back to my angsty roots. The game between them is getting too real now. I was thinking about that specific Pedro's fit, that green shirt and bye. Your reblogs and comments mean a great deal to me, so please don't hesitate to share your thoughts, as I truly enjoy reading them. Thank you so much, and happy reading!

Remember, I now have an AO3 account, where I'm also posting the chapters.

The moment Harry’s lips brushed yours again, softer and more insistent this time, something in you just cracked.

You started laughing out of nowhere.

It bubbled out of your chest before you could stop it, and you felt him freeze for a second, pulling back just enough to frown playfully down at you.

“Are you—are you laughing right now?” he asked, one brow arched, trying so hard to look offended, but the corners of his mouth were already twitching.

You pressed a hand to your face, shaking your head as you kept giggling. “I’m sorry, I don’t know why. I think I’m just—” you gasped between laughs, “I’m tired and this whole ridiculous night and… you… and your face when you kissed me like we’re in the middle of a movie...”

“Wow,” Harry muttered, crossing his arms, pretending to be wounded. “My face?”

You doubled over in laughter then, the sheer absurdity of everything hitting you at once. And when you glanced up again, he was laughing too, shaking his head, his hand on his chest like he was genuinely offended but absolutely not.

“I swear to God,” he grinned, pointing at you, “you are magical.”

“I know,” you managed between breathless laughs. “You’re just figuring that out now?”

He moved closer, eyes soft, and without thinking twice, he kissed the tip of your nose.

And you laughed again.

And so did he.

Something broke. Perhaps the wall used as limit between the both of you, perhaps the fear. You had no clue. But all of this…You had no idea how to stop a feeling that had came in a natural way.

You were addictive to Harry in a way he could had never imagined.

And Harry? Harry was the kind of love you had always dreamed of.

After the both of you had stopped laughing. He glanced at you, longer than it was needed.

“Can I use your bathroom?” he asked, brushing up the warmth that tinted his cheeks in red color.

You gave a soft laugh as you stepped aside to let him in. “Yeah, it’s down the hall, first door on the left.”

Harry grinned, brushing past you just close enough to make your heart stutter in your chest again. “Thanks, sweetheart.”

You rolled your eyes, trying and failing to fight back the smile tugging at your lips as he disappeared down the hall. The door clicked shut, and you exhaled a long, shaky breath, leaning your back against the wall for a second.

What the hell are you doing?

This was supposed to be fake. Safe. A harmless deal to get people off your backs, not stolen glances and soft kisses and him making your heart trip over itself like some idiot in a bad rom-com.

And now he was in your apartment. Using your bathroom. Like he belonged there. In the space of your life.

You pushed off the wall and wandered into the tiny living room, absently tidying the already tidy throw pillows, too aware of your own reflection in the dark window, the faintest hint of a blush still on your cheeks.

A moment later, the bathroom door creaked and Harry’s voice floated out.

You didn’t even realize how heavy your eyelids had gotten until you felt yourself sway a little on your feet. The adrenaline, the tension of the night, it all hit you at once like a wave you couldn’t fight anymore.

Without thinking, you made your way to your bedroom and collapsed onto the bed, not bothering to take off your heels or fix the way your dress twisted awkwardly around you. One of your heels dangled off your foot while the other was half-planted on the floor, but you couldn’t bring yourself to care. The soft, familiar comfort of your mattress felt like heaven after this night.

Somewhere in the haze between awake and sleep, you heard footsteps. A familiar scent, something like clean cedar and warmth, surrounded you as Harry appeared in the doorway.

You barely cracked one eye open, your voice a lazy, mumbled whisper.

“How many hours were you there?”

He huffed a soft laugh, moving closer. “I was in there like for five minutes.”

You let out a weak, sleepy little laugh, eyes falling shut again as you murmured, “Felt like hours.”

Harry crouched down beside the bed, his hand gently brushing your arm, careful, tender. “Hey, do you want to change out of this dress? Or are you committing to this look for the night?”

You smiled; eyes still closed. “Committing.”

He chuckled softly, brushing a stray piece of hair off your face, and you felt the mattress dip slightly as he sat on the edge.

“You have those tiny soaps in your bathroom.”

You laughed. “Hey, those came in a gift basket! And they smell amazing, don’t lie.”

Harry huffed out a laugh, shaking his head as his arms slid beneath you, one around your back and the other under your knees, effortlessly lifting you a few inches off the bed.

“Let’s change you into your pajamas,” he murmured, a teasing edge in his voice. “Okay?”

Your eyes fluttered open just enough to smirk at him. “I sleep naked,” you joked, your words slow and slurred with exhaustion but your grin entirely smug.

He groaned, his head dropping for a second against your shoulder as he let out a laugh. “Oh, shut up,” he muttered, the warmth of his breath brushing against your neck, making your skin tingle.

“Not my fault you’re the one insisting on taking care of me” you teased softly, letting your head fall against his shoulder as he sat you up.

He grabbed one oversized sleep shirt from the edge of your bed that he supposed it was your pajama. The soft fabric smelled a little like laundry detergent and you, your perfume. A scent he had found himself becoming addicted to. He held it up for you to see it.

“Will this do?”

You grinned; eyes half-lidded as you reached out for it. “That’s my pajama.”

Harry helped tug the dress’s zipper down, averting his eyes with dramatic over-the-top modesty as if was fighting looking at the bare skin in front of him, though the faint smirk on his face betrayed him.

“Such a gentleman,” you teased, pulling the sleep shirt over your head.

“If you say so,” he replied, tossing your dress onto the nearby chair before helping you lay back down properly, your head hitting the pillow with a sigh of relief.

He draped the blanket over you and lingered for a second, his fingers brushing your cheek.

“You, okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded, the words caught somewhere between your chest and your throat. All you managed was a quiet, honest, “Yeah.”

Harry hesitated for a moment, then crouched down beside the bed, his face so close to yours you could see the stars inside those brown eyes even in the dim light.

“Do you want me to take your makeup off?” he asked gently, his voice barely a murmur like he was afraid to break whatever strange, delicate thing had settled between you both tonight.

You huffed a quiet, amused breath, your lips curling up. “You offering spa services now, Harry?”

He grinned, the corner of his mouth twitching. “Full package, sweetheart. No extra charge.”

You laughed, something soft and weightless in your chest, and nodded. “Yeah, okay.”

He stood and disappeared into your bathroom for a second, coming back with a makeup wipe he must’ve found in one of the drawers. He knelt beside you again and carefully started wiping away the makeup from your skin, slow, tender strokes that made your stomach twist in ways you didn’t fully understand.

Neither of you spoke. The room was quiet except for your steady breaths and the soft drag of the wipe against your skin.

“You’ve got no idea how beautiful you look like this,” he murmured, almost to himself, like it wasn’t meant to slip out.

Your eyes fluttered open to look at him, and for a second, you didn’t have it in you to tease him.

“Harry…”

He met your gaze, his expression open and raw in a way you hadn’t seen before. Like the carefully crafted version of him that belonged to the world out there didn’t exist in here, in your tiny apartment.

“I’m sorry for tonight,” he said again, his hand brushing a thumb over your cheek. “For being a selfish prick.”

Your heart ached and melted in the same beat. You caught his hand in yours, holding it there.

“I’m still mad,” you whispered. “But you are everything but a selfish prick” you smiled at him.

Harry let out a soft, breathless laugh, the kind that sounded like it surprised even him. His shoulders dropped a little, like the weight he’d been carrying all evening loosened just enough to breathe.

“You’re dangerous to me, you know that?” he murmured, eyes flickering between yours and your mouth like he was fighting the urge to kiss you again. “I come here thinking I’m the one calling the shots and you… you wreck me that easily.”

You grinned, your thumb absently brushing over the back of his hand. “Good.”

He chuckled, leaning his forehead gently against yours, his free hand cradling the side of your face. The warmth of him so close, the soft, unguarded way he was looking at you, it made your heart stumble in your chest.

He placed a kiss on your cheek “Thank you for blessing my life with your light.”

You chuckled, “Goodnight, Harry.”

His smile softened, something almost reverent in his gaze as he whispered back, “Goodnight, sweetheart.”

For a moment, neither of you moved, his hand still against your face, your fingers tangled with his. And then, like he didn’t quite want to let go, he gave your hand one final squeeze before slipping away, turning off the bedside lamp and letting the soft hush of the room wrap around you both.

Even in the dark, you could sense him looking your way one last time.

And just before sleep pulled you under, you heard his voice, low and rough and meant only for you.

“Sweet dreams, my treasure.”

During the Saturday midday, the lunch rush was starting to pick up, the warm hum of conversation blending with the whir of the espresso machine and the occasional clang of cups against saucers. You were halfway through rattling off instructions to Mia and Celine about restocking the pastries when the bell above the door chimed.

“Mia, make sure we’ve got enough croissants for the next hour, and double-check the almond ones, they’ve been flying out.”

She nodded, jotting it down on her little notepad. You turned to Evan, pointing toward the register.

“Ev, can you handle the front while I—”

And then you saw Harry.

Standing in the doorway of your coffee shop like something straight out that movie scene you would’ve rolled your eyes at any other day. Hair a little messy fresh out the shower, sunglasses perched on his head, that infuriatingly perfect green shirt with his collar, unbuttoned.

Your heart stuttered so hard you were half-convinced everyone might’ve heard it.

He spotted you instantly, his whole face changing the second his eyes landed on yours, softening, his mouth curving into that boyish, slightly crooked smile that did terribly inconvenient things to your stomach and set your belly on fire.

You swallowed, blinking like you were trying to ground yourself, still holding the half-empty tray of muffins in your hands.

“Uh…Ev, cover me for a second, yeah?”

You barely waited for Evan’s distracted “Yeah, boss, got it” before making your way toward the front.

Harry leaned against the counter, as casual as if he hadn’t nearly broken and mend your heart last night, as if he belonged in this little world of yours.

“Hey, trouble” he greeted softly, his voice a touch rough around the edges, maybe nerves, maybe lack of sleep, maybe… something else.

You crossed your arms, trying for composed and unimpressed, though your pulse was doing its own thing entirely.

“Didn’t expect to see you here at this hour,” you said, arching a brow.

“I didn’t come here for the coffee today,” he replied, that small grin tugging at the corners of his lips. He glanced around the place like it was the first time he’d really seen it. Then his gaze settled back on you, they even darkened a little.

“Came for you.”

“Harry, I know I’m the boss here, but I’m working.”

Harry chuckled softly, leaning a little closer across the counter, his voice dropping to that familiar teasing murmur only meant for you.

“Yeah? Well, I’m on my break,” he smirked.

You rolled your eyes, biting down a smile you weren’t about to let him fully see. “You don’t work here, Harry.”

“Details.” He shrugged, shameless, that playful gleam in his eyes making your pulse skip again. “Can’t a man visit the woman who’s been haunting his thoughts since she kicked him out of her apartment last night?”

You sighed, shaking your head as you grabbed a clean rag and started wiping down the counter just to give your hands something to do.

“I didn’t kick you out,” you mumbled.

“You practically tucked me in and sent me home,” he shot back, grinning wider when your cheeks gave you away, warming with color. “Which was admittedly very adorable, by the way.”

“Harry…” you warned, though the edge in your voice was soft, barely there.

He held up his hands in mock surrender, but his expression sobered, that teasing edge melting into something gentler.

“I just wanted to see you,” he said, quieter now. “Make sure we’re… okay. And if it takes me ordering a dozen pastries to keep you standing here a few more minutes, I’ll do it.”

You glanced at him, his eyes open and sincere in a way that tugged at something deep inside you. The little hum of the shop around you faded for a second.

“I’m mad.” you muttered, not quite able to hide the softness behind it.

But harry completely ignored you, “Hey, Mia, right? May you take my order, please?” he asked, leaning casually on the counter.

Mia blinked, cheeks a little pink. “Uh—y-yeah, of course! What can I get for you?”

You crossed your arms, arching a brow. “Harry…” you warned.

He shot you a sidelong glance, mischief dancing in his eyes. “Since the boss is too busy to serve me,” he teased, “I’ll have whatever pastry she makes best. And a vanilla late. Extra hot.”

Mia gave you an uncertain look, like she wasn’t sure if she was about to get in trouble or win employee of the month. You sighed dramatically, shaking your head.

“It’s fine, Mia. I’ll get it.”

Mia gave a little relieved laugh and stepped aside.

Harry straightened up, that smug grin still in place. “See? Knew you couldn’t resist me.”

“I fucking hate you,” you muttered under your breath, ducking behind the counter, grabbing a fresh pastry from the display like you weren’t internally melting under the weight of his gaze.

Harry chuckled, following your movement with a lazy, satisfied kind of grin. “You keep saying that, sweetheart,” he murmured, leaning his elbows on the counter to watch you work. “But somehow, you keep feeding me.”

You shot him a glare over your shoulder, plating the pastry with a little too much force. “That’s called customer service, asshole.”

“Mmm, sure it is.” He grinned wider, tilting his head. “You always call your customers assholes?”

“Only the ones who deserve it.” You slid the plate toward him with a sharp little smirk.

Harry reached for it, his fingers brushing yours for a second longer than necessary. His voice dropped low enough that only you could hear.

“At least, I’m your favorite?”

Your stomach flipped. Damn him. And you hated how easy it was for him to do this, to walk in here like he owned the place, like last night hadn’t left your heart in knots.

You sighed, shaking your head with a helpless, reluctant smile as you handed him his coffee. “Don’t push your luck.”

You watched him casually grab a seat near the window, his posture relaxed but somehow still commanding the whole space. From behind the counter, you caught glimpses of him making calls, occasionally typing on his phone, all while seeming completely at ease in your little shop.

Evan sidled up beside you, elbow resting on the counter with a knowing grin. “You know, boss, you’ve been staring at him for like ten minutes.”

You rolled your eyes, hoping your face wasn’t too obvious. “I’m not staring.”

“Sure, you’re not,” Evan teased, voice dropping as if sharing a secret. “Boss, you’re practically drooling.”

You shot him a warning glare and quickly turned back to the orders piling up, but you couldn’t deny the warmth spreading through your chest every time you caught Harry’s gaze, even if he didn’t know you were watching.

An hour slipped by. The midday rush had died down, and you were finally catching your breath when the bell above the door chimed.

You didn’t think much of it at first, just another customer, until you looked up, and your stomach did a full somersault.

Harry’s mom and his sister.

Walking into your coffee shop like as it they had picked your café as their weekly meeting place.

Your eyes widened so fast you were sure everyone in the place could hear your heart slamming against your ribs. You felt the unmistakable heat crawl up your neck and into your face, and Evan, ever the menace, leaned in with a smirk.

“Oh my God,” he whispered under his breath. “Boss, you’re so red.”

You sent daggers to him, and he immediately backed up.

Harry looked up from his phone, and the second he saw them, a grin spread across his face, but not before his gaze flickered toward you. Like he already knew this was going to fluster you, and maybe… enjoyed it just a little too much.

Your stomach twisted, but you forced yourself to take a deep breath, wipe your palms on your apron, and walk over to their table like you weren’t internally debating sprinting out the back door.

Harry was already smirking when you reached them, one arm slung casually over the back of his chair, the other nursing a cup of coffee he hadn’t even touched.

His mom spotted you first, and her whole face lit up like she’d just run into a long-lost friend.

“Darling!” she exclaimed, rising slightly from her seat as if to greet you properly. “How are you?”

And if that wasn’t bad enough, his sister, sitting across from her, grinned like she’d just been let in on the world’s juiciest secret.

You swallowed hard, your voice wobbling only slightly.

“I’m good, thank you. Um—how are you both?”

Harry’s mom reached out, catching your hand in hers with so much tenderness.

“Oh, so much better now that we finally get to see your place! It’s adorable, just like Harry said it was.”

You blinked, side-eyeing Harry, who had the audacity to wink at you.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how words worked.

“Uh—thank you. Really. And it’s nice to see you again, Liz.”

Liz leaned her elbow on the table, chin propped in her hand as she grinned up at you.

“You’re even prettier in daylight. And honestly, we’ve been dying to try this coffee ever since someone wouldn’t stop talking about you.”

You felt your face burn again, and somewhere behind you; Evan coughed a laugh.

“I—uh—I’ll get you both something,” you stammered, retreating a little. “On the house.”

“Oh, sweetheart, you don’t have to—”

“No, it’s fine. Really.” You flashed the politest, not-at-all-panicking smile you could manage before turning and practically speed-walking back behind the counter.

As soon as you were out of earshot, you slapped Evan on the arm. “Don’t. Say. A word.”

He just grinned. “I didn’t have to. Your face did all the talking.”

You didn’t even look back at the table as you practically dove into your tiny office behind the counter, shutting the door and leaning against it like it might protect you from the whirlwind Harry Castillo had just dragged into your coffee shop.

Your pulse was still racing, your stomach a tangled knot of nerves and frustration. God, you could kill him. Who just shows up in your work unannounced, plants himself there like he owns the place, and then drags his mom and sister in like it’s some casual brunch meet-and-greet?

You hated how easily he made himself at home in your world. Hated that your heart still fluttered like some reckless idiot at the sight of him.

A knock came at the office door a moment later before Evan let himself in, carrying a tray of two iced lattes and a pastry.

“Don’t stab me,” he said lightly, setting them down on your desk. “I come in peace. And with gossip.”

You gave him a look. “What now?”

Evan smirked. “Harry Castillo asked for you.”

You sighed, rolling your eyes and crossing your arms.

“What did you tell him?”

“I told him you were in your office. Which is true.” He shrugged, then grinned. “He looked kinda bummed. Poor guy. Big bad finance guy being iced out by the boss lady.”

“Good,” you muttered, plopping down in your chair and scowling at the door. “He deserves to be bummed. Who the hell does this, Evan? Who brings his family without warning? I can’t—” you gestured vaguely to the air, “—do this. I didn’t sign up for… whatever the hell this is.”

Evan sat on the edge of your desk, one brow arched. “I thought you knew them already?

You glared at him. “I do. But it’s not that simple.”

“Mmm,” Evan hummed knowingly. “Sure seems like it should be. But hey — for what it’s worth? His mom and sister seem pretty crazy about you.”

You groaned, leaning your head back against the chair. “I’m going to throw him out the second I step out there.”

Evan patted your shoulder. “I’ll light a candle for him.”

And with that, he grabbed the empty tray and sauntered back out, leaving you alone in your storm of tangled feelings.

The worst part? A small, traitorous part of you didn’t want Harry to leave your side.

A few minutes later, another knock came at the door, but this one was softer. You huffed out a breath, assuming it was Evan again coming back to poke the bear.

“Evan, I swear to God—”

The door cracked open, and it wasn’t Evan.

Harry peeked in, his stupidly handsome face cautious and unapologetic. His hair a little mussed like he’d been running his hand through it, he was nervous. The moment your eyes met his, your heart betrayed you with a sharp, uninvited thud.

“Hey,” he said quietly, lingering in the doorway. “Can I…?”

You crossed your arms over your chest, giving him a pointed glare. “I’m working.”

“I know,” Harry murmured, stepping inside anyway and closing the door behind him. “Just… needed a minute.”

You didn’t say anything, just watched as he shifted his weight awkwardly, his confidence from earlier stripped down to something more vulnerable.

“I didn’t mean to blindside you,” he went on, shoving his hands in his pockets. “I wasn’t thinking. My mom and Liz just… they were nearby and wanted to stop by, and it was a dumb call not to ask you first. I’m sorry.”

You wanted to stay mad. You really did. But his voice had that unguarded edge again, the same one from your apartment last night, and it made it so damn hard.

You exhaled slowly, shaking your head. “You’re breaking all the rules again.”

He smiled faintly, a shadow of the cocky grin you knew. “Yeah… I figured.”

You sighed, your walls crumbling just a little. “You can’t keep doing this, Harry. You can’t drop into my life whenever you feel like it and drag your whole world with you. I’m not some accessory you can introduce like a prop. I’m… me. This is my place. My job. My people. Whatever mess we have, that’s outside and just for pretending, so stop playing with me.”

Harry’s grin faltered, and for a second, you saw it, the flicker of guilt, of something raw and sincere beneath the charm he wore like armor.

“I’m not playing with you,” he said, voice low, steady in a way that made your pulse stutter. “I swear to God, I’m not. I… I get it, alright? I’ve been a selfish bastard about this, about us, if there even is an us, and I keep showing up without thinking how it affects you. That’s on me.”

You kept your arms crossed, every word digging under your skin because part of you wanted to believe him and another part didn’t know if you should.

“Harry, this was supposed to be fake. A plan. A harmless distraction to piss off an ex and get your ego stitched back together. I never signed up for this.”

“I know,” he breathed, his hand dragging through his hair like he was trying to pull himself together. “I swear it wasn’t planned. I wasn’t thinking. I just… fuck, I wanted to see you.”

Your throat tightened painfully, because damn it, this wasn’t supposed to hurt like this.

He took a careful step forward, closing the space between you. His voice softened, the way it did when it was just you and him, stripped of every audience, every performance.

“Let me be part of your life, as a friend at least.” he admitted. “

You let out a humorless laugh, shaking your head. “You’re a pain in my ass.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his lips. “Yeah, I know.”

You sighed, the last of your walls giving way, exhausted from holding them up for so long.

“Fine,” you muttered.

The clocked marked eight p.m. The sun had set a long time ago and you had sent Evan, Celine and Mia home, promising you were going to be in charge of closing the shop tonight. You were wiping down the last table, the chairs already stacked, your playlist of soft acoustic covers playing low in the background.

The bell above the door jingled softly, and even without looking up, you knew it was Harry.

It was getting late, the street outside quieting down, the golden glow of your café’s hanging lights reflecting off the glass.

You sighed, a tired smile tugging at the corners of your lips as you straightened up and turned to the door.

There he was, in the same outfit as before, hair a little messy, two brown paper bags in his hands. His smile was small, almost sheepish this time.

“I brought peace offerings,” he announced softly, lifting the bags.

You crossed your arms, trying your best to look unimpressed, though the warmth blooming in your chest made it difficult.

“It’s late,” you said, glancing at the clock. “Kitchen’s closed. Staff’s gone. You should be, too.”

“I know,” he replied, stepping fully inside, letting the door fall shut behind him with a soft click. “But you weren’t answering my texts, and I figured you’d still be here. You always stay up late.”

You raised an eyebrow.

Harry shrugged with a crooked grin, setting the bags down on one of the tables you hadn’t cleared yet.

You rolled your eyes, though your lips twitched up. “What’s in the bags?”

“Pasta,” he grinned, opening one to reveal takeout containers from that hole-in-the-wall place you’d dragged him to once and swore by. The kind of place no one would guess a guy like him would even step foot in. “And wine but technically not, since you get a bit tipsy.”

You tried not to melt, but damn it, it was getting harder. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Yeah, yeah,” he grinned, pulling out two forks and waving one at you. “

You sighed, dropping the rag on the counter and walking over, the exhaustion of the day settling heavy in your bones, but somehow, seeing him here, looking at you like you were the only thing in the room, made it all feel a little easier to carry.

“Thank you” you melted, sitting across from him as he started unpacking the food.

His smile softened, and this time it wasn’t cocky, wasn’t teasing.

“Do you have glasses?” he asked, looking around.

“No, but I have two mugs inside my office” you replied, walking towards there.

Then you came back with the two mismatched mugs from your office, one with a faded Central Perk logo, the other a plain white one you’d meant to replace for months. Harry grinned when he saw them.

“Classy,” he teased softly, but you caught the fondness in his eyes as he took them from your hands.

“Shut up. It’s all we have,” you smirked, leaning your hip against the counter as he unscrewed the cap of the bottle and poured the deep red liquid into each mug.

The café was so quiet now, just the soft hum of the fridge in the back, the faint music still playing, and your heartbeat hammering too loud in your ears as he stood so close. His shoulder brushed yours, and for a second, neither of you said anything.

Then, you felt him stiffen, his hand pausing mid-pour as if some invisible current passed between you. He turned his head, his gaze locking with yours.

And before you could even take a breath, his mouth was on yours.

It wasn’t careful this time. It wasn’t the testing, uncertain kind of kiss you’d shared in the middle of that party, or the hesitant one in your apartment. This was desperate, unspoken words crashing into each other. You melted instantly, your hands fisting in the front of his shirt as he stepped into you, deepening the kiss like he’d been starving for it.

Your back hit the counter, and in one easy move, he lifted you up onto it, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist to keep him close.

He broke the kiss for a fraction of a second, both of you breathless. His forehead pressed against yours, his hands gripping your thighs like he wasn’t sure if he should be apologizing or saying something else entirely.

“I’ve wanted to do that all day,” he murmured.

Your lips curved into a smile, catching your breath. “Break the rules?” you asked.

“Oh, shut up for once,” Harry grinned against your mouth before kissing you again, slower this time, like he was savoring it, like you were the only thing in the world worth tasting.

His lips trailed down to your jaw, his hand cradling the back of your neck as he pressed gentle kisses there, then to the hollow just beneath your ear. You let out a soft breath, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt as he moved lower, the scrape of his stubble against your skin making your stomach flutter.

“God, you drive me fucking insane,” he murmured against your neck, his words a little slurred from the wine and whatever spell was holding the two of you there, alone in the dark café. “I swear… Lucy had no—”

And you froze. Like ice water down your spine.

Your whole body tensed; your hands stiff against his chest. You felt it, felt the air shift between you like a thread snapping.

“What?” you whispered, pulling back just enough to look at him.

Harry blinked, realizing what he’d let slip. His face paled, his mouth opening, closing like he couldn’t figure out which words to reach for.

“Wait... I didn’t—”

But it didn’t matter. The crack in the moment was already there, and you felt the ache blooming in your chest.

You slid off the counter, untangling yourself from his hold.

“Get out, Harry.”

“Hey—hey, no, listen to me—”

“I said, get out.” Your voice shook, but you kept your chin up, kept your heart from spilling out right there on the café floor. “Take your dinner, take your wine. And leave.”

He stepped closer; his face was pained. “It’s not what you think—”

“No, Harry,” you cut him off, voice steady now, sharp in a way you didn’t even feel anymore. “For once… don’t break the rules. Just go.”

And you turned your back on him. Because if you didn’t, you knew you wouldn’t be able to.

Harry stood frozen for a heartbeat, watching you turn away like you were slipping through his fingers. The sound of the mug tapping softly against the counter was like a breaking point.

“Please,” he whispered, voice raw.

“I said out!” you raised your voice, words came out sharper than intended, slicing through the heavy, aching silence of the empty café. Harry flinched like you’d actually struck him, his shoulders tensing, jaw clenching as he looked down at the floor.

“I get it,” he said quietly, his voice rough, almost hoarse. “I fucked up.”

You didn’t answer. You couldn’t. Your throat was too tight, your hands shaking just enough that you had to brace them against the counter.

Harry lingered there for a beat longer, like he wanted to fight for the right to stay, but knew he didn’t have it.

Your stomach twisted, some awful bit of anger, hurt, shame and the sharpest pull of affection you weren’t ready to admit.

The door opened, a cool gust of night air rushing in as he stepped outside. He glanced back once, his gaze catching yours, and the look on his face damn near shattered you.

Then he was gone.

And God, you felt so foolish, still waiting for confessions of love that never would come.

You felt stupid to even think that a man like him could have fallen in love with you.  

💌tags<3: If you would like to be removed of perhaps you don't like this anymore, please tell me.

@jasminedragoon @stcrrjoon @sptbear @picketniffler @greenwitchfromthewoods @fallout-girl219 @suzysface @aomi-recs @capuccinodoll @fvispunk @orcasoul @joeldarling @mystickittytaco @onlythehobi @darkheartgatita @isabella-rose-trastamara @spencercmlover @brittmb115 @correapunk @aomi-nabi @annulmaelae @32-flavors @berriesarepunk @joelmillerpascal

@lotusbxtch @dean-and-baby343 @pedrofan @hisuccubus @daryltwdixon @sourrollercoaster @holholliday @loveisacowboyyy

@hhallefuckinglujahh @primadonnasdream @chewie-bars @starstriker027 @glitterspark @casualbananapatrol @06nasyrah13

@unicornsandpugs @orcasoul @grayandthyme @sincerelywithheartt @starstriker027 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927

@ro-nahime-things @kimi01985 @pastelpinkflowerlife @isabella-rose-trastamara @majuia

[fvispunk]

LLAMEN A DIOS

POR QUÉ ME LASTIMAN ASI? 😭

(me encanta)

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 9: Hurt

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: Is love enough to overcome everything? -Yes. How? -No. Why? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 9,8k, ANGST (sorry for that), love, feelings, fluffy, rom-com, lust, passion, dirty talk, love triangle, intrigue, mention about death. authors note: I used Spanish and Italian language in some parts, I'm sorry if I made mistake, I'm still a learner. Feel free to warn me guys :) Thank you all for your support, asks, comments, reblogs and likes. I appreciate each and every one of you! Love you all!

“Baby, just try to breathe.” 

That was the third time Harry had said it as you both stepped out of the car, holding hands while walking up to the mansion. But despite his reassurance, your nerves were still going wild. 

Excitement mixed with anxiety as the weight of the moment settled in; you were about to meet your boyfriend's mother. Your mind raced with questions, each one jostling for attention like cars on a racetrack.

No, don’t think about cars, you reminded yourself.

You didn’t want to make a strange first impression by mentioning things like what men typically like. The last thing you wanted was for your future mother-in-law to think you were odd.

Mother-in-law.

That thought made you grin a bit. 

Suddenly, you felt Harry’s lips on your temples, and you turned to him in surprise. “You looked like you needed that,” he said with a grin, wrapping his arm around your waist and leading you toward the door.

He was right; the kiss worked wonders. You gazed at the grand historical mansion in front of you, located in Brooklyn Heights, not too far from the bridge. It was surprisingly close to your and Zoe's apartment in Dumbo. Considering the Castillo family's wealth, you were taken aback to learn his mother lived here. On the way over, Harry had mentioned that his mother had faced a trauma that kept her from leaving the house for years. That made you feel a wave of empathy as you anticipated meeting her. Taking a deep breath, you tightened your grip on Harry's hand while clutching the bag of pastries and pie you had prepared all morning.

“Mr. Castillo, it’s great to see you again.” 

An older guy opened the door, greeted Harry, and welcomed both of you in with a warm gesture. Stepping inside, the spacious reception hall welcomed you with its grandeur. The staircase twisted in multiple directions, adorned with wrought iron balustrades and floral designs. While you admired the surroundings, Harry helped you remove your coat before doing the same for himself, handing them to the man. 

“This way,” he said, guiding you gently toward a large hall on the right with his hand resting on your back. 

“Master Harry!” A woman in her sixties approached you, arms wide open and wearing a big grin. Dressed casually, her accent clearly revealed her Latin roots. 

“How are you, Sofia?” Harry asked her. 

“I’m better now that I’ve seen you!” she replied, giving his arm an affectionate touch. 

Then, she turned her attention to you, her smile widening as she took in your appearance from head to toe. “Oh, Dios mío, qué mujer tan hermosa eres.” 

Nervously, you smiled. Your Spanish wasn’t great, but you grasped the compliment. “Muchas gracias,” you managed to reply. 

Her laughter rang out as she seamlessly switched back to rapid Spanish, leaving you a bit lost. You looked to Harry for help. “Sofia, could you please speak in English? I’m not sure she understands you,” he said to her.

“Oh, disculpa, señorita,” she said, looking at you, a bit embarrassed. “Mrs. Castillo is inside, waiting for you.” She took the bag from your hand and led the way. 

As you walked in, you whispered to Harry, “I really need to work on my Spanish.”

He chuckled lightly. “It’s not on you. Sofia’s English isn’t great, and she loves speaking her native tongue. Sometimes she talks so fast that even I can’t keep up.” 

“Oh yes, they’re here; I’ll call you later,” a voice came from the living room. When she hung up and turned around, you couldn’t help but admire her. She was a woman in her late sixties with short gray hair, stunning for her age. Honestly, she looked more like Harry's older sister than his mom. 

Her gaze focused on Harry, and a joyful tear sprang to her eye as a wide smile spread across her face. “Mi hijo!” They embraced tightly, and you felt a warm smile cross your lips as you watched them. She playfully punched Harry on the shoulder. “You’ve really been a bad son! Is your job more important than your old mama?” 

“Mother, must you embarrass me in front of my girlfriend?" he grunted.

Her gaze then shifted to you, prompting you to flash your most nervous smile. As her admiration deepened, you felt your cheeks heat up while she appraised you with a satisfied expression. “Oh, how beautiful you are!” she exclaimed, narrowing her eyes at Harry. “Now I see why you’ve been so busy.” 

Harry chuckled as he introduced you. 

“Nice to meet you, Mrs. Castillo,” you said warmly, extending your hand. 

With a cheerful laugh, she shook your hand. “Oh, please, cariño, just call me Valeria.”

Sofia, the woman you met earlier, quietly stepped into the room and leaned in to whisper, her eyes sparkling with mischief as they both chuckled while looking at you. “Sofia says dinner’s ready; let’s head to the dining room,” Valeria announced, her gaze locking onto yours with intensity. Harry took your hand gently, and Valeria placed her hand reassuringly on your back. “Come on, sweetheart,” she invited with warmth.

Well, you hadn’t expected this kind of attention from Harry’s mom. She kept an eye on you until you were comfortably settled at the table. Harry pulled your chair out for you, sliding it in once you sat down, then took a seat right beside you. Valeria, at the head of the table, folded her hands and shot you a warm smile while Harry beamed with happiness as you two exchanged grins.

As dinner was served, Harry and Valeria chatted easily about work. When the conversation shifted your way, you answered every question honestly, sharing that your mom had passed away, your dad was living alone on your farm in Atlanta, and a bit more about your life. Valeria listened closely, her kind smile and supportive words making you feel at ease. When it was your turn to talk about your job—the part that made you the most anxious—Valeria surprised you. “Don’t feel ashamed, honey. This job is one of the toughest out there. People can be awful, but you’re amazing and hard-working, and you deserve more. Keep your head high; it’s the person who brings dignity to the job, not the job that brings dignity to the person.”

You recognized the quote. “Martin Luther King,” you said, smiling back in gratitude. "Thank you Valeria."

Harry then reached over the table to take your hand. “Actually, she’s done with that for now,” he said, looking deeply into your eyes. You smiled back. “Because I didn’t want her to wear out her beautiful, skillful hands,” he added, kissing your knuckles. A bit shy about the attention in front of his mom, you bit your lower lip and grinned nervously.

Valeria sipped her champagne, a playful smile lighting up her face. “Hmm, I sense a bit of ‘skillful’ in your tone, Harry.”

“She’s an incredibly talented bakery chef,” he proclaimed proudly.

"Um-" You were about to protest, but Harry continued, “You’ve got your certificate, love; it’s time to stop being modest. You’re officially a chef now,” he said with proud, prompting smiles between you.

“Oh, that’s wonderful.” Valeria said excitedly.

“And this made by this lovely lady herself, Mrs. Castillo,” Sofia chimed in with a smile as she entered the room, serving the dessert you’d prepared and placing it in the center of the table.

“Ah, Sopapilla?” Valeria said, her eyes lighting up in delight.

“Harry mentioned it was your favorite, so I made it for you. I hope you like it,” you said, biting your lower lip.

Sofia drizzled honey over the cheesecake before serving Valeria, then Harry, and finally you. “My baby's been hustling in the kitchen all morning to make this,” Harry said, glancing your way as he took a bite of the cheesecake.

“Ah, this is absolutely delicious! The best sopapilla pie I’ve ever had. It’s fantastic!” Valeria exclaimed eagerly, savoring another forkful.

“Thanks, I’m so glad you like it,” you said happily, relieved.

“I loved it, honey,” Valeria added, giving Harry a knowing look and then turning back to you. “It was really sweet of you to make this for me.”

As the evening went on, Harry shared stories about his family and showed you old photos in another room. He talked about his sister, who had passed away young due to a congenital disease, and how their mom struggled after that. He also shared the history of their home, which was built in the 1800s for a ship dealer and beautifully restored with modern touches after Harry’s dad immigrated from Mexico to New York. The house’s stunning design, with its vintage charm, offered breathtaking views of the city from the terrace, while the backyard was a serene escape, filled with plants, flowers, and dwarf trees, created since his mom couldn’t go outside anymore. It was a beautiful house, especially seeing it was where Harry grew up.

When you asked for permission to use the bathroom, Harry went to his mom. In the kitchen, he and Sofia were chatting about you.

“She’s got a pretty good figure,” Valeria giggled.

"And young too," Sofia said.

“Even better. Young enough to give me lots of grandchildren one day—hopefully.”

"Fingers crossed. Oh, Jesus, please hear our little prayers.”

They both raised their hands above as if praying, then laughed together.

Harry, hands on his hips, huffed in mock disapproval. “What kind of conversation are you two having about my girlfriend?”

Valeria took Harry's face in her hands and smiled warmly. “Harry, this girl is incredible. I was so nervous since it’s the first time you’ve brought someone home. But you really hit the jackpot! Don’t let her slip away; propose to her and put a ring on it! If you don't marry this girl, I'll beat the shit out of you regardless of your age,” she said, teasing.

Sofia chimed in with a laugh, “Last time you said that, Harry was only 19.”

They both shot her a look, and Sofia quickly looked away, focusing on her work.

“Mom, don’t worry. Even if she ever decides to leave me, I wouldn’t let her go. Besides, I was coming to ask you for your wedding ring.”

Valeria gasped, her hand flying to her chest. “Oh my! Are you really going to propose? Did you hear that, Sofia?”

Sofia clapped her hands excitedly. “Gracias Jesus! Finally, the moment you’ve been waiting for, Mrs. Castillo! God bless you, Harry,” her voice a little shaky from all the happiness.

Harry chuckled and then warned her, "Ssh, she will hear you."

“I thought you might never want that ring; thought it would just gather dust in the drawer,” Valeria said with a happy sigh. “Hold on, I’ll go get it for you.”

After Valeria left the kitchen, cheerfully murmuring to herself, Sofia turned to Harry. “I haven’t seen her this happy in ages, and neither have you. She was so down when you went to France, but now…” Her voice trailed off as tears welled up in her eyes. “Thank goodness for this moment; it’s such a blessing to see you both so blissful.” 

Harry grinned back at her, totally oblivious to the fact that you were walking back from the bathroom and could hear him in the hallway. “Thank you, Sofia. I promise it won't happen again; she’s been through enough. Now that I’ve found the one, we will create our happiness together, and nothing will stand in our way. I won’t allow it.”

You smiled, hoping for the same.

The first day of the fair arrived just a few days after you received your certificate and master’s license. The logo design for the booth, brochures, banners, and everything else was set to go. After much consideration, you, Harry, and Mia -who insisted strongly- finally settled on the brand name “The Vanilla Vine.” Since it was the weekend, Zoe joined you at the booth. Harry was the first to test the desserts and sweets you made, followed by Maria, Mia, and John.

The fairgrounds brimmed with a tapestry of colorful booths, filled with throngs of eager visitors. As the hours slipped by, more and more people gravitated towards your booth, captivated by the tantalizing aromas wafting from your offerings. Each smile and compliment filled your heart with joy, a testament to all the hard work you had poured into this endeavor. However, as the sun began to set, the fatigue began to settle in, weighing on your limbs. Harry, receiving an urgent call, excused himself and hurried off, leaving just you and Zoe to manage the dregs of the day. Thankfully, it turned out to be a way better day than you expected—almost everything was sold out before closing time.

As John and Zoe were heading home together, you waved goodbye to them before getting into the car that Harry had sent for you. You were so ready to get home, take a shower, and collapse in bed—exhausted from the long day of cooking and standing around.

You were yawning when the elevator dinged as it reached Harry’s penthouse. You swiped the card against the door lock and stepped inside, finding the lights off. Hadn't he come home yet?

“Harry?” you called out, but there was no reply.

Only stillness answered, prompting you to pull out your phone. A quick call confirmed he would be home in a few hours. Sighing, you wandered into the laundry room, shedding your clothes before heading into the bathroom for a hot shower. You tossed your well-worn cooking apron and the remnants of your day’s attire into the washing machine. The steam enveloped you as you stood under the warm water, washing away the fatigue, and afterward, you slipped into bed wearing only Harry’s bathrobe, far too worn and loose for you, but comforting nonetheless.

You fell asleep pretty much right away.

When you woke without opening your eyes, you felt the bed dip as he slid next to you, followed by a gentle pressure on your cheek. His familiar, masculine scent of cologne wafted through the air, and you felt the tickle of his mustache as he kissed your cheek.

“You awake, baby?” he asked softly.

Not quite opening your eyes, you mumbled sleepily, “You came.”

He wrapped his arm around you, burying his nose in your damp hair. "Sorry I'm late. A few things came up."

His tone urged you to open your eyes. “Is everything okay?” you asked, not turning to face him.

"A few setbacks, but I’ll handle it tomorrow. Don’t worry about it. How did things go after I left? Everything run smoothly?"

You released a sigh of relief. “Yeah, it was fantastic—everything sold out.” 

“They were all incredible. I’m not surprised at all. I’m so proud of you.”

“I couldn’t have succeeded without your support. Thank you for everything,” you murmured, turning to him.

He smiled wider, leaned down, and kissed you, his hand sliding under the collar of your robe, brushing your skin. “No underwear?”

You smiled at the thrill in his voice.

"I was so worn out to wear any. I still am," you murmured, turning onto your side and closing your eyes again teasingly.

Mischievously, he gathered your damp hair and slowly slid the robe down to your shoulder. He started placing soft kisses along your skin, moving to your neck. “I wonder how tired are you? Can you rate it for me?”

"I would rate it a solid 10 out of 10," you murmured again, trying to hide your amusement while content to enjoy his warmth.

“Hmm, that much? Well, can I have permission to fuck you while you sleep then, because I want you so bad.”

You turned to him lazily, your eyelids heavy. "Baby, I'm wiped."

He smiled mischievously and whispered into your face as he ran his lips along the edge of yours. "Hush, it's all right, love. Just stay still. I'll take care of you."

It was the first bit of excitement you felt, even though you were really tired, and you started to wonder if he was thinking about where to begin.

Damn.

The idea of him running his tongue over your skin was enough to make you wet. Drifting into consciousness slowly, you were enjoying the feel of being wrapped by his strong, warm arms. You stretched a little, toes pointed toward the end of the bed, and snuggled tighter into him.

However, his intention was not solely for cuddling.

His arm curved around you, slid a hand under the robe to cup your breast, gently pinching and rolling your nipple between his fingers. The stimulation made you gasp, the sensation blossoming out and down. 

You suddenly noticed that Harry still hadn’t taken off his shirt. Your hands searched for the hem clumsily, he laughed at your efforts. With a swift movement, he yanked off his black T-shirt and tossed it to the floor. His arm slipped around you from behind as his other hand skillfully pulled the robe off you. The scent of fresh soap from your skin reached him, he couldn’t help but touch you again, trailing his lips softly over your skin. Your hands found the waistband of his pants with a bit more ease this time, and as you tried to unbuckle them in the low light, you noticed that the thrill of the moment was making you feel surprisingly more alert and less tipsy. As you loosened the belt, he delightedly caressed your neck and collarbone, then between your breasts, using wet touches of his tongue and smiling as he tasted lavender off your skin.

But now he was feeling impatient.

Dangerously so.

He sat on the bed to remove his pants and left them to the same fate as his T-shirt, returning to the bed to kiss you passionately. You both moaned from the vibrating waves of the touch as he insistently thrust his tongue into your mouth. You felt a shiver run through you as you realized that the taste of his tongue and saliva revealed he had just knocked back a strong whiskey.

Irish.

Neat.

He must’ve had about four or five shots.

He always went hard like that whenever he was feeling stressed.

It was kinda wild and almost beautiful to understand him just by tasting him.

It felt like reading a book without even looking at the pages.

He was too, and he relished tasting you just as much. He felt the vanilla frosting of the cupcake you had just popped in your mouth before you got in the shower - the only thing left from the fair - on his tongue and he sucked so hard that you couldn't help pushing yourself against him, almost sitting up in bed. You held onto his shoulders and his hand, which was everywhere at that moment, began to caress your legs sweetly. With a swift movement he got rid of his underwear and got back to business.

He ducked his head, kissing his way slowly up your belly, over your ribs, finally taking a nipple in his mouth and sucking gently. "Oh," you gasp, bucking your hips against him. Harry released the tender nub and blew gently. His breath was hot against your wet, cool skin, making you writhe.

You groaned and arched your back, then leaned in to kiss him. His kiss was now slow and thorough. He moved his mouth over yours, drinking more while he groaned. He nudged your thighs apart with his knee, lowering his hips to grind his hard cock against your pussy. You spread your legs wider, bringing your knees up and hooking your ankles behind his back. You felt him reach down and slide his fingers between your folds to rub against your clit. He dipped two fingers inside you, moaning as he slid easily into your hot, wet pussy. He grinded his hips in time with the stroke of his fingers inside you, his cock hard and rough against your clit.

“Oh god Harry,” you moaned, watching him.

He looked up at you, eyes glistening in the dim light. His mouth quirked up at the corners into a half smile. "Feels good, baby?"

You ran your fingers through his hair, which looked really dark, almost black, in the dim light. "Yes, keep going please," you craved.

As you moved your hand down his forehead, you gently touched his face, trailing your thumb over his eyebrows and giving his cheeks and jawline a soft caress.Then, your fingers wove through his hair again, with your thumbs circling around the contours of his ears this time, he smirked, clearly enjoying it. You sit up to kiss him again, rocking your hips against his palm as he continued pumping his fingers inside of you.

A groan escaped from your lips as you came.

He then captured your mouth in a fervent kiss to swallow your loud moans, pulling his fingers out slowly. “So fucking hot,” he hummed then dipped his head down to kiss your neck, hands pulling at your hips, flipping you onto your stomach.

You buried your face into the pillow, groaning when you feel his cock against your ass. He kneads your ass, pulling your cheeks apart. You could feel his knees on either sides of your thighs. He kissed your back, sliding the head of his cock down low between your legs to rest against your pussy.

He slid inside of you so slowly that every nerve sings. It glided against the taught, wet muscles, stretching and pulling. Harry's hips come to rest against your ass as he buried himself inside of you. He pulled back, movements measured and deliberate. "God, you're so tight, every damn time," he groaned.

Bringing your ass up, you pushed against him, silently begging for more. He grabbed you, long fingers wrapping around your hips. He pulled back but only to push himself forcefully forward into you with a grunt. "Fuck, you're driving me crazy. I want to fuck you so hard."

“Yes, please,” you beg, voice party muffled by the pillow.

“You want it hard baby?” he asked, voice ragged almost begging for your confirmation.

“Yes,” the muscles in your abdomen shuddered and tighten with expectation.

And that was it.

He rocked his hips back, his forward thrust slamming inside of you, repeating the motion again and again, bed rocking, springs creaking slightly with the rhythm.

Gripping the sheets desperately, "Harry," you moaned, mewled and gasped, your own movements limited by the position. He leaned over you, lips pressing to your shoulders and the back of your neck, licking sucking, nibbling.

Pressing your ass up, you pushed down against the bed, breathless. Harry shifted, pulling out. You felt his cock, wet and hard, smack against your thigh. You got up onto your knees, turning to your lover. He took your breasts in his hands, kneading them, rubbing his thumbs over your nipples.

“Baby,” he whispered, dipping his head to kiss you. His lips were soft and part readily. You reached down, taking his cock in your hand which was slick from your pussy. You tightened your fingers around his thick shaft, stroking slowly. He moaned and shifted back, sitting against the headboard. Your body moved with him, lips pressed to his, stroking his cock in your hand.

Stretching his legs out, he pulled you into his lap, fingers digging into your ass. Never breaking the kiss, you tilted his cock up towards you, slowly lowering your hips onto him.

Harry groaned.

You spread your knees to either side of his hips, taking as much of his cock as you can before rocking your hips back, grinding your clit down against him. He broke the kiss, running his tongue down along your neck, nipping gently at the base, just above your collar bone. You set the pace, increasing the speed as you find your rhythm and the pressure started to build in your core.

“Harry,” you gasped, gripping his broad shoulders for leverage. His hands gripped your waist, pulling you into him. He slid his left knee up the bed shifting onto his side enough to drive his hips up into you, head bent as he panted.

Kissing the top of his head, you wrapped your arms around his neck, grinding yourself down onto him faster, gasping. His cock was hitting you just right, sliding against your right spot. The pressure built quickly, your movements becoming frantic.

“Come baby, I want to feel you come,” he rasped.

With a loud moan, you collapsed into him, eyes squeezed shut and head falling back. The deep sensation of pleasure blast through you, setting off a chain reaction of bliss. Your pussy clenched around him, muscles milking him.

With an impatient growl, he pushed you down onto the bed, pushing your knees out wide. His hips pounded into you, rocking you back and down against the mattress. He gasped and grunted, head down, lost in the sensation.

You brought your hips up, snapping them upwards quickly in time with his thrusts. Digging your nails into his ass, you pulled him into you, moaning soft encouragements.

He shuddered, groaning, collapsing onto you as he came hard. He tightened his arms around you, sliding his cock in slowly once, twice, until only his chest moves against you in time with his quick, ragged breaths.

You slid your hands up his back, the outlines of his arms, biceps like faint messages under your fingertips. Harry kissed your chest, letting out a long, shaky breath against your skin. "God, I love you so much," he said, still catching his breath. 

"I love you too Harry. So so much."

He lifted his head, a lazy smile spreading across his face as he gazed deeply into your eyes. Then, leaning in, he pressed his lips against yours for a slow, tender kiss.

In the morning, when Harry dropped you off at the convention center before work, he couldn't tear his eyes away from his phone. He was deep in a serious convo, his face all furrowed. You couldn't shake the feeling that something was off, but he wasn't sharing any details. Whatever it was, it felt like a dark cloud hanging over you both, even as he leaned in for that quick goodbye kiss before you left the car.

The second day of the fair turned out to be even busier than the first. You felt grateful that Zoe had taken time off from her job, as managing the booth alone was quite challenging. As much as you wanted Harry by your side, with his busy schedule, it was unreasonable to expect him to be there all day. Still, you couldn’t fault him; he had a lot on his plate at the company right now.

As the hours flew by, visitors showed a growing interest in the products at your stand. They kept asking about the shop, inquiring when it would open and expressing eagerness to visit, Zoe included.

“Have you signed the lease for the shop yet?” she asked while you arranged cupcakes on the display.

You replied, “Harry's a bit swamped at the moment, but we're just waiting to hear back from the shopkeeper about the lease terms.”

“Oh, I really hope everything goes smoothly. I can’t wait to be a waitress at your shop – my current boss is driving me crazy. He’s acting like I faked my sprained ankle to just chill on the couch all week or something,” she complained.

“What a jerk,” you said, frowning before a smile broke through. “I hope so too, girl.” You often daydreamed about the day when Zoe would be working alongside you as a waitress, serving customers the desserts you made while you managed the cash register, chatting with them and baking treats in your shop. That day didn’t seem so far off; it felt incredibly close.

You were on the verge of realizing your dream and had a wonderful boyfriend in your life. Everything was falling into place, and your life was almost perfect.

As you shared stories about how your dinner at Harry's mother's house went, two familiar faces approached your booth.

“Danilo! Bruno!” you exclaimed with excitement.

"Ciao, cara mia!” Danilo greeted you with a warm hug.

“I've missed you so much! How have you been?” you laughed, reminiscing.

“You won't believe it but Jack sent Melanie to a religious camp for young adults, and it’s been blissfully quiet at the manor. We're all finally finding some peace."

You sighed, “Damn it, Jack. He will never change.”

“Great boss, terrible dad,” he chuckled.

“Hmm, molto delizioso! Good job, cara mia,” Bruno chimed in as he sampled one of your cupcakes.

“I learned from the best,” you replied with a playful wink.

“I taught you well,” he grinned with pride.

Danilo let out an awkward laugh. “How can you claim that after just a few months? I’ve taught her countless tricks during our three years together, right, honey? I'm a master chef after all.” he said, narrowing his eyes.

You were about to respond when Bruno cut in again, “You mean a master chef at being jealous, Danilo? What she learned from me equates to five years of experience, not just three. I sped up her internship.” he added with a smug grin.

In that moment, the two began bickering in their native language. Zoe leaned closer to you. “Are they always like this?”

“I've seen them argue over the phone, but I’m shocked they are worse in person,” you chuckled.

By evening, you felt thankful for Danilo and Bruno’s company; their presence made the long day feel more bearable. You checked your phone but found no messages from Harry. Unlike yesterday, when his busy schedule hadn’t stopped him from sending silly texts that brightened your day, today was different. You opened the messaging app to find your lunchtime selfie still unread with a note:

Sopapilla pie is a hit at our booth today. Thanks for the idea ol'man.

Maybe he was just too busy to answer, you thought. Lost in your thoughts, Zoe’s voice broke through, “You need to see this,” she said, her expression anxious as she handed you her phone.

Nervously, you took it, bracing yourself. The screen displayed a tabloid article that sent your heart racing.

Is Castillofunds.co going under? Shares of Harry Castillo’s company have taken a dramatic nosedive, a major player in NYC's Financial District!

The next piece of news hit even harder.

Tense moments at Castillofunds headquarters. After the company lost shares quickly, founding CEOs Harry Castillo and his childhood friend Gerardo Armada reportedly got into a heated argument.

“Oh no. Harry,” you murmured, heart racing. You immediately dialed his cell, but it went straight to voicemail. You tried calling Oliver next, but he didn’t pick up either.

Anxiety wrapped around your entire body. What could have happened? Yesterday, Harry hadn’t said much; there hadn’t been time for a proper talk. How could he keep something so serious under wraps? Or, if he wasn’t aware, how could he fail to see the company spiraling down? Questions raced through your mind, and for a moment, you just wanted to escape and get to him. Your anxiety was overwhelming, and a sick feeling settled in your stomach. With Zoe and Danilo by your side, you asked them if they could cover for you at the booth while you stepped away. Thankfully, they agreed without hesitation.

You needed to reach Harry; you were worried about him.

As you made your way to the subway, your phone buzzed with a text message. You opened it right away, and your heart sank—it was from Alan.

Your boyfriend's downfall has begun. Just so you know, honey, this is only the beginning.

You froze, feeling a mix of anger and shock hit you as you remembered your last conversation with him.

That bastard.

Of course, he was behind this.

But no matter what he did, you wouldn’t give him the satisfaction. You believed Harry's company would weather this storm.

Every company faces tough times, right?

When you arrived at the company building, you were taken aback. A furious crowd had gathered, waving banners and shouting slogans, while paparazzi filmed the chaos that was unfolding. Security was struggling to maintain control.

But things got even worse.

One of the paparazzi caught sight of you and pointed, drawing the attention of all the cameras. You felt frozen; you had never experienced anything like this before. Well, there was that one time with Melanie, but usually, the spotlight was on her, not you. 

But now, the roles had flipped. 

They all rushed toward you, and the questions began to come flooding in like bombs.

"Miss, is it true your boyfriend Mr Castillo's company is on the verge of bankruptcy?" 

"Will this financial mess affect your relationship?" 

"Did Mr. Castillo and Mr. Armada actually get into a fight?"

"Is it true that Mr. Armada is unable to pay his gambling debts and has been siphoning funds from the company?" 

"What’s your take on all this?"

You swallowed hard, unsure of how to respond.

Suddenly, Oliver’s voice broke through the crowd. He reached you, grabbing your arm, and together, you hurried into the building, security guards ushering you past the relentless paparazzi and shouting crowd.

Just as the security team managed to slam the doors shut, you turned to Oliver. “Where’s Harry?”

“He's upstairs. Come on,” he replied, guiding you to the elevator.

“Ollie, what’s going on? Where did all this come from?”

He let out a troubled sigh as he pressed the button for the office floor. It was clear he was feeling the weight of the situation. “Gerardo. In Harry's absence, he got involved in illegal betting and gambling, attempting to cover his debts using company resources. He tried to bail out the company with post-dated checks, hoping Harry wouldn’t find out when he returned to NYC. But it backfired horribly. We’ve been trying to figure out how the finance and accounting teams missed this, but it seems part of the larger scheme.”

“What do you mean?”

“Alan has been deliberately concealing his identity while orchestrating the issuance of post-dated checks. The finance team, the accounting department, even the last company we did business with—he’s got them all in his pocket. It looks like he’s been plotting against us for a while. Gerardo fell right into his trap. He’s messed everything up. I can’t imagine how we’ll pull through this; we’re backed into a corner.”

Your chest tightened, and dread washed over you as the elevator reached the floor with Harry’s office.

The reminder of Alan's text kept bothering you, making you feel pretty guilty.

How did you underestimate him like that?

It all made sense now why Maria was acting so strange that day. You wished you had talked about it with Harry.

As you approached the office, you spotted Harry inside, deep in conversation with his lawyers and PR team.

Your heart sank.

It wasn't only his sad condition that concerned you; there was a wound marring the edge of his eyebrow. The paparazzi’s reports were true—he had been in a fight. Oliver slipped into the office without you noticing, as your attention was fixed on Harry's face. He leaned in and whispered something in Harry’s ear, prompting him to turn and look at you. When your eyes met, you offered him a weak smile, but it faltered as he didn’t return it.

The meeting wrapped up, and everyone filed out, looking grim. Harry stepped toward you.

“What are you doing here?”

Your hand instinctively reached out to his face, gently examining the small band-aid over his eyebrow. “I was worried. Are you okay?”

He sighed, weariness evident in his voice. “I’ll be fine. We’ll be fine,” he replied, lacking conviction. Taking your hand, he brushed your hair back with a faint smile. “Let’s get out of here.”

Making your way to the car was a daunting task; the paparazzi and remaining crowd persisted with their incessant questions and shouts until you finally managed to slip inside. As the car pulled away, you noticed the writing on the protesters' banner.

WE ARE HERE, WHERE IS YOUR CONSCIENCE?

YOU TOOK OUR DREAMS, AT LEAST GIVE US OUR MONEY BACK.

GIVE BACK OUR KIDS' FUTURE.

WE DEMAND JUSTICE.

You couldn't bear to watch any longer; it was just too frustrating. The sadness etched on Harry's face filled you with sorrow. Who knows how deeply he must be feeling all this? He chatted on the phone the whole way, but it seemed like everything was spiraling out of control. You didn't want to overwhelm him with questions, so you kept quiet; he was already struggling enough. You had asked him to take you to the fair after leaving Zoe there alone. Although you didn’t invite him to stay since he was feeling down, you agreed to meet up at home afterward. As the fair wrapped up, you should have felt happy that everything you cooked at the booth was cleared out. The attention had been great, but your thoughts were consumed with Harry. Nothing else seemed important while he was struggling through such a difficult time.

When you came home and saw him sitting at the counter, sipping whisky, you had planned to talk about the shop, but those thoughts quickly faded. Instead, your attention shifted to the glass he held. “Harry, how much have you had?”

The bottle was nearly half-empty.

"Hmm..." Looking up at you, he pursed his lips and held up his fingers—first one, then two, and finally all five on his palm. You chuckled at his expression and sighed, taking the glass from his grasp. “That’s enough, ol'man, move your ass.” He reluctantly agreed, allowing you to guide him to the couch, where you both sank down side by side.

“Things aren’t getting any better, are they?” you asked softly.

He closed his eyes, tilting his head back as fatigue washed over him. “I’m doing everything I can, but it’s incredibly tough. We have to cancel all our investment deals. We’re left with just the company’s assets to pay the employees. Even if we manage to make it work, what about the victims?Thousands of families are suffering.”

“Can’t the lawyers file a countersuit? Surely there's a way out. We could argue that this is a setup, that the post-dated checks were signed without Gerardo's consent. If we prove Alan has a personal vendetta against you...”

Hearing his name made him open his eyes in irritation. “Lawyers? They’re all in on it. Don’t you get it? There’s no way out!” he shouted, his frustration palpable.

When he noticed the shocked expression on your face, his tone softened. He cupped your face in his hands. “I’m sorry, baby, I...”

You placed your hands over his. “It’s okay. I understand how you feel; you’re angry, tired, hurt. But I truly believe you’ll get through this, I’m sure of it.”

He withdrew his hands and let out a troubled sigh. “I really don’t know; this is way worse than I thought it would be. We’ve been through tough times before, but we always made it work together. I can’t believe he’s been hiding stuff from me. I trusted him completely, and he went behind my back. I just don’t get how he could do that.”

“Alan clearly orchestrated this. He must have lured him into a trap,” you said, deciding it was time to share what you had kept from him. “Harry, I saw Maria that day, talking to Alan.” You frowned, gathering your courage to continue. “She looked upset and asked me not to tell you I saw her. I’m so sorry for not telling you sooner.” You bowed your head, hoping he wouldn’t be too angry.

He lifted your chin gently, forcing you to meet his gaze. “Baby, that doesn’t matter now. What Gerardo did happened a long time ago. And Maria was probably trying to protect her assets. She must have been thinking about Mia. But I wish you both had been honest with me.”

“I thought it was something personal for her, nothing to do with you, so—”

He wrapped his arms around you, pulling you close and pressing a kiss to the top of your head. “It’s not your fault, love. You had nothing to do with this. I’m really sorry, but I’ll have to delay renting the shop for now. I promise that as soon as the economy improves, I’ll make sure to get the shop and hand it over to you.”

You gazed up at him. “Harry, I don’t care about opening the shop under these circumstances. We’ll figure things out, I’m sure of it. Everything will be fine.”

He smiled, resting his forehead against yours. “Thank you. I feel so fortunate to have you by my side. You’re my strength. I love you so much.” He leaned down to kiss you softly.

“Ow, you smell like a liquor store, baby.” you chuckled, standing up and tugging at his hand. “Come on, up you get! Let’s get you in the shower, and then we can hit the hay ol'man. You know what they say—a good night’s sleep can work wonders.”

Suddenly, he swooped you into his arms, effortlessly lifting you onto his lap. “You’re the only remedy I need, mi amor.” He continued kissing you as you made your way to the bathroom together.

The final day of the fair turned out to be far worse than expected. News that had started circulating online was now splashed across TV screens, and conversations about it filled the subway and the streets. Harry was in worse shape than ever, and seeing him like that tugged at your heartstrings, making you feel as if your heart were being squeezed. When his mother, Valeria, called and invited you over to her house, you agreed and left the fair early that day.

Upon arriving at her home, Valeria enveloped you in a tight embrace, tears streaming down her face. She spoke of her concern for Harry, saying she felt helpless about not being able to reach him. You tried to comfort her, assuring her that Harry was with you and would remain close. However, you refrained from sharing too many details, as it was clear she was deeply sensitive about her son’s plight. Before you left, she hugged you one last time at the door. “I’m so grateful you’re there for my son. I’ve felt terrible for being unable to leave this house, it’s never been this tough.”

“Valeria, please don’t blame yourself. As for Harry, there’s no need to worry; he’ll be okay. I’ll be by his side and do everything I can to help him through these hard days. We’ll get through this.”

Her eyes glimmered with a mix of gratitude and sorrow as she clasped your hand gently. “Thank you, dear. It eases my heart to know you’re there for him during these days when I can’t be.” You could feel the weight of her worry—like any mother, she was deeply concerned about her son.

Leaving her house and walking down the street, you were set on doing whatever it took to help Harry feel better. You thought about whipping up his favorite dessert or putting on that dress he loved, but first, there was something else you needed to do.

You had to meet Alan.

As you arrived in front of the hotel, you steeled yourself, gathering your courage. Perhaps you could persuade him to reconsider; you weren’t sure, but you knew it was worth a shot. If you could understand his motives, it might help you steer things in the right direction. In this battle, you had to make sure your man didn’t end up losing.

You were ready to do whatever it took to help him overcome all obstacles.

The doorman greeted you with a smile, recognizing you as you entered. Learning that Alan was in his room, you took the elevator to his floor. Nerves crept in as you headed to a hotel room, but you pushed them aside, determined to present a strong front.

As the owner of the hotel, Alan lived in the penthouse on the top floor.

The elevator opened directly into his room, and while you glanced around, feeling uncomfortable in his lavish space, you reminded yourself to stay focused.

“Hello, gorgeous.”

At the sound of his voice, you turned to see him lounging at the bar area, a drink in hand and a smug grin plastered across his face. Dressed in a satin robe, he glanced at his watch. “I expected you earlier; you’ve caught me by surprise,” he said, taking a sip of his drink, then he raised it. “Care for some?”

Asshole was acting as if nothing had happened.

Crossing your arms, you replied, “No, I don’t want anything. Look, whatever you’re doing, just stop it. I get that you want revenge—I lost my mother too—but this won’t bring her back. Besides, Harry is innocent in all this, he didn't deserve-.”

“How can Harry be innocent? That woman is his mother.”

“She’s already lost a daughter. What’s hurting her even going to do for you?”

He shrugged. “At least it gives me some relief. Watching them suffer makes me feel better, just like my mother suffered because of them.”

“Alan, listen—”

“Save your breath, sweetheart. What’s coming is inevitable. The Castillo family will pay for what they’ve done.” He finished his drink, setting the glass down on the counter. “The company was just the beginning. Tomorrow, Harry will lose his penthouse with the breathtaking view due to foreclosure and debts he can’t cover. And soon enough, his mother will lose her house too.”

You frowned. "That woman can't leave her house because of her illness. You can't do that. You can't be so cruel."

As he approached you, the look in his eyes made it clear he could, indeed, be that cruel. "Do you think I care? They deserve whatever’s coming to them. And that’s exactly what I’m going to do."

“It was a mistake to come here,” you said as you turned to leave, but he grabbed your arm to stop you. "But nothing is beyond repair. Maybe you can change this."

A flicker of hope ignited within you. "Me? How? What can I possibly do?"

He smiled, a chilling grin. “Don’t underestimate yourself, sweetheart; you have no idea how much you mean to me.” He reached out, intending to touch your face, but you angrily pushed his hand away.

"Stop it. Just tell me what you want. Oh, let me guess—you want me to break up with Harry?"

He chuckled. “Nah, I’ve changed my mind. I know you won’t leave him, no matter what happens.”

You tried to mask your surprise. “So, what do you want from me?”

“One night." He locked eyes with you. "I want you to spend just one night with me.”

The way he said those words sent a shiver down your spine. The mere idea made your stomach turn. “What kind of sick bastard are you?”

"I'm offering you a choice, and it comes with just one condition, sweetheart. If you don’t comply, you’ll have to watch your man falter and see the heartbreaking news about the Castillo family everywhere. Think it over. Harry's fate is in your hands."

"Do you think I'm an idiot? How can I trust you won't pull a fast one on me?"

He chuckled and leaned closer. "What other options do you have?"

You fell silent, realizing you had none.

"I'll draft a contract between us. I’ll ensure Harry gets everything he needs to stabilize the company’s stock, and I’ll drop the lawsuit. Would that satisfy you?"

Just like that?

That seemed too simple.

"What is this, a telenovela? Will you be satisfied when I sleep with you? Will you leave your revenge just like that?"

He shrugged his shoulders. "Harry's been shaken up enough, and he's going to have a hard time putting the company back together, watching his misery that's enough to satisfy me. But of course as soon as you volunteered to satisfy my needs-"

You slapped him in the face. “You piece of shit!”

He put his hand where you hit him and smiled wickedly. “So you're not accepting my offer?”

Fuckin' asshole. 

You squinted at him, your whole body shaking with anger. "I would rather spend the night with Joffrey Baratheon. Yeah, I know he's a fictional character, but at least I could beat the bastard up and my night would be more interesting.” you said and turned around to leave. 

“Suit yourself,” he said behind you. "But remember, whatever happens to Harry next will be your fault. And about those telenovelas... They may be exaggerated and clichéd, but know that in the end they're always have a point.”

The next day, things took a turn for a lot worse. Just when you thought it couldn't get any shitty, everything spiraled out of control. The streets outside the company overflowed with an army of paparazzi, their cameras clicking like a relentless drumbeat, while protesters shouted, their voices rising in a tumultuous chorus of anger and despair. Even Forbes magazine, which had once celebrated Harry on its cover, was now reporting that his company was teetering on the brink of bankruptcy and that he had slipped off the list of the wealthiest people. When Maria and Mia came to visit you one evening, you watched them through the door as they talked about losing their home. They were filled with sadness and desperation. You couldn’t help but wonder what else could possibly go wrong, and then it did. The Feds and the SEC even IBRC got involved.

That’s when the last text from Alan arrived on your phone.

This is your last chance to save your man.

But it wasn't just the urgency in the text that spurred you to act; it was the sight of Harry himself. He looked so lost, so deeply unhappy that your heart ached for him. Maybe it was reckless, stupid, maybe he’d come to resent you for this decision—or maybe, just maybe, this was the only way to pull him back from the brink.

He would understand eventually, wouldn’t he?

That night, as you lovingly caressed his face while he slept beside you, your mind raced with turmoil. He had increasingly sought solace in alcohol, and fatigue clung to him like a shadow. He was your everything; you would do anything for him, anything.

The next morning, after preparing breakfast—he barely touched it—you sent Alan a text as Harry left for work.

Your fingers shook as you typed, tears in your eyes.

Tonight.

That evening, you slipped into the underwear and the dress you knew you would tear them off and throw them into the trash afterwards. You wrote a note to Harry, left it on the counter, and stepped out of the house.

But first, you had to see someone.

Jack.

You needed to prepare yourself for the big fish that wanted to swallow you whole, instead of being just another fish on the line.

It was around ten o'clock when you finally arrived at the hotel. Your heart raced with nervousness; you felt like a sacrificial lamb, and the thought of what could happen made you feel disgusted. How could you allow another man to touch you, especially someone you despised?

When you caught sight of the elevator, fear gripped you so tightly that you almost turned back.

But no, you had to summon your courage.

You were doing this for the man you loved. All Alan had to do was sign the contract you had arranged through Jack's lawyer.

You were ready to pay the price for that—a straightforward agreement. Seemingly simple, but a gnawing sense of dread gnawed at you from within.

You clutched the belt of your trench coat tightly as the elevator ascended, your nausea returning. Perhaps it was simply the tension building inside you. The elevator bell startled you, and your palms were slick with sweat. As you stepped inside, you felt timid at first, but upon seeing Alan and his unnecessary smug smile, you lifted your chin and approached him with purpose.

“There you are,” he said, his victory grin irritating you even more.

Taking a deep breath, you retrieved the documents from your bag and laid them on the counter. “Sign it now.”

He glanced at the papers. “What’s this? No kissing, no hugging—this is the kind of stuff escorts ask for, or somethin'?”

You shot him a withering glare.

"Well, I already had these documents prepared, sweetheart," he said, showing his briefcase.

“I don’t trust you, which is why I asked Jack to draft them. Sign them or I’ll go back,” you stated firmly, trying to keep your expression icy and unyielding.

He chuckled. “Hmm, clever. Fine, but I’d like to read them first.” He settled onto the barstool and began examining the pages. “There are some carefully crafted clauses in this contract that will benefit Harry's company and the entire Castillo family. But what about you? Don’t you demand anything?”

You understood his meaning but tried not to care. You had already made up your mind. “Are you going to sign it or not?”

He looked at you with a serious expression. “If I have to pay a price to get you out of those clothes, then so be it, honey,” he replied, starting to sign each page one by one.

A mixture of relief and anxiety washed over you. Your heart raced at the thought of what was to come, and you felt your courage slip away.

But there was no turning back now.

Once he finished signing, he slid the documents back across the counter towards you. As you reached for the folder, he seized your hand and pulled you closer. “I’ve done my part; now it’s your turn.”

A shiver ran down your spine, and you nearly burst into tears, but you steadied yourself. Putting the folder in your bag, you turned to him. “Just one thing: Harry can’t find out about this.”

He nodded, his impatience growing. “Okay, I swear.”

You untied the belt of your trench coat, took it off and put it on the chair. You were emotionless looking at him, or tried to be.

You felt like you were stuck in quicksand and you were sinking deeper and deeper as he approached you, staring at you like a hungry wolf.

You closed your eyes tightly when he reached out and touched your cheek. You tried to suppress the urge to sob as he slid his hand slowly from your cheek to your neck, your body shaking. Suddenly he wrapped an arm around you, pulled you to him and pressed his lips hard against yours. Instinctively you closed your lips tightly, it was so disgusting. You placed your hands on his chest and pushed him away while he kissed you more eagerly. 

But then suddenly he paused and pulled back. Only then did you realize that you were crying.

He looked at you licking his lips, grinning with disappointment. 

“Okay, that's it.”

You looked at him with your eyes wide open. You couldn't believe what you were hearing. "Wh-what?"

He walked back to the bar, sat down and poured himself a drink. You had a lot of questions, but the first thing you thought was that he backed out of the deal because you didn't kiss him back. "You signed the papers, you can't back out now."

"I’m not backing out; that was the agreement between us. It's done."

"But you said-"

"I prefer a woman who is eager to sleep with me," he said, looking at you angrily. “I'm not a fucking rapist. Now go, leave me alone,” he said and sipped his drink.

Confused but relieved, you picked up your trench coat and put it on. He didn't even look back as you walked to the elevator. But that was good, you sighed deeply to yourself. You hadn't imagined getting out of here like this.

With a strange sense of relief.

But then you remembered that bastard kissed you. "Ugh, that's disgusting. I should wash my mouth out with soap until it hurts. Eww.” you muttered to yourself while frantically wiping your lips with a wet tissue.

It wasn’t yet past midnight when you stepped into the dim corridor leading to Harry’s apartment. The elevator ride felt surreal, each floor ticking by as hope bloomed in your chest. You were grateful to return intact, clutching the crucial documents that could save both him and the company. Everything would be fine from here on out. You just had to sweep tonight's events under the rug, even if their stench lingered.

As you pushed open the apartment door, a wave of confusion washed over you. There, shrouded in the shadows, sat Harry, motionless on the counter.

When had he returned?

Oliver had mentioned he would be out late, and the stark absence of lights only heightened the weird atmosphere. Hesitant steps carried you closer, but the heaviness of your night weighed heavily on your mind. You inhaled deeply, attempting to steady your nerves, and called out softly, “Harry?”

His gaze pierced through the dark, and it made you falter. You had expected to find him with a drink in his hand, yet he appeared unsettlingly sober. On the counter, bathed in the soft glow of the city lights, your note rested beside an ornate ring box.

Something felt off.

“Baby, are you okay?” you ventured, your voice quavered as it broke the silence.

He absently glanced at his phone, muttering, “You’re back early.”

A lump lodged in your throat as you scrambled for your thoughts.

“‘I’ll be with Zoe. I might stay with her if it’s late,’” he recited, pointing at your note.

Clearing your throat, you forced out, “Well, yes. We finished up early and decided to head home.”

“Oh yeah?” he said, showing you his phone screen.

Your heart dropped like a stone.

There on the screen was a photo of you lingering in the hotel lobby, captured just hours ago.

Who the fuck... How?

You closed your eyes tightly, willing yourself to choose right words.

“Harry, let me explain,” you began, but he silenced you, lifting the ring box instead.

“This…” he opened the box slowly, revealing a stunning antique diamond ring that sparkled amidst the gloom, “was from my mother. I had intended to give this to you, to propose... later.”

“It’s beautiful,” you whispered, awe mingling with pain.

“It is. It was. Everything was beautiful—until this night,” he spat.

“Wh-what do you mean by that?”

He stood up abruptly, his grip seizing your shoulders with a force that was both desperate and heartbreaking. “How could you go to him?”

“Harry, just listen. I... I did it for you,” you implored, your eyes wide with plea.

His eyebrows arched in disbelief as he tightened his grip. “For me?”

“Yes! Everything I did was for you.” You fished your bag and pulled out the papers, placing them before him. “I was going to give these to Oliver, but now that you know everything, they’re yours. Alan signed them all. You can save your company.”

“Fuck the company!” he bellowed, the sound echoing off the walls and making you jump. The fury in his eyes pierced right through you as he clutched your shoulders fiercely. “You were all I cared about! The company, everything else—it didn’t matter as long as you were with me. But you…” He shook you roughly, tears spilling over onto your cheeks. “How could you do this to me?”

“Harry, listen... You were so sad, and I thought—I thought I could help...” you swallowed, your voice breaking.

“What did you expect would happen? Did you really think I’d be fine with you sleeping with my enemy?”

“Please... I thought that was my only option. It was all I could think of to help you.”

He finally released you, his hands trembling as they fell away. Tears welled up in his eyes, catching the light like tiny gems. “Even if it meant losing me, everything we have?"

You sniffled, tears flowing freely now. “All I did was love you and think about you.”

“You were thinking of me? Yet you didn’t have me in mind when you went to him, did you? Maybe you were too eager,” he said, the sharpness of his words cutting deep into your heart.

In a moment of raw pain, you slapped him.

With the impact, he turned his head to the side, eyes squeezed shut, and sighed deeply.

How could he say something like that to you?

You waited for him to apologize.

But he didn't.

Did it truly not matter what you had done for him?

How could he be so cold?

With a shattered heart and a deep breath, you managed to get the words out.

“Goodbye, Harry.”

The simple farewell fell from your lips like a final breath as you turned and walked toward the elevator.

And just like that.

It was over.

He might have regain his company and his reputation, but in the end, he had lost you.

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

here's the taglist...

@balhoneysweetstuff @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @queenofodds @darkheartgatita @ccmoonshine @suzysface @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @longlivekingminnn @jisungandpedrolover @urlivingdeadgirl @laliceee @sincerelywithheartt @indiegirlunited @fancyyoouu @blackborndue @shinymusicpanda @her-fandom-sanctum @aegoniipascal @zanylightmilkshake @bonadeaamo @spencercmlover @heramj @pedroloverbilmemkac @churchofjoemiller @urlivingdeadgirl @thanyatargaryen @icanbringyouinhot @universallygentlemenharmony @bitchyfestnight @sukivenue @l1zzygr0nt @pedrofan @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @brittmb115 @picketniffler @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @kneelarmhstrung @zanylightmilkshake @melsunshine @inept-the-magnificent @catofash @secretlettersfromyourlove @pedge-page @speaktothehandpeasants @krystal---meth @pasc4lfuzz @brittmb115 @behomewhenthestreetlightscomeon @kneelarmhstrung @pedrofan @l1zzygr0nt @sukivenue @cherri-zaza @krystal---meth @joelmillerpascal @harrington-thedad @darkheartgatita @javiismyhsbnd @joelmillerpascal @spencercmlover @0-moonbeam-0

If you want me to add you to the tag list or remove you from it, just let me know! if I missed your name, I'm sorry, remind me, plz.

lots of love 💋💋❤️❤️

[fvispunk]

Since the Andor S2 finale looking at ao3: since May 13th, 43 fics have been either created or updated for bix/cassian; for rebelcaptain 62 in the same period of time (a non-canon ship from a movie released 9 years ago) so there you have it - literally the rebelcaptain shippers enacting this meme:

[fvispunk]

No puedes soltar esa información cuando estoy ovulando dementeeeee 😭

Dakota Johnson & Pedro Pascal Answer Rapid-Fire Questions | Off the Cuff | Vogue

[fvispunk]

I’m just a girl in her ovulating era 😭🫦

Lock him (in my room)

[fvispunk]

DIOS MÍO ME FASCINA

Tiene todas las vibes de la princesa y la plebeya AHHHHHH AMOOOOOO

MAKE HIM DISLIKE LOVE YOU

Harry Castillo x Reader (The Materialists)

Chapter 3: Happily Never After

prev chapter series masterlist next chapter

Chapter Summary: They say the liar's candle burns until nightfall, and the truth eventually comes out. But if the liar had to say the lie without wanting to, can she ever be forgiven? Warnings: 18+ (smut, MDNI) kinda romantic comedy stuff, fluffy, angst, lying, soft and caring Harry Castillo, Lucy as his ex, John as Lucy's ex, wealth, expensive gifts, drinks, money, cars, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some warnings; I will update them in due time. Chapter Word Count: 8k, explicit MDNI, smutty, fluffy, and angst... authors note: I'm so glad you all showed so much love and interest in this story! Thanks a ton, everyone!

An elevator ride towards the topmost floor brought you to a spectacular view of the city below, glass panels surrounding almost every inch of the suite. The elevator’s soft ding startled your body into action. Stepping through, you couldn't help but feel a surge of excitement at the moment. Luxurious surroundings of rich blacks, silvery grays, and gleaming gold details captured your attention, soothing your nerves. However, it was merely a distraction that served nothing, not when you could feel his every movement, his graceful steps moving to and fro.

The suite was larger than you thought, and the hallway was strewn with flower petals. The shopping bags filled with clothes he had bought for you sat on the large table to your right. You stood there, -your gaze fixed on them but avoiding his face- feeling a wave of heat intensifying throughout your body. You were startled by Harry's gentle touch as he helped you remove your coat. He did it slowly and lingeringly, letting his fingertips glide along your neck and shoulders. You glanced at him shyly, your heart racing as your eyes finally met.

Damn.

His eyes burning you to the core.

You felt a lump form in your throat, but you took a deep breath and swallowed it down. Just as he was about to turn, you caught a quick glimpse of his lips moving—was he smiling? Crap, he must have picked up on how nervous you were. Of course, he did; you were acting all jittery like a bride on her wedding night. But this wasn’t a wedding night, and you weren’t a bride, so why were you feeling this way? It had been a while since you’d last hooked up, but that wasn’t what was stressing you out. You really needed to calm the chaos going on in your head, and fast.

His words echoed in your mind: "For now, just let it all out."

And you did.

In that moment, you made up your mind. Deep down, you admitted that you wanted him.

Yes.

You wanted him so badly that you didn't care about anything else, so badly that you swallowed your pride in an instant.

You turned to him and your eyes stayed glued to him.

To his back.

The way he moved, the way he touched, grabbed and placed your coat over the chair. The way his eyes locked with yours, and with just a look, he understood.

Then he lunged.

Brought your face into his, your lips melded as one, devouring one other, clashing with hunger released from the confines of your heart. You couldn't hold back this madness any longer, opening up so gloriously, so effortlessly to his probing tongue, tongue that feverishly explored every inch of your mouth, wanting, no, needing, to brand every inch with his taste. And you pushed back, wanting the same thing: for him to taste you. 

He pushed you back with even more passion than you did. You did trip, but he was agile enough to catch you before you fell, pinned you against a wall. His lips met your jaw, teeth scraping down to your neck while your hands fumbled with the buttons of his shirt, needing to feel him, desperate to touch...

Your sudden growl got his attention, and he surged up, kissing your mouth again, helping you with the damn shirt. Once it came off, you wasted no time. Your hands roamed with eager curiosity, enchanted by the velvety warmth of his skin despite the strength of his body, at the solid ridges your palms found, the sculpted lines of his chest, the tightness of his rippling biceps, his abs.

He was a magnificent sight, a living dream, and you were completely committed to exploring every inch of him.

Then, with a swift and eager move, he found the zipper of the dress, lowering it until it finally gave way, the straps on your shoulder falling helplessly to their sides. He took a moment to appreciate the stunning sight of the dress gracefully cascading from your body, elegantly flowing to the floor and pooling at your feet. His gaze lingered on every detail, from your bare legs to the delicate strands of hair framing your face. A proud smile spread across his lips, accompanied by a playful growl of approval, clearly delighted by the breathtaking vision before him.

Eagerly, he reached out with his hand to help you step over the dress, and then he placed another burning kiss on your lips.

He was quick to grab you by the hips, quick to pin you against the wall again. One arm encased you within his grip, the other harshly split your legs open and found your clit beneath your panties. You gasped, bucked against him, against his hold, his crotch. He wouldn’t budge, his mouth scraping, tasting you, your neck despite your jewelry, leaving behind delicious bites that left your body mindless, numb to everything but him.

“You have no idea how much I've been hoping for this moment,” he finally said, sucking, biting your shoulder a little too hard, rubbed your clit a little too slow, and yet. You whined for him, because of him, craving all he had to give, indifferent to whether it was right or wrong. And despite how overwhelming it was, his fingers still moved so slow, so softly against your clit- you couldn't help the desperate moan that escaped your lips, in desire to get closer, to- He growled, “Just like this, kitty, I want you just like this. Pliant, desperate for more.”

Shit. Shit. Shit.

His words didn't help; instead, they only made you squirm more. You knew he was doing it on purpose, yet damn it, you needed more; so desperate for this delicious torture to end.

“Please,” you said, whimpering.

“Please what?” He rubbed his nose teasingly against yours, a smirk dancing on his lips as he awaited your answer. With his grip, he pressed you against him a little more until your pussy was pressed against his clothed, hard cock. "Is this what you want?"

"Y-yes."

He laughed harshly.

You couldn't help it, you blushed hard after he said, "So you finally admit you want me.” He nibbled on your ear, whispered against it. "You will get what you want sweetheart, no rush. There’s something else I want to do first.” 

Without lowering you from the wall against which he was pinned you, he lifted you up and caught you in his arms. He wrapped your legs more tightly around his waist and carried you to the bed.

Gripping his shoulders, yourt heart racing. Maintaining eye contact, he leaned in and gently set you on the edge of the bed. You scooted back, feeling excited, biting your lips. "Not yet," he said, his voice low and husky as he quickly grabbed and pulled you by the thighs towards the edge. The way he slid you across the bed, this easy and a little roughly, took your breath away and was definitely a big turn-on for you. He leaned over, slipped his fingers into the hem of your panties and pulled them down your thighs too roughly, tearing your lace panties, but neither of you cared at that moment.

“I want to taste you, all of you,” he growled, and brought his mouth back to your core.

Thanks to this position you were completely exposed to his wanting mouth, and he fucking knew it, his fingers back inside your cunt, mouth insistently sucking on your clit.

"Shit!" You loudly exclaimed, back arching off the bed. 

He held you still by the hips with one arm while his other hand kept going, thrusting into your clenching pussy.

One hand gripped the sheets while the other held the back of his neck, fingers tangling in his curls, closing your eyes in utter ecstasy. The feel of his mouth devouring your pussy was a relentless, powerful pleasure unlike anything you'd ever felt before - the way he tore through your opening with his appendage, the way his nose bumped and his mustache tickled, the way his lips found their way to suck so sweetly on your clit. And God, the way it sounded - you would feel pretty embarrassed if you weren't overwhelmed by pure lust-, you were soaking his face, but neither of you cared enough to stop.

You forced your eyes to open, you didn't want to miss out on memorizing him kneeling before you, eating you out. The moment you managed to look at him, you realized it was a mistake.

He was looking at you.

At your face.

Your eyes.

Taking in your reactions. And goddamn, his eyes, were completely blown away in lust. He was more than enjoying having you all over his mouth. “Fucking delicious,” he grunted, diving his fingers back in.

It was your undoing.

You could feel yourself silently screaming with pleasure, your body trembling and mind blank, but for the waves of delight that kept coming through you, he hadn’t stopped his movements despite how tight your cunt gripped his fingers in your end.

"You're gorgeous," he purred, biting your calves and making you yelp. He licked away the sting once he'd marked you. In the haze of the moment, you felt the bed shake and his hands on your back, fingers unclasping your bra.

Before he settled, he took care of the rest of his clothes, impressive girth hard and throbbing and already wet with precum finally out of his pants.

The sight sent you reeling.

“Like what you see?”

Was he kidding?

He was fucking beautiful.

You bit your lip, nodded.

He smirked and was quick to get in position, harsh lips taking your breath away, body pushing you on your back. Holding onto him, you let him open you up, let him guide his cock right to your cunt.

Now the moment was definitely urgent.

He gave it a couple of flicks around your core, then he pushed in. He took you in, your gasp and moan filling the air. When he moved, it was a slow yet sure thrust that had you seeing stars, and you keened.

You mewled, "Yes."

He held you by the cheeks, lips barely a hair's breadth away, while his grip shifted and tightened around your waist.

“You feel so good," he breathed, speaking against the valley between your breasts.

Harsh, hungry hands on your breasts, on all over your skin made your flesh pleasantly crawl. Your breaths mingled when lips melded as one. Small mewls came from your throat while his hips moved against yours. And then he sped his movements while his mouth drank more of you up, the only air you took in his.

The only air he took in yours.

He tightened his grip, surely leaving marks where he groped. Harder, faster, not giving you a chance to take everything in and commit it to memory, he finally angled his hips differently.

“And you are tight, wet, warm,” he added, kissing you again.

When he heard you shout with pleasure, he made sure to keep going at it, hard and fast, so that you couldn't catch your breath, your body tensing up with the force of his hips, his cock stretching your pussy out so deliciously. You helped him by locking your legs behind his back, making him go impossibly deep, throwing your head back in ecstasy. It left your neck bare for his hungry lips and teeth, and he mercilessly marked you with them, soon after meeting your tits with his mouth again, showing them devotion while keep thrusting mercilessly, the sound of flesh against flesh was like a delicious symphony to his moans and groans, and your mewls and moans.

His lips released your breasts and trailed your jaw all the way to your ear. His pace shortened, quickened. So you begged him not to stop, not even thinking about it, and he promised he wouldn’t, couldn’t, not until he felt you gripping hard around his cock, not until he broke you.

He had a promise to fulfill, after all.

He growled the nickname he had given you, with fervor, with passion. He was close, and so were you but, you needed more, needed a bit of a push to send you reeling again. And you weren’t quite sure how, but he found your clit, and stroked it enough to give you just what you needed.

The bastard was an expert.

Your orgasm crashed through you, sight gone into utter darkness, muscles tight with tension released in such a perfect, bittersweet way, raking your nails down his back.

“Fuck,” he cursed loud and long, holding you in place while his own orgasm filled you up to the brim.

The raging fire was now extinguished, its gentle flame still brushing against your veins in slow, tender strokes. It was similar to the way you both touched each other, hands softly trailing up and down wherever they could reach. His touch felt different from before, while yours was a promise of what could be. A whispered kiss. Eyes brimming with post-coital contentment.

That moment was so special—the way all the passionate sounds of love just a moment ago faded into peaceful silence. You couldn’t fight off sleep anymore as he softened and pulled away, collapsing onto the pillow. Before you dozed off, you thought you heard him mumbling something, though you weren't really sure.

If you were more awake, you could have sworn he whispered, “Te amo.”

The morning light poured into the room like liquid gold, seeping through the tall glass panel and gently warming your face. The curtains, drawn only halfway, allowed the sun to flood the entire space, casting a soft, radiant glow that danced on the walls. From your position, you had a breathtaking view of the iconic Eiffel Tower, towering majestically in the distance, a reminder of the enchanting city around you.

You were lying with your back to Harry, and there was something strangely nice about the sound of his breath right behind you. It felt like forever since you’d woken up next to someone.

One of his arms was draped around your waist, resting on the sheet, and his warmth felt like a cozy shield. But even with the calmness of the moment, there was a twist of unease in your stomach. Last night had been incredible, full of passion, but the uncertainty about what was coming next hung over you like a dark cloud.

You were carrying this secret in your heart that felt like a heavy anchor, and you knew you had to face it eventually.

As Harry shifted behind you, his lips brushed against the top of your head. “You were talking in your sleep,” he said quietly.

You were taken aback—how long had he been awake? Wait, did he just say you were talking in your sleep?

“Are you serious?” you asked, curious about what you might have said. “You didn’t get it wrong, did you?”

“I definitely heard my name,” he said with a teasing smile.

“Okay, I didn’t know I even did that,” you replied, a little embarrassed. “Did I say anything else?”

“Sort of, and you even meowed a bit. You’re such a little kitty,” he laughed.

You rolled your eyes. “I think you’re just making that up.”

“Nope, not at all. It was real, just like you did last night. It was like; meow, meow, meow,” he joked, imitating a cat's sound.

Heat rushed to your cheeks. Those moments were fresh in your mind—he was right, ugh. You nudged him playfully in the chest.

“Come on. Stop exaggerating.”

“Want me to prove it?”

You gasped as the hand that had been wrapped around you slipped inside the sheet and between your legs.

“Don't, don't, don't, please,” you struggled, squeezing your thighs together with all your strength, resisting. His other hand found your armpit and tickled you, causing you to immediately release the pressure in your thighs.

Oh, that was too much.

He leaned over you and when his hand touched your folds, forcing his fingers inside, your heart began to race.

“Okay, okay, you win! I give up!” you giggled, punching his chest, and he laughed.

He playfully teased you for a little while longer as you both giggled. But then, your eyes met, and suddenly the mood shifted. With his gaze deepening, he leaned in and kissed you, sending a rush of warmth through your body. Just as the moment felt perfect, his phone began ringing. But he didn’t care; he kept kissing you. The kiss broke only when the phone rang insistently. He sat up, grabbed his phone from the bedside table, checked the screen, canceled the call, and tossed it back down.

“Maybe it’s important. Why didn’t you answer?” you asked.

He turned to you, “Nothing is more important than you right now.” He then pulled the sheet off you, and you quickly grabbed it to cover yourself.

“What are you doing?” you asked, surprised.

"We need a shower; we're a bit dirty, don't you think?" he replied, tugging at the sheet again, this time overpowering you.

You felt completely exposed, instinctively wrapping your arms around yourself. He chuckled, put his knee on the bed, and scooped you up into his lap.

“Stop! I can walk by myself,” you protested.

“Nobody said otherwise,” he grinned.

With a smug look, he carried you to the bathroom, clearly enjoying the moment. The bathroom was huge, with a big jacuzzi, a spacious shower, and a tall vanity cabinet. Harry set you down and followed you into the shower. It was nice that he was giving you so much attention, but it also made things trickier. You didn’t want to say anything that might hurt him, especially since you knew you’d have to come clean eventually. For now, you just had to play along until that moment came when there would be no more secrets.

After you both got out of the shower, he handed you a robe from the closet and slipped one on himself. You asked him to excuse you because you needed to use the bathroom. Finally alone, you settled onto the most luxurious toilet seat you’d ever sat on, putting your head in your hands and thinking. You knew you had to tell him soon; it was better for him to hear it from you directly. The longer this charade went on, the messier things would get. Sooner or later, you’d run into someone who knew -real- Melanie, and that scared you. Before last night, you weren’t worried about that, but everything had changed.

You could feel a strong connection between you two, and it scared you how intense it was.

It just didn’t feel right.

This had to end.

Suddenly, a sharp pang gripped your heart, urging you to stand up. You stood before the mirror, the figure in the robe felt like a stranger, unfamiliar. This life felt foreign, as if it belonged to someone else. But deep down, a hopeful part of you whispered that this could actually be your life, and that Harry would accept you just as you are.

You really wanted to believe that.

With all your heart.

But this was no time to be naïve; you had to think rationally.

You had to.

You turned on the tap, splashing cold water on your face to shake off the feelings. Just then, you heard a light knock at the door.

“Are you planning to spend the whole day in there?” Harry joked, his tone playful yet warm.

A smile spread across your face and you sighed deeply as you opened the door. Stepping into the room, you saw Harry already dressed in a cream long-sleeved shirt and black jeans - casual yet stylish, which suited him perfectly. As he put on his watch, he looked at you, "Breakfast will be here soon."

“Really? In the room?” you asked, your eyes lighting up in surprise.

He chuckled, clearly enjoying your excitement. “Yes, in the room.”

Just then, a knock on the door interrupted you two, and you both turned to see Oliver standing there, looking a bit flustered.

"Why didn't you answer the phone?" Oliver asked quickly, his eyes darting over Harry's shoulder to you.

Feeling uneasy under his gaze, you instinctively blushed and stepped further into the room.

"Is something wrong?" Harry asked.

“Well, I… I was just checking,” Oliver said, his voice trailing off awkwardly.

Harry raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Checking?”

Oliver cleared his throat. “I meant— if you need anything. Oh, and they called, they're expecting you today.”

“Awesome, thanks,” Harry said.

“No problem.”

"Anything else you want to say?"

“N-no, I’ll be in the lobby,” he replied, turning around.

As Harry closed the door behind Oliver, he turned to you, looking lost in thought.

“Is everything okay?”

He shrugged slightly. “It’s just Oliver acting a bit weird. But it’s probably nothing.” He looked at you and asked, “Why aren’t you dressed yet?”

“It’s just... the dresses you bought are gorgeous, but…” You glanced down at the shreds of your panties on the floor. “I need some new underwear.”

With a cheeky grin, Harry placed his hands on his hips. “Well, that’s my bad. But don’t worry; I’ll fix that.” He went over to the closet and came out with a white shirt. “Here, wear this.”

“But it’s your shirt,” you frowned.

“It is, yes.”

“You want me to wear this?”

“Absolutely,” he replied, still grinning.

“Why?”

“Because you’ve got no other option. Unless you want to walk around naked,” he smirked. “I’d be totally cool with that, though.”

You squinted as you took the shirt from him. “You’ll be waiting forever for that to happen.”

Just then, there was a knock at the door. He chuckled as he went to open it.

After enjoying a delightful breakfast on the balcony with a breathtaking view of the city, everything Harry ordered for you arrived in the room. After all, it was he who had torn your panties, so he owed you. You glanced at the bag, and picked up a stylish black lace bra; it was exactly your size.

He was behind you, leaning against the closet with his arms folded and watching.

“How could you possibly know my exact size?” you asked.

He opened his mouth to reply, but you silenced him with a gesture of your hand. “Don't answer that.”

He laughed. “Come on, get dressed. We need to get going.”

You shot him a glare. “Not with you watching—turn around!”

“Seriously?”

“What do you think?”

He frowned. ’I already saw all of you last night, what's the point of hiding it now?’

“That was last night,” you snapped.

He blinked in astonishment, clearly impressed. “You truly are an extraordinary woman.”

"Yes I am. Now turn around, Mr. Castillo,” you said, twirling your finger at him.

He sighed, a little defeated, but gave in. “Fine," he murmured. "But just so you know, tonight I’m going to make you beg me to take your clothes off.”

“Did you say something?” 

“Nothing at all,” he replied, a cheeky grin forming. His mind raced with bold ideas, and your attitude and stubbornness only fueled his eagerness.

It was a challenge, and he was ready to accept it.

"Oh my God!"

You almost fainted from excitement as you stared at the sports cars in all their splendor, your mouth agape. The welcoming team at the luxury rental place truly made you feel at ease, sharing in the exhilaration of these remarkable vehicles.

"Are you telling me I can drive one of these beauties if I want to?" you asked, still unable to take your eyes off the amazing cars. A huge smile spread across your face, reminiscent of a child who had just found a stash of candy.

Harry chuckled, "I've gotten you flowers, clothes, jewellery - but I've never seen you so excited about anything"

"I'm sorry, but how could I not be? Just look at them!"

He placed his hand on your shoulder. "So which one are you going to choose? I'm really curious."

Your eyes scanned the lineup until they landed on the car that truly stole your heart. You walked over, gently brushing your hand along the sleek bonnet, and declared, "This one—the Mustang GT500."

"American muscle, huh? Nice choice."

"You mean I can really drive this?"

"That's why I brought you here, kitty," he smiled.

He had listened to your many conversations about cars, enjoying your passion for them. Apparently, he never grew bored of your car talk, and he wanted to surprise you like this.

You felt unworthy of such a thoughtful man

As you gripped the steering wheel of the red Mustang on the track, a huge smile spread across your face - it had been a long time since you had felt this good. Every time you stepped on the gas, the engine roared and you took the corners like a pro, the tyres screeching on the tarmac. Harry looked a little nervous, but he couldn't help praising your driving skills, saying how well you handled the car.

When you reached the end of the track, you lingered for a moment, reluctant to say goodbye to this baby.

"Harry, thank you. That was even more amazing than I could have imagined."

"You've never driven a sports car before?" he asked.

"I have." It wasn’t entirely a lie. You had driven it once—Nate's Lamborghini. It was one of those days when you were cleaning up after Melanie. While Nate was in the backseat making out with her—they were both drunk, and sometimes it turned into lust—yes, it was really shitty and disgusting. But the only good thing about that day was that you got to drive his car. "But not for long."

"I'm glad I made you happy," he replied.

"Yeah, you definitely did. Thanks, Harry." It was the truth. As you looked into his eyes, he leaned in closer and whispered, running his fingers through your hair, "Be mine, and I’ll show up at your place in the morning with any car you want. Just think about it."

"Harry," you murmured.

"Listen, I don't want to pressure you, but I need a clear answer. I'm a straightforward guy—doubt and uncertainty aren't something I handle well. I've waited this long because of this undeniable feeling I have for you. My instincts have never led me astray, and I’m sure they won’t this time either. So tell me, don’t you think it’s about time? Don’t you think I deserve an answer?"

His brown eyes sparkled like gems. You wanted nothing more than to be with him always, to plead with him to never leave and to make you his. But there was something you had to sort out first.

"You deserve so much more," you said, your voice shaking a bit. You took a deep breath."Tonight, I’ll give you my final answer, okay?"

He brought your hand to his lips and kissed it. "All right," he said, smiling as he brushed his lips over your knuckles.

When you got back to the hotel, it was dark, and you couldn’t stop thinking about how you were going to deal with tonight. It was making you super nervous. Harry was outside, talking on the phone, while you were in the lobby, buried in the couch and lost in your thoughts. Oliver noticed you were alone and came over to talk to you.

“Is there something you want to tell me?” he asked.

“Excuse me?” you replied, caught off guard.

“Look, I found out everything; the dating agency called me.”

You froze.

“Don’t worry, I know it’s not your fault, but this can’t go on. You understand that, don’t you?”

You nodded, tears beginning to well in your eyes.

“I wanted to talk to Harry, but he’s way too attached to you. I think it’s better if you tell him yourself. He has a reputation to maintain—you know he’s well-known. The longer this goes on, the more it messes with his image. Just tell him before things go further, or I’ll have to, and the head of the matchmaking agency might get involved. And trust me, that’ll hurt him a lot more. He should hear it from you.”

“I’ll tell him, I promise. Tonight.”

“Thank you. Oh, he’s coming. Wipe your tears,” he said, handing you a tissue from the table before standing up.

What?

Were you actually crying?

You took the tissue and quickly dried your eyes, sniffling while trying to pull yourself together.

“Melanie, look who’s here,” you heard Harry’s voice.

You almost had a heart attack when you turned around. Jack, Melanie’s dad, was standing right in front of you with a forced smile that screamed trouble.

“I just ran into Jack,” Harry said, looking at you. But then his face changed as he noticed how frozen you were, shaking a bit. “Are you okay?”

“Harry, can you give me and my daughter a minute?” Jack said, still staring at you.

Harry paused, frowning as he sensed something was wrong. Oliver put a hand on his shoulder. “Let’s give them some privacy,” he suggested.

Harry nodded, looking unsure, but his eyes were still on you. “I’ll be in the room,” he said, clueless about what was really going on. He thought it was just a father-daughter thing. You wished it was that simple.

As they walked toward the elevator, Jack made sure they were out of earshot and pointed to the seat behind you. “Why don’t you sit down? We need to talk.”

“Jack, I—”

What were you even going to say?

Damn it.

“Sit down, please.”

You did as he said, and he sat across from you, looking at you. “I know everything.”

You raised an eyebrow. “How?”

“Do you think my daughter has someone handling her secret affairs and I don't know about it?”

Of course, he should have. Jack was smart and clearly one step ahead of you.

“But if you knew—”

“Why didn’t I stop you?” He sighed. “I wanted to handle this when I got back to New York, but then I found out you were here. I was already in Marseille, so I flew in last night to talk to you.”

“Why didn’t you just tell him?”

“Harry? I could have, but honestly, it’s embarrassing for me. I’m not mad at you; it’s my dumb daughter who messed everything up. I can only be upset with you for not telling me sooner. We wouldn’t be in this mess if you had.”

“Jack, I’m sorry.” Your voice cracked.

"No, I don't blame you. But you have to take responsibility for this. You need to finish things with Harry—trust me, it’s for the best. Go talk to him right now and just explain.” He stood up. “I’ll be outside, waiting for you. Just go and do what needs to be done.”

You watched him walk away, your head spinning with thoughts, and didn't even notice Oliver coming over.

"What did he say?" he asked.

"The same thing you told me earlier. He said I should just end things with him."

"Are you going to do it?"

You looked at him, wiping a tear from your cheek with your hand. You nodded firmly.

He nodded back. "He's in the room, waiting for you," he said. You were glad he looked at you like a friend, the last thing you wanted was pity.

You felt enough pity for yourself; you really didn't need any more.

Harry was pouring himself a whisky when his phone rang. He took a sip while glancing at the screen. It was a number he didn’t feel like answering. When it rang again a moment later, he shook his glass, listening to the ice cubes jingle, and finally sighed before picking it up.

“There you are,” said the voice on the other end.

“What do you want, Lucy?”

“Hey, slow down! I’m only calling because I’m worried about you. I just found out what happened; it’s horrible.”

Harry paused, taking another sip. “What in God’s name are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about the mess with the matchmaking company. That’s what you get for choosing someone other than my agency. You should really sue that woman.”

“Wait, what are you talking about? What woman? What mess?”

At that moment, you opened the door and walked in. Harry’s back was turned to you as he was still on the phone. When he heard you come in, he turned to face you, his expression hardening.

"What the... Didn't you know? I'm talking about the girl who pretended to be Melanie Johnson and tricked you. Given your social status, her intentions were pretty obvious. People like her are dangerous; you should get rid of her before something bad happens. Oliver should have informed you by now; I can't believe he didn't. Maybe you need a new assistant. And just so you know, starting a new dating service would be a good idea—something like that would never happen with my---" He hung up angrily, keeping his eyes fixed on you. The intensity of his gaze startled you; you had never seen him like that before.

“H-Harry,” you stammered.

“Is it true?” His voice was cold.

You swallowed hard. Had he found out everything?

He took a step toward you. “Your name isn’t Melanie. Is that true?”

You closed your eyes and sighed. “That’s right. I’m not Melanie Johnson. I’m—”

“Why?” he said, taking another step closer. “Why did you do it? Is this what you’ve been hiding from me? All this time you’ve been lying to my face. But why?”

“Harry, let me explain. I—”

“What a fool I was. I thought there was something special between us. I thought it would be different this time, but it was all a lie.” He seemed to be speaking to himself.

You stepped closer to him. “Let me explain. I am—”

“Get out."

You froze. “W-what?”

His eyes were icy as he looked at you. “Didn’t you hear me? Get out.”

You frowned. “You said you'd listen to me. Why won't you let me explain?”

In a fit of rage, Harry threw his phone against the wall, and it shattered into pieces upon impact. Startled, you watched as he opened the door and pointed outside. “Get out now.”

Frustration bubbled inside you as you fought to suppress the tears threatening to fall. You walked to the door and glanced back at him, but he wouldn’t meet your gaze. “I knew you'd break my heart. Thanks for proving me right,” you said in a cracking voice before leaving the suite.

He slammed the door behind you with a loud bang, making you jump, but it only urged you to run toward the lift. You had to get out of there immediately.

You ran out of the lift and hurried to the hotel’s exit. You couldn’t stop sobbing, and people turned to look at you, but you didn’t care. Your mind was spinning; all you wanted was to escape, to disappear forever. Oliver recognized you and started to call your name, but he didn’t even know it. Instead, he just watched as you dashed out through the hotel’s revolving door, then headed to the lift to check on Harry.

As soon as you were outside, you kept running, desperate to get away from the hotel. But after a few minutes, the cold wind hit you, and you realized something terrible: this wasn’t your city, New York; it was a completely foreign place. You didn’t know the streets, didn’t know the people. The short dress you were wearing left your shoulders exposed, and without your coat, you shivered. Passersby looked at you strangely, their gazes lingering on your expensive dress, high heels, flashy necklace, and earrings. You wanted to shout at them, “I’m just an ordinary girl with an empty wallet!”

Suddenly, Jack came to mind; he said he would wait for you outside. “Oh, what an idiot I am,” you thought.

Forcing yourself to ignore the stares, you walked back toward the hotel street, searching for Jack. Where was he? Then, suddenly, you heard a voice behind you. A man spoke to you in French, but it was clear from his tone that he wasn’t friendly.

When Oliver walked into the room, he was shocked to see pieces of a smashed phone and glass all over the floor. Harry had his back turned, staring out the window at the city. Oliver approached him carefully, knowing deep down that his worst fears had come true. Harry caught his reflection in the glass and turned his head slightly.

“Why didn’t you just tell me?” he asked, sounding frustrated.

Oliver had been expecting the question, but he didn’t know how to answer. “Man, I’m really sorry. I found out yesterday and was going to tell you, but I thought it would be better if she told you.”

Harry turned to face Oliver. “You should have told me, Oliver. I should have heard it from you, not from my ex, dammit.”

“What did you say? Wait a minute, did Lucy call you? God damn it, I thought she was the one who told you.”

“What difference would it have made?” Harry shot back, his voice tinged with anger. “She’s a crook—a serpent in disguise who’s deceived me all this time. How did she pull it off? She even fooled Jack. What exactly was her scheme? Is she a gold-digger or something?”

“What do you mean? She didn’t give you the full story? They spoke to Jack, and she was supposed to fill you in.”

“Does she know him?” Harry asked incredulously, disbelief etched on his face.

“Of course she does. She’s working as a housekeeper at his house. Jack’s daughter, Melanie, forced her into this. The real Melanie didn’t want to meet you face-to-face, so she used her friends to hack the system. Jack must have been too embarrassed to come down here himself. But like me, he wanted her to tell you—”

In a sudden burst of emotion, Harry seized Oliver’s collar, their eyes locked in an intense stare. “What did you just say? What do you mean she was forced?”

“You heard me. The poor girl is like Melanie's puppet; she had no choice in the matter. It’s all part of a twisted game to keep you from marrying Melanie I guess. She’s trapped in it.”

Time seemed to freeze for Harry as he absorbed the weight of Oliver’s words. “What have I done?” he muttered himself, his heart ached.

“But I thought she told you. Didn’t she?”

Harry shook his head, his heart sinking. “She was going to, but I lost it—I was furious, and—”

“Dude... What have you done?”

Harry squeezed his eyes shut, a wave of regret crashing over him, as if he were drowning in his own foolishness. “I told her to get out,” he muttered.

“Geez, isn’t that a bit harsh? No wonder she ran out of here in tears."

He shot Oliver a sharp look, panic flashing across his face. “What? Where is she now?”

“I don’t know. She just bolted from the hotel and disappeared into the streets."

Harry's gaze darted to the coat abandoned on the chair, a symbol of the moment he now regretted. He snatched it up, determination igniting within him, and rushed toward the door.

“Hey! Where are you going?” Oliver called out, his voice filled with worry.

“I’m going to find her!” Harry shouted back, his heart racing as he sprinted toward the elevator, desperate to make things right.

“Look, dude, I don’t get your language. Just back off, alright?”

But the guy kept closing in on you. You didn’t need to understand him to figure out what he wanted. As you stepped back, your heel caught on the cobblestone, and you went down. At that moment, a fancy car pulled up, and a man got out and walked over to you while the other guy turned around and took off. The man in the suit offered you his hand.

“Are you a New Yorker too?” He smiled.

You took his hand and got up. “Yeah, you too?”

“Yeah. I heard your accent when you told that guy to ‘back off.’”

You chuckled nervously, saying, “He really freaked me out; he was coming right at me.” 

“But you were ready to fight him. I guess it’s not the first time you’ve had to run from creeps, right?” he replied with a grin. 

“True,” you laughed. “There were definitely some in New York.”

He chuckled and offered his hand again. “I’m Alan.”

You shook his hand. “Thanks, Alan.”

“Aren’t you going to tell me your name?”

Just then, someone called your name from behind. You turned and saw Jack.

About time. You felt a wave of relief wash over you.

“I’ve been searching everywhere for you! Where have you been?” He was worried.

“I—I got lost and—”

“Jack?”

“Alan!”

They hugged, and you were surprised to see that they knew each other. Jack turned to you and said, “You get in the car, and I’ll be right there.”

You nodded and did as he instructed. Alan watched you intently while getting into the car, then turned to Jack.

“I thought you were in Marseille,” Alan said.

“I was, but then I came here. I had some urgent matters to take care of,” Jack replied.

“Is this pretty lady your daughter or something?” Alan asked.

Jack sighed. “I wish she were, but no. Let’s just say she’s someone I know. Listen, Alan, I really have to go now. See you.”

“See you, man,” Alan responded.

Jack hopped into the car beside you and instructed the driver to head to the airport, where his private jet was waiting to take you back home. Your phone buzzed insistently; it was Harry calling -actually it was Oliver's number but you knew it was him-.

You ignored all the calls.

“Do you have feelings for him?” Jack asked, his tone direct yet gentle.

You looked straight at him, then averted your gaze, unable to deny the truth in your heart. He picked up on the unspoken words and nodded slowly.

“Don’t,” he said. “Don’t go there if you care about yourself, you silly girl.”

You nodded.

“What about him? Do you think he has feelings for you?”

You shook your head. “I don’t think so. Even if he did at one point, he doesn’t anymore.”

Jack nodded. “I’m sorry about what happened. But when we get back, I can’t let you work in my house anymore. You understand why, don’t you?”

“Yes, of course,”  you murmured.

“I want you to know I’ll provide a good severance package for all your service up to now and for everything you’ve been through. If you ever need help in the future, you know my number.”

Jack was hot-tempered but had a noble soul. He considered those he trusted as family, regardless of their social status. You looked at him, feeling grateful.

“Thank you, Jack,” you said with a smile.

He nodded. “Sure.”

All the while, your phone was ringing insistently, and you were ignoring Harry’s calls.

Why the hell was he calling?

Did he want to curse at you or something?

Finally, Jack held out his hand. “Give it to me; let me talk to him.”

You hesitated at first, but eventually, you handed it over. As he spoke on the phone, you looked out the window, feeling nervous about hearing his voice.

"Harry, it's Jack. Please stop calling her; I will be your point of contact on this matter from now on. I'd like to invite you to an apology dinner when you return to New York, and I'm willing to provide compensation as well. I'll be in touch with you soon." Then he hung up.

“Damn it, Jack,” Harry snarled.

He stood in front of the hotel’s front door, then something glittering on the floor caught his attention. He bent down and picked it up; it was one of your earrings—the one he had given you as a present.

“She must have dropped it while running,” he muttered.

Oliver came running toward him from across the street, panting. “They saw Jack leaving, but I couldn’t find any trace of the girl. Did you manage to reach her?”

Harry continued to stare at the earring in his hand. “Ollie.”

“Yeah?”

“Call the pilot; we’re heading back to New York.”

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

here's the taglist...

@balhoneysweetstuff @orcasoul @pedroslut4eva @lailathepedritofan @queenofodds @darkheartgatita @ccmoonshine @suzysface @javiismyhsbnd @aurorathegreekprincess @daejangandimja @longlivekingminnn @jisungandpedrolover @urlivingdeadgirl @laliceee @sincerelywithheartt @indiegirlunited @fancyyoouu @blackborndue @shinymusicpanda @her-fandom-sanctum @aegoniipascal @zanylightmilkshake @bonadeaamo @spencercmlover @heramj @pedroloverbilmemkac @churchofjoemiller @urlivingdeadgirl @thanyatargaryen @icanbringyouinhot @universallygentlemenharmony @bitchyfestnight @sukivenue @l1zzygr0nt @pedrofan @javiismyhsbnd @00honey @brittmb115

If you want me to add you to the tag list or remove you from it, just let me know! if I missed your name, I'm sorry, remind me, plz.

lots of love

[fvispunk]

PEDRO PASCAL from Ana de la Reguera IG

[fvispunk]

Es triste pero reconfortante sabes?

Me encanta

The days of you and I | part 1

Jackson!Joel Miller x fem!reader

Summary: After Joel’s near-death, you stay by his side, refusing to leave him behind. You both confront the weight of what’s been done and what it means to still have each other for now.

w.c: 4,5k

warnings: angst, mentions of murder and revenge, emotional trauma, grief trauma, survivor's guilt, discussion of death and loss. It contains spoilers from season 2 of the last of us. No proofreading because, you know.

A/N: Okay, hello. This is a new Joel series because we love Joel here, and he is alive and recovering. This series will have angst, and the topics followed throughout the story will hold onto the path of healing after a traumatic event for the characters. I already have the end for this series, so everything will lead to it. I hope you like it and stay here to read it. Reblogs are really important, and I appreciate them. I'm gonna be out for a days because I have to put an end to the semester before winter break and do my teacher duties.

Also, I created an AO3 account, and I'll be posting fics there too from now on.

The hospital room was very quiet. With that eerie absence of sound that you could feel penetrating your bones, damaging the inside of your body with a pain that pierced your body, seeped into your soul, and oppressed your heart.

Joel still woke up to that silence, as if was chocking him to death and he had decided he have had enough of it.  to the distant hush of an early morning, and a world that carried on without him. The sharp sting in his ribs reminded him he was still alive, though some days, he wondered what for.

His eyes opened slow, the weight behind them too heavy to lift at once. The ceiling looked the same as it had for the past week, wooden beams, a single hanging light. He’d spent more hours staring at it than sleeping. The painkillers dulled the sharp edges, but nothing softened the hollow inside his chest.

And you were still there.

Your silhouette sat by the window, curled into the old chair like you belonged there. As if you were stuck. A book half-read on your lap, a cup of cold tea nearby, and that same tired crease between your brows you probably didn’t know you had. You looked so small in the pale dawn light, so goddamn stubborn.

He should’ve been glad. Grateful you hadn’t left.

But this morning, something cracked inside him.

It wasn’t relief that filled him. It was grief.

His bones were still aching, his legs dumbed under the cover. He didn’t feel like a man no more, but as a lifeless lump lying in bed.

And you deserved better than this version of him, this half-broken thing stitched together by other people’s hands, carrying the weight of mistakes that couldn’t be undone. Joel wasn’t the man you met. Wasn’t the one who held you like you were the only good thing left in the world.

And seeing you here, still choosing him, hurt worse than any wound that other girl that beat him almost to death had left behind.

He swallowed hard, voice rough and unused.

“You don’t need to stay here all the time, you know?”

The words came out more bitter than he meant them to, tasting like rust and regret.

Your head turned, soft eyes finding his. That damn look, the one that exactly saw right through him, the one that made him feel like a man again for a moment.

And for a second, Joel wished you’d leave.

Because it would be easier than losing you piece by piece like this.

You smiled, small but steady, like you always did when you noticed he was awake. That damn smile, it cut through him every time.

“Took you long enough to wake up again,” you murmured, the softness in your voice brushing against the raw places in him he tried to keep buried. You crossed the room, moving to his side like it was the most natural thing in the world. Like it hadn’t been three weeks and one more of watching him drift in and out of fevered sleep and silence.

“You must be feeling tired,” you said, fingertips brushing through the strands of his hair, pushing them gently from his forehead.

Joel didn’t move, but his throat worked around a swallow. It wasn’t fair, you being so gentle. Wasn’t fair that after everything, you were still here, speaking to him like he was the man you remembered, not the one lying broken in that bed.

He closed his eyes for a moment, leaning, barely, into your touch before forcing himself to pull away. His jaw clenched.

Reality blurred at the edges; every breath thick with a kind of grief he didn’t know how to name. Time didn’t move right in this room. It stretched too long, like a cruel joke, dragging him through the sharp fragments of what he used to be.

He wasn’t mad.

He was devasted.

He felt ashamed of the man he was now.

He never experienced a physical pain like this. One that burned inside and out his body.

He hadn’t even noticed his hand was clenching around nothing.

How he could even be useful for this town now that he was gone. Everything left was limb laying on a bed with nothing left but a void consuming him as a whole.

He bit down hard on the inside of his cheek, the coppery tang of blood grounding him for a second. His voice, when it came, was cracked and quiet.

“You shouldn’t… shouldn’t waste your time on me, darling.”

A bitter, broken kind of truth. But in his heart, he knew it would be worse than dying to watch you stay, wasting your life on him.

You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull your hand away, even when his words hung heavy in the air between you like a noose. If anything, your fingers curled more firmly into his hair, a tender anchor to a man too lost to realize he was still here, still tethered.

“I’m not wasting anything,” you said softly, the words steady even as your throat threatened to close around them. “You’re here, Joel. That’s enough.”

He gave a ragged breath, like he wanted to laugh, wanted to scream, but all that came was a low, broken sound somewhere deep in his chest. His gaze dropped to the space between you — his hand, bruised and shaking, lying useless on the blanket.

“Don’t deserve you sitting here, watching this,” he muttered, voice hoarse, eyes hot though no tears came. Couldn’t remember the last time they had.

A long, aching silence stretched between you.

You could feel it, the war inside him. The part that needed you close, needed your touch, your voice, like it was the last thing tethering him to this side of the dark. And the other part, the one too proud, too broken, too wrecked by shame to let himself have it.

But you’d made your choice the moment he opened his eyes a week ago.

“I’m not going anywhere,” you said. Not a promise you made lightly in a world like this.

Joel closed his eyes again. He didn’t answer. But for the first time in days, his hand moved, slow, halting, to brush against yours.

“Did you… really take them all?” he rasped.

Your heart clenched, but you didn’t look away. Couldn’t.

You gave a small, steady nod.

He swallowed hard, the muscles in his jaw twitching. His gaze dropped for a second, his hand flexing weakly against the sheets.

“I don’t regret it,” you said at last, the words steady despite the ache in your chest. “No one deserves what they did to you.”

There was a storm behind Joel’s eyes, a thousand things he wanted to say, but his throat burned too much to let them out. Anger, grief, guilt, some twisted kind of gratitude. It tangled up inside him like barbed wire, tearing at every soft part he had left.

“You didn’t have to…” his voice broke, low and pained.

“I know,” you whispered. “But I would do it again.”

Your fingers brushed against his, and this time, his hand turned, weakly curling around yours. A tremble ran through him, and you felt it in your bones, the weight of his shame, the depth of his sorrow, and somewhere, buried beneath it, the fragile pulse of the man you knew still fighting to breathe.

But the love you felt for him, that was enough to send you into a spiral, where nothing else felt real but the desperate need to save him, the desperation of not losing him because that would have meant losing yourself that day.

Neither of you spoke for a while after that. The room was heavy with the things you didn’t need to say.

You didn’t look away from Joel, but you felt the shift in the room, the familiar presence of Tommy as he stepped in.

“Hey,” Tommy’s voice was rough, softer than usual, like he was afraid to break whatever fragile peace hung in the air. “Didn’t mean to interrupt.”

You lifted your head, your fingers gently slipping from Joel’s, though his hand lingered in the empty space you left behind.

Tommy gave a small nod toward you. “Gail’s waiting to see you. Said whenever you were ready.”

Your stomach twisted, a cold unease settling in your chest. You gave Joel one last look, brushing a thumb over his hand before pulling away completely.

“I’ll be back,” you whispered.

Joel didn’t answer. Just stared at the ceiling, eyes distant.

As you stepped out, Tommy caught your arm, just briefly, his hand firm but kind.

“I’ll stay,” he murmured. “Not gonna leave him alone.”

You gave him a grateful, weary nod and left, the door shutting quietly behind you.

The room felt emptier after you were gone. Joel let out a slow breath, eyes closing for a moment before shifting to glance at his brother.

“Gail?” Joel’s voice was rough, but clearer now. “She… she going to therapy with her?”

Tommy rubbed a hand over the back of his neck, sighing as he sank into the chair by the bed.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Doctor says it might help. Been… hard for her since it happened. It isn’t just you carrying scars, brother.”

Joel looked away, his throat working around another swallow. The word therapy felt foreign in his mouth, like it belonged to a world he’d never stepped into, one too far gone for men like him.

Joel stayed quiet for a long time after Tommy spoke, the words circling in his head, refusing to settle. His gaze lingered on the window, on the way the morning light edged in like it didn’t belong here.

Then, rough and low, he broke the silence.

“Was she…” His voice caught, and he cleared his throat, hating the weakness there. “Was she hurt? When… when they brought me back?”

Tommy’s face shifted, the answer already written in his eyes before he spoke.

“Yeah,” he admitted softly. “She… she had some bruises. Took a hit to the side’a her face, couple more on her ribs. And there was a wound on her abdomen.”

Joel’s stomach turned, a cold, sinking dread washing over him.

“Abdomen?” he rasped, his hands curling weakly into fists against the blanket. “Christ.”

Tommy sighed, leaning his elbows on his knees, rubbing a hand over his face. “She didn’t give a damn about it. Wouldn’t let anybody touch her. Wouldn’t even let them clean her up ‘til you were stable. Sat right there in that chair covered in her own blood and yours, talking to you like you could hear her.”

He shook his head, a ghost of a sad, fond smile on his face.

“Would’ve fought off half the town if anyone tried to pull her out of here.”

Joel closed his eyes, the guilt pressing so heavy against his chest he thought it might crush him. A sharp breath rattled through him, his throat burning.

“Goddamn fool,” he muttered to himself, a tear he’d never admit to stinging behind his eye.

“She loves you, you know,” Tommy said quietly, watching his brother’s face. “Way you do her. There is no shame in letting people love you, Joel. Even if it hurts.”

Joel didn’t answer. Couldn’t. Not with the knot in his throat, not with the war inside his chest.

But his hand flexed again against the sheets reaching for something, for someone, perhaps you.

The silence thickened again, the kind of quiet that settled deep in your bones. Tommy stayed still, letting Joel sort through whatever storm was building behind those weary eyes.

Then Joel spoke, voice low and cracked, like gravel scraping out of his throat.

“She killed… all of ‘em.”

Tommy’s jaw tensed. He stared down at his hands, lacing his fingers together like it might steady him.

“Yeah,” he admitted. “Every last one of ‘em.”

Joel’s throat worked around a swallow, his gaze distant, unfocused, like he was seeing it happen even if he hadn’t been awake for it. Like he could feel the blood she spilled on his behalf soaking into his hands too.

“I should have been the one…” Joel’s voice broke at the edge, bitter and aching. “Should’ve finished it. Not her. Not—”

“She didn’t leave you a choice, Joel,” Tommy cut in quietly, but firm. “You were barely breathing. We didn’t know if you’d make it. You almost died on her arms that night.”

Joel gave a humorless, broken kind of laugh, but there was no light in it. Just sharp edges.

“And now what?” he muttered, a tear sliding down his temple he didn’t bother to wipe away. “She got their blood on her hands. Because of me.”

Tommy leaned forward; his voice steady in that way Joel remembered from years long gone, before the world turned to shit.

“She doesn’t regret it,” he said. “You know that. And neither would I.”

Joel’s eyes finally met his brother’s. A flicker of something there. Grief. Fury. Love. Loss.

“But I do,” Joel whispered. “I regret that she had to.”

Tommy swallowed hard, his throat bobbing.

“You’re not the only one with scars, brother,” he said softly.

“I don’t regret it,” you said, voice steady, though your chest ached with the weight of it. “No one deserves what they did to Joel.”

Gail’s brow lifted, arms folding across her chest. “Murder?” she challenged; one word sharp enough to cut.

You didn’t blink. “Murder’s a simple act these days. Torture?” Your voice turned cold, almost unfamiliar even to yourself. “That’s another thing.”

A beat of heavy silence stretched between you.

“Murder is what Joel committed when he blew my husband’s head off,” Gail snapped, her voice brittle, laced with venom, old grief that still clung to her like a second skin.

“It’s not the same,” you bit out, shaking your head.

“It is,” Gail said, stepping closer. “The only difference is you had the chance to save him. If you hadn’t, Joel would be dead right now. And you’d be mourning him like I mourned mine.”

A fury you hadn’t felt since that day surged hot through your veins. You took a shaky breath, eyes narrowing.

“Fuck you,” you hissed. “You don’t know him. You don’t get to talk about him like that.”

Gail’s face didn’t move, but something in her gaze flickered, something dark, bitter, and quietly resigned.

“I know enough,” she murmured. “Enough to understand what kind of man survives in a world like this. And what kind of woman kills for him.”

You held her gaze, unflinching, the burn of unshed tears pricking at the corners of your eyes, though your face gave nothing away.

“I’m not sorry,” you whispered. “And I never will be.”

“You don’t get it,” you murmured, voice breaking just enough to betray the rawness beneath your fury. “My life would’ve ended.”

The words hung there, fragile and furious all at once.

You swallowed hard, fighting the tremor in your throat. “When they took him… when I saw what they did… there wasn’t a world left for me after that. So don’t stand there and talk about men surviving and women killing like you understand a goddamn thing about what it feels like to have your heart ripped out of your chest and left bleeding in the dirt. Because you’ve been behind these walls, safe, without knowing what it’s like out there.”

Gail’s brow twitched; her gaze steady but dull. “Do you think I haven’t lost people? Do you think grief makes you special?”

“I didn’t say that,” you shot back, your voice tight, shaking now. “I’m saying you didn’t see him. You didn’t watch them tear him apart. You didn’t hear the sounds he made. And you sure as hell didn’t have to put him back together.”

Her jaw clenched. “And now what? Do you think murder fix it?”

“I don’t care if it does or doesn’t,” you spat. “I care that they’ll never touch him again. That they won’t look at Ellie. That no one here will whisper about how Joel Miller should’ve died that day.”

Gail scoffed, a bitter sound. “And what about you? How can you carry this and walk around like it won’t eat you alive?”

“I don’t care,” you said, low, certain. “I care about him.

A beat of silence.

“You think that makes you strong?” Gail asked quietly.

“No,” you whispered. “It makes me his, as I’ve always been.”

Gail’s mouth pressed into a thin line. “You talk like that’s a badge of honor.”

You let out a hollow laugh, shaking your head. “It’s not. It’s a fact.”

She tilted her head, watching you like someone examining a wound too deep to close. “What if you drown into this?”

“I’ll try to save myself” you shrugged.

Another pause. The room felt too small, thick with old grief and new wounds, neither of you willing to be the one to walk away first.

“I loved Eugene so much” Gail said, her voice rough. “And when he died, it didn’t turn me into this.”

You met her eyes, unflinching. “But it made you bitter towards Joel.”

Gail’s jaw tightened, something sharp flickering in her gaze. “He made choices. Ones that cost people their lives. Good people. You act like he’s some goddamn martyr, but he isn’t.”

“And neither was Eugene,” you shot back, your voice low and steady. “Do you wanna talk about choices? Fine. Joel made his. I made mine. And you? You’ve been standing behind walls judging the rest of us ever since we arrived.

Her nostrils flared, a bitter breath leaving her. “I don’t have to like what this world turns people into.”

“Neither do I,” you murmured. “But I’ll fight for the one thing in it that still means something to me. That’s the difference between you and me, Gail. You buried your heart with Eugene. I’m not ready to bury mine.”

A long, heavy silence stretched between you, the old ache of loss clawing at both your throats. And for the first time, Gail didn’t have a sharp reply. She just looked away, jaw clenched, and you took your opening.

You didn’t say goodbye. You just left.

You made your way back through the hallway, your steps slow, heavy, like every word from that conversation with Gail was still clinging to your skin. The air in Jackson felt colder somehow, like the whole town was holding its breath, waiting for something none of you could name.

As a town, you were still recovering from that day.

When you reached Joel’s door, you didn’t push it open right away.

You stood there, hand hovering by the frame, heart hammering against your ribs because, god, he was still here. Still breathing. Still alive.

And it didn’t matter how broken or battered he was, how much rage or guilt sat behind those tired eyes. It was him. And that was enough for you.

Inside, you heard the low murmur of his voice, raspy, weighted with a pain he never used to let anyone hear.

“But how is she really doing?”

“She’s… holding up,” Tommy answered, voice cautious. ”

Joel let out a rough, broken sound. Not quite a sigh, not quite a sob.

“If you ask me, you’re lucky she’s still here after what this world’s done to both of you.” Tommy said.

There was a pause, then Joel spoke again, softer this time, like he wasn’t sure he meant to say it out loud.

“I just… I don’t want her staying because she feels like she has to,” Joel muttered, his voice rough, almost cracking. “She should go, Tommy. Find something better. Hell, anyone better than… whatever I am now.”

Your stomach twisted. A sharp, cold ache settling beneath your ribs. You stayed frozen at the doorway, your hand tightening around the frame, every part of you aching. You didn’t mean to listen, but it was too late. The words were already carving themselves into your chest.

“She’s not here out of obligation.” Tommy said, his tone harder than before. “What would you do if you were her?”

Another pause.

Joel let out a humorless, ragged chuckle, and it hurt to hear it. “It’s not fair.”

“But she gets to decide what’s fair,” Tommy shot back. “And so far, she has decided it’s you.”

You bit the inside of your cheek, blinking fast against the burn in your eyes. Your heart hammered in your chest so loud you were sure they’d hear it.

You needed one more second to pull yourself together. To bury the hurt his words left behind, not because you doubted him, but because you knew where they came from. The same place you’d been sitting in since the day you saw him bleeding out in the dirt.

You swallowed down the knot in your throat, forcing your face into something steady, or close enough to pass for it. Then, with a breath you weren’t sure reached your lungs, you pushed the door open.

“Hey,” you said softly.

Both their heads turned. Joel’s eyes landed on you first, and for a split second, something in them broke open. A flicker of guilt, sorrow, and something heavier, like he knew you’d heard more than you were meant to.

But you gave him a small, careful smile, pretending the sting behind your eyes wasn’t there. Pretending your heart wasn’t in pieces on the floor between you both.

Tommy cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you. “I, uh — I’ll give you a minute.” He patted Joel’s shoulder, murmured something you couldn’t catch, and brushed past you on his way out.

The door clicked shut.

Silence stretched thin in the room, heavy like storm air. Joel shifted uncomfortably on the bed, his hand twitching against the blanket. He opened his mouth, then shut it again.

You crossed the room, sitting down on the edge of the mattress by his side. Close, but not quite touching.

“I was thinking…” you began, “I could ask the doctor if you can leave the hospital and go back home. We surely need to make some changes there with the bed and—”

 “Stop it.” He cut you off, his voice rough but firm. “I’m not going anywhere right now.”

You blinked, caught off guard by the sudden sharpness. “Joel—”

“No.” He shook his head, eyes dark with something you couldn’t quite name. “Not until I’m ready. And right now, I’m not ready to face that.”

The weight in his tone pinned you still. You wanted to argue, to tell him that staying there wasn’t helping him heal, but the raw edge in his voice stopped you.

Instead, you just nodded slowly. “Okay,” you said softly.

He didn’t answer, just closed his eyes, the tension in his jaw slowly easing into something like resignation.

You settled into the chair beside his bed, not bearing the closeness anymore, the quiet between you thick but familiar. Your fingers absentmindedly traced the worn edge of his sleeve, as if hoping to stitch together the frayed pieces of him with nothing but touch.

Joel’s breath was shallow, uneven, and you could feel the weight of everything he wasn’t saying pressing down on the room. The man you knew, the one who’d fought through hell and back was here, but buried beneath layers of pain and doubt.

“I’m scared,” he finally muttered, voice rough and low. “Not of dying... of what’s left after.”

Your heart clenched. “You’re not alone in that,” you whispered. “You know that.”

“What you did—” he began “I didn’t deserve to be saved, baby.”

“I made my choice.” You replied, eyes watering.

Joel’s gaze dropped to your trembling hands, then back up to your face, searching.

“I’m broken,” he said quietly, voice cracking. “Not the same man I was before.”

You shook your head gently, swallowing the lump in your throat. “You’re still him,” you insisted, voice firm but tender. “Wounded, maybe. Scared, sure. But still you. And I’m still here.”

A long pause stretched between you, filled only by the faint rhythm of his labored breathing.

Joel’s eyes glistened, a shadow moving through them as he let out a shaky breath.

“What you did… it’ll haunt you,” he murmured, voice low and rough like gravel. “Same way Salt Lake haunts me. What I did to those Fireflies… what I took from Ellie. Thought I was saving her. Thought it was worth whatever price.” He swallowed hard, jaw trembling. “But it never leaves you. Never lets you forget. Look what they did to me.”

You didn’t flinch. You leaned in, your hand finding his cheek, thumb brushing against the rough line of his beard.

“No,” you said softly, steady. “It won’t haunt me, Joel.”

He blinked, as if the words knocked something loose inside him.

“Because I know what we do,” you continued, voice trembling but certain, “when we love someone enough to tear the world apart for them. I know what it means to save the person who’s your whole heart. And I’ll carry it. All of it. And I won’t regret a single thing.”

His eyes closed, a tear slipping down his temple, and for the first time in too long, he didn’t look like a ghost of himself. He looked like Joel.

“Goddamn you,” he whispered hoarsely. “I don’t deserve you.”

“I’m not letting you go,” you said, leaning your forehead to his.

His breath hitched at the sound of your voice so close, your warmth grounding him in a way nothing else could.

“Baby…” he rasped, like it hurt to say it, like it was both a confession and a plea.

You hushed him gently, your hand brushing through his hair, your forehead still pressed to his.

“It’s gonna take time to heal,” you whispered. “I know that. I’m not asking you to be okay tomorrow, Joel. Or next week. Or even next year. I just need you here. With me. However, you can manage.”

His fingers, still weak, clung to yours like a lifeline. His voice cracked as he spoke again, rough and small.

“I won’t be able to protect you.” You felt it in the way his words splintered under the weight of his shame, the jagged edges of the man he used to be catching against what was left. His eyes searched yours, desperate and hollow all at once.

“I won’t be able to protect you,” he repeated, voice breaking like a man confessing to a sin he could never undo as he closed his eyes. “Not like before. Not the way I should do.”

You swallowed hard, a tear finally slipping free, tracing down your cheek as you gripped his hand tighter, like you could anchor him to this moment, to you.

“You don’t have to,” you whispered, voice trembling but certain. “You protected me for so long, Joel. Longer than anyone else ever did. It’s my turn now. I don’t need a gun in your hand to feel safe. I just need you. That’s it. I just need to feel the beating of your heart under my hand to know you’re still breathing with me.”

His throat worked around a choked sound, his other hand weakly lifting as if it wanted to touch you but couldn’t quite make it, so you guided it to your cheek, holding it there like it was the most precious thing in the world because that’s how it felt.

“I’m still yours,” you whispered against his palm. “Always. However, you come back to me.”

tags 💌: If you want to be removed or you're not interested in the story anymore, please tell me so I can remove you. :)

@heartpatch @jasminedragoon @picketniffler @grayandthyme @ccmoonshine

@theoraekenslover @stcrrjoon @stupidthoughtsinwriting @officialjellydoughnut @dshc99 @eleganthottubfun @mystickittytaco @fvispunk @daydreamzsworld @comicccc

@nosebeers @whirlwindrider29 @person-005 @bunnyofribbon

@ainhoetaaa @missladym1981 @keileighr @callofdiva @pinkcabinet

@tomie-it-girl @shadowpheonix @unknownomgg @22thumbs

@vanishintoyoubby

[fvispunk]

PEDRO PASCAL from Ana de la Reguera IG

[fvispunk]

AYYYYYYYY ME FASCINA 😍

“I’m starting to think I want to break all of them.” CALLATEEEEE PRECIOSO 🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦🫦

Me la estoy pasando tan bien leyendo esto 🫶🏼

"Whatever you'd like us to be" | part 2

harry castillo (materialists) x sunshine!f!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where you and harry play pretend but the game comes with some rules you must follow.

w.c: 11,7k

warnings: age gap (reader 29-30, harry 47) fluff, idiots neglecting their feelings, mostly fluff and a tiny bit of angst. Remember I'm stupid and I don't proofread things.

A/N: Thank you so much for your positive reception on this fic. I literally loved reading your reactions to this. I always overthink a lot about it. I hope you enjoy this chapter and see you soon with the other one. I WANT TO READ YOUR THOUGHTS.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Alright. Ground rules,” Harry said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. His grin was playful, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes.

“Rule number one: we stay friends. That’s it. No more.”

You smirked. “Oh, what a cliché thing to say.”

“I'm serious,” he pointed a finger at you, feigning sternness. “You can’t fall in love with me.”

“You're ridiculous, why would I fall in love with you? this was your idea” you said.

“I know. And I’m really embarrassed about it.” His grin widened.” And I’m already regretting how good you look across this table.”

You rolled your eyes. “Next.”

“Rule number two,” he continued, leaning closer. “No sex.”

You snorted.  “That’s hard. I just want to ripped your clothes right now” you said, pouting.

“Oh my god, can't you stop?” Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“Celibate, okay.” You smiled “I have a question though.”

He nodded, gesturing for you to go on.

“What happens if we fight?”

Harry’s playful look softened. He hesitated, then shrugged.

“We won’t.”

“How are you so sure?” you asked, quietly this time.

He met your eyes, something honest flickering there. “Because I don’t think I could push you out of my life now that I know you.”

Your smile faltered for a second, heart knocking against your ribs.

He quickly cleared his throat, waving a hand. “And, rule number three: no kisses. Especially when we’re alone.”

“Oh, too bad. Because you already kissed me,” you teased, grinning.

Harry stopped mid-laugh, eyes narrowing playfully.

“That you remember, but not puking on my shoes, huh?”

You laughed, leaning back, feeling warmer than you should.

“Your loss though.”

What Harry didn’t say, what he wouldn’t admit, not even to himself, was that this wasn’t just about keeping his nosy family off his back. Sure, he wanted to make his ex-eat her heart out. But somewhere along the line, you’d become something else entirely.

Something he didn’t want to risk hurting. Like just a few days of knowing you felt like a lifetime.

Harry ran a hand down his face, letting out a breathy laugh, because damn it, you were dangerous.

You sat there across from him, eyes sparkling, a cocky little smirk tugging at your lips as you laid down your so-called rules, and he knew, knew, this was a terrible, terrible idea. The kind of thing people wrote cautionary tales about. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from it. From you.

He had could just get to know you and move on with you, but he didn’t want to fall in love again, he didn’t want to go through heartbreak all over again, but getting to know you had been the easier thing he had to do.

Even if it had been just a few days.

“Alright, deal,” he said, extending a hand over the table. “Friends. No falling in love. No sex. No kisses unless it’s in public and absolutely necessary to sell the whole thing.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your grin as you shook his hand. “Absolutely necessary, huh?”

He arched a brow. “You know, for the credibility.”

You laughed, but inside, deep in some corner of your heart you didn’t want to name. Something fluttered. Because for all your bravado and teasing, you could already feel the ground shifting under your feet. You were lying to yourselves, both of you, and somewhere you both knew it.

But neither of you was about to admit it.

Not yet.

Harry didn’t want to catch feelings. He told himself he wouldn’t.

Even when your smile already felt like it was burning its way into his ribs.

Even when the way you tease him made him feel more alive than he had in months.

Even when every part of him knew. This wasn’t going to stay pretend.

The deal was struck, sealed with free ordering of coffee for him and some certain of retuning for you. You both pretended it was easy, casual, a harmless arrangement between two people who had no business getting tangled up like this. You were getting to know each other, but even as you both laid down the rules, something heavier hung between the lines neither of you dared to read out loud.

The next few days blurred by in a mess of work and texts from Harry, stupid things mostly.

Harry ☕

Tell your barista that oat milk is not a personality trait.

You ☀️

I’ll tell them after you admit you’ve ordered the same vanilla iced latte three times this week. I’ve have to order a ton of syrup.

Harry ☕

Consistency is key, darling.

It felt too easy. Too natural. Like him calling you darling didn’t knocked out the air out of your lungs.

And maybe that’s what scared you most.

You ☀️

Bye, harry. I’m working.

Harry ☕

Rude. I’m your favorite customer.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips despite yourself. It was stupid, how easily his messages slipped under your skin, how his voice in your head saying darling still made your stomach tighten like you were seventeen again with a reckless crush.

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket. You ignored it this time, for a solid three minutes before cursing under your breath and pulling it out.

Harry ☕

I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something that’ll make me look good by association.

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to smile. God, he was infuriating.

You ☀️

I haven’t said yes yet, Castillo.

A pause.

Then another message.

Harry ☕

But you will.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t wrong.

Because you could already feel it happening, like a storm you saw coming from miles away, but still refused to get inside. You told yourself you were agreeing because it was harmless. A few dinners, some fake smiles, polite lies to his family. No big deal.

And if your heart beat a little faster when you thought about his crooked grin, or the way he called you darling, well… that was your problem.

You slid your phone back into your pocket and went back to work, telling yourself you weren’t falling.

You spent the rest of your day pretending you weren’t checking your phone every five minutes.

By the time the clock hit 6:45, your nerves were a tangled knot in your stomach. You stood in front of the mirror in the tiny office behind the shop, smoothing down your dress for the third time, not too fancy, not too casual, you told yourself. You weren’t dressing up for him. This was strategy. Optics. You were supposed to make him look good.

And maybe, just maybe, look good doing it.

Your phone buzzed again.

Harry ☕

Outside. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your jacket, and stepped out the back door saying goodbye to Celine and Patrick.

The sun was low, autumn was still fighting between the cold and warm kind of weather, painting the city in soft gold, and there he was, leaning against his car, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose like a damn magazine ad.

“You clean up nice,” he teased, opening the passenger door for you.

You smirked. “You act like you haven’t seen me without an apron on.”

“Yeah, but this is different.” He gestured vaguely at you. “Now you look like someone my Nan will immediately start asking about grandkids.”

You snorted, sliding into the seat. “Maybe I’ll tell her you’re terrible in bed.”

Harry shut the door and grinned down at you through the window. “Joke’s on you. She already thinks I’m a saint.”

As he climbed into the driver’s seat, you couldn’t help it. You smiled.

And he saw it. Of course, he did.

“See,” he said softly, starting the car. “Told you you’d say yes.”

You rolled your eyes again, followed by a silence that didn’t last too long. 

You tucked one leg beneath you, glancing over at Harry as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan.”

You raised a brow. “A plan?”

“Yeah. They’re going to ask questions about how we met, how long we’ve been together, what I love about you…” He glanced over with a crooked grin. “The usual.”

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool. “Alright, Hit me.”

He tapped the steering wheel. “Okay. How did we meet?”

You thought for a second, then smirked. “You came into my coffee shop every day for two weeks straight, ordering the same vanilla iced latte, until I told you it was starting to get weird.”

Harry laughed, throwing his head back a little. “God, I wish that wasn’t almost exactly what happened.”

You grinned. “See? I’m good at this.”

“Okay. How long have we been together?”

You chewed your bottom lip, pretending to consider it. “Hmm… should we go for six months? Feels long enough to be believable but not so long they’ll start asking about rings.”

“Smart,” he agreed, nodding. “Six months it is.”

You glanced at him. “And what do you love about me, Harry?”

He shot you a look, lips twitching. “You’ll have to let me come up with something convincing. Give me a sec.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Fine.” He cleared his throat dramatically. ““I love that you’re the most real person I’ve met in a long time. Like you’re really genuine. That you call me out on my shit. And that you laugh at the dumbest things like it’s the funniest thing in the world and you make that tiny scrunch with your nose.”

Your grin wavered for a beat because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded like he meant it.

He must’ve felt it too, because he glanced your way and softened his voice. “Too much?”

You swallowed, forcing a smirk back on. You looked down at your hands, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest. “Good answer,” you murmured.

He chuckled under his breath. “Good. Because it’s the truth.”

And you hated how your chest tightened at that.

You quickly looked out the window, pretending to be invested in a passing streetlamp. It had been a week. One week. You shouldn’t feel anything at all. And yet here you were, half-smiling like an idiot in his passenger seat.

“Alright,” you cleared your throat, trying to shake it off. “Your turn. What do I love about you?”

Harry grinned. “Obviously my incredible music taste and my charming personality.”

He reached over and nudged your knee gently. “Your turn.”

You bit your lip, stealing a glance at him. “I love that you’re an idiot and how much attentive you are. To those tiny details other people don’t really care about. ”

His laugh was soft, warm, one of those real ones that made the corners of his eyes crinkle just a little.

“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “guess I’ve been caught. You pay attention too, you know.”

You shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “Some people deserve it.”

That hung in the air between you for a second longer than it should’ve. And it wasn’t playful this time. Not entirely.

Harry cleared his throat, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Alright, new rule,” he grinned, trying to keep it light. “No getting sappy in the car. I can’t be seen crying before dinner.”

You snorted, grateful for the easy out. “Okay.”

Harry glanced at you, something a little softer in his gaze now.

You shrugged, smirking. “See? I’m good at this.”

He let out a breath of a laugh, eyes flicking back to the road. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You really are.”

You reached for the car’s aux cable. “Okay, last question before we get there — what’s our song?”

“Crazy for you by Madonna” he replied, eyes on the road.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Crazy for You? By Madonna?”

Harry grinned at you, one hand on the wheel, “Don’t tell me you forgot our dance at Claire and Chris’s wedding”

Your mouth dropped open as the memory slammed into you. “Oh my god. Of course, I remember.”

“Yep.” He beamed, clearly enjoying himself now. “One of my favorite memories I will treasure forever.

You stared at him for a second, warmth blooming in your chest despite your best efforts to stay cool. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, your voice softer than you intended.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t act like you weren’t the one clinging to me like your life depended on it when that song came on.”

“I was starting to get tipsy,” you argued, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And you’re forgetting you were the one who dragged me to the dance floor.”

He chuckled, but his eyes softened. “You had been the best plot twist I’ve had in my life.”

Your breath caught, just for a second because he kept saying things like this, out of a such simply habit. He said it like it meant something. Like in just one messy week you had carved out a space in his life you weren’t supposed to have.

You tried to laugh it off. “God, you’re dramatic.”

Harry grinned, eyes flicking from the road back to you. “Comes with the territory.”

You shook your head, biting back the smile that threatened to give you away. Because it was getting dangerous already. The way your heart picked up when he looked at you like that, or remembered something you didn’t think he noticed. It was supposed to be fake. Easy.

And yet, sitting in his passenger seat, driving toward a dinner where you’d have to pretend to be his, you weren’t sure how much pretending would get to stop the rhythm of your heart.

The restaurant was one of those really enormous places you know you would never go inside willingly, warm lighting, exposed brick, and overpriced wine. You followed Harry inside, heart pounding a little too fast in your chest when his hand found the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

You really didn’t get a chance to think about why he had bother too much on paying for a place like this.

He leaned in with a teasing, “Ready to charm the ladies of my life?”

You smirked. “Lead the way, Harry.”

At the far end of the room, you spotted them. His mum, elegant and effortlessly put together, eyes sharp but kindness on his gaze. His Nan, tiny and sweet-looking, a mischievous glint in her gaze. And his sister, with Harry’s same wild grin and a streak of purple through her hair.

Harry’s mum was the first to rise. “Harry, love!” she greeted, pulling him into a tight hug before turning her attention to you. “And this must be…”

“This is my girl,” Harry said, his voice softer than you’d expected, hand settling at the small of your back. “Mum, Nan, Liz, meet my girl.”

You swallowed, smiled warmly, extending a hand. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Oh, none of that,” his Nan waved you in for a hug instead. “Come here, darling.”

You settled at the table between Harry and his sister, who was already grinning at you like she knew a secret.

“So,” his mum started after the drinks arrived. “Harry’s been awfully private about you. We had no idea there was someone special.”

Harry shot you a quick look, like the this is your line look.

You smiled, lifting your glass slightly. “Well, I own a coffee shop not too far from here,” you began, keeping your voice light and teasing. “And your son started spending an unreasonable amount of time there. At first, I thought he was just really obsessed with vanilla iced lattes.”

Liz snorted into her drink.

“But turns out,” you continued, glancing at Harry, “he’s a lot harder to ignore than I expected.”

His Nan chuckled. “That sounds about right. Castillo men have a way of getting under your skin.”

“Oh, he’s relentless,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Hey!” Harry laughed. “I’m charming. There's a difference.”

Liz leaned in conspiratorially. “So, was it love at first latte or what?”

You grinned. “More like mild annoyance at first conversation. He wouldn’t stop coming”

“Because you have the best coffee in the entire New York,” Harry shot back, looking betrayed.

The table erupted in easy laughter, and the warmth in the room seemed to settle around you.

“Alright, alright,” Nan waved a hand. “I like her.”

Harry looked over at you then, not smug or teasing this time. Just soft. Like he was genuinely happy you were there. And you hated how much it made your heart skip a beat.

“So, what do you love about our Harry?” Nan asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

Your stomach flipped. You didn’t even get a chance to answer before Harry groaned, “Nan, come on.”

But you lifted a brow. “Hmm,” you pretended to think. “I guess I love how annoyingly attentive he is. He notices every tiny thing no one else would. And he always has something clever to say, even when I wish he’d just shut up.”

Liz cackled. “Welcome to the club.”

Nan grinned like she’d just won something. “Oh, I really like her,” she declared, reaching out to pat your hand. “Finally, someone who’ll give him a bit of trouble.”

Harry shook his head with a sheepish smile, his hand finding your knee under the table, a simple, steady touch that made your pulse stumble for a beat. You weren’t supposed to notice stuff like that. It had been a week, for god’s sake.

Liz leaned toward you. “He always dates the boring ones. No offense, but you’ve got more spark than the last three combined.”

“Liz,” Harry groaned again, his face going red now.

You laughed, leaning your chin into your palm as you looked at her. “Well, thank you for the warm welcome. I was honestly a little nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous about,” his mum said kindly. “We’re just happy to finally meet the girl who’s been keeping our Harry busy.”

“Busy, huh?” you teased, raising your brow at Harry.

He shrugged with a grin, eyes flickering down to his plate. “I might’ve… mentioned you. A bit.”

“A bit?” Liz scoffed. “It’s been non-stop. ‘She made me this insane coffee today,’ ‘she roasted me for my shoes,’ ‘she is the most beautiful woman in every room’ It’s pathetic, honestly.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I had no idea I was such a topic of conversation.”

Nan winked. “When he likes someone, he’s hopeless.”

Harry cleared his throat, sitting a little straighter. “Okay, alright. Are we gonna eat or roast me all night?”

“Both,” Liz and Nan said in unison, and you laughed again, the sound too easy, too natural in this little group you’d known for about an hour but somehow felt like you’d known your whole life.

And somewhere between dessert and another glass of wine, when Harry’s hand brushed yours again under the table and didn’t move away this time, you felt it.

The tiniest shift.

Like maybe this fake thing was starting to feel a little too good.

Like maybe you didn’t mind the way his family looked at you, or the way he did

And you smiled, because what else could you do?

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that you were lying to them.

Or the fact that part of you that was wishing it wasn’t a lie.

As the night wore out. Nan was telling a story about Harry as a kid, something about him putting his head through a fence to get a better look at a stray cat, and you were fully invested. You had your chin resting in your hand, eyes soft, grinning at every ridiculous detail like you’d known him your whole life.

Harry glanced at you, and for a second, everything around him faded.

You laughed when Nan got to the part where he’d cried because he couldn’t get his head back out. And then, without thinking, you reached over and squeezed his hand on the table. Just a light touch, but warm and steady, and it sent something sharp and tender right through him.

“You were adorable,” you told him, your voice laced with nothing but kindness, no teasing this time.

And damn, it did something to him.

It was stupid. It was fake. A one-week, pretend relationship because he was an idiot who’d lied to his family, but the way you looked at him in that moment wasn’t pretend at all.

His mum caught the way his face softened, and her own expression shifted just a little. She saw it too.

“You’re sweet, love,” Nan said to you, beaming. “I can see why he fell for you.”

You blushed, ducking your head, biting your lip as you murmured, “I’m just glad I get to be here.”

And you meant it. You were kind in this effortless way Harry hadn’t realized he was craving for. All this time chasing after people who never quite knew how to be gentle with him, people coming after the money he had and here you were, a storm of wit and heart, laughing with his family like you belonged there.

Liz elbowed him under the table with a knowing look.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the stupid grin tugging at his mouth.

You turned to his mum as the waiter set down dessert, a beautifully plated lemon tart that made you gasp a little.

“Oh, this looks incredible,” you said, eyes lighting up as you reached for your fork. “If I’d known you lot ate like this, I would’ve insisted Harry introduce me sooner.”

His mum laughed, warmth in her eyes. “Well, you’re welcome anytime, love. It’s about time someone kept him in line.”

You grinned. “I’ll gladly take that job. He’s already a full-time headache at my coffee shop.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the table, and even Nan reached over to pat your hand. Liz was watching you with that same knowing look, like she could see right through you both and was enjoying every second of it.

Harry, meanwhile, couldn’t stop watching you. The way you laughed with his family, like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there did something to him he couldn’t explain.

Without even thinking, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand resting naturally on the back of your chair.

You blinked up at him, caught a little off guard.

He smirked, lowering his voice. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You bit back a smile, nudging his knee under the table. “Better behave, Castillo. Remember the rules.”

“I’m bending them,” he murmured back, grin still tugging at his mouth.

And across the table, Nan smirked into her wine glass, Liz raised her brows at him, and his mum just smiled like she’d seen it coming all along.

As the night wound down and everyone stood from the table, you found yourself being wrapped in warm hugs, Nan pulling you close again, Liz whispering a teasing “You’re my favorite already” in your ear, and Harry’s mum holding your hands for a moment longer than expected.

“It was so lovely meeting you, sweetheart,” she said with genuine affection. “I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you smiled. “Thank you so much for having me. Really. It was… one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.”

“Good,” Nan declared with a wink. “Now, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” you promised, glancing at Harry, who was watching the whole scene with a look that was dangerously close to soft.

After goodbyes were exchanged, his family made their way toward their car, waving as they went.

And then it was just the two of you outside, the night cool and still, the distant sounds of the city settling like a hum around you.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a long, quiet breath. “Hey,” he said, turning to face you fully. “Thank you. For tonight. For… all of it.”

You gave him a soft smile, nudging his arm with your elbow. “You don’t have to thank me, Harry. They’re amazing. And honestly… it was kinda nice. Felt like I was crashing someone else’s family dinner in the best way.”

He smiled back at you, one of those quiet, real ones that didn’t need to be flashy. Then, without overthinking it, he stepped a little closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for a second, feeling it more than you should’ve.

When he pulled back, his voice was soft. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You looked up at him, a playful smirk returning to your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t fall in love with me, Harry. Remember the rules.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you stood there.

Then Harry took a half step toward his car before pausing, glancing back at you.

“What are you doing there?” he asked, brow quirked, that grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m driving you home.”

You looked around the quiet street, hands in your jacket pockets, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Yeah, about that,” you said, pretending to study a flickering streetlamp. “I’m honestly kinda craving a pizza right now. Thought I might walk to grab one and then I was going to take a taxi”

Harry blinked at you, then let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like you’d just suggested adopting a stray dog at midnight.

“You’re kidding,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re seriously about to wander off into the night for pizza and a taxi?”

You grinned up at him. “I’ve done worse.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look equal parts exasperated and fond. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Yeah, you already told me,” You teased, nudging his side with your elbow.

He sighed dramatically, then reached out and hooked a finger through your jacket’s collar, tugging you a little closer.

“Okay then,” he said, voice soft. “I’ll walk with you. Can’t have you getting lost on the way to a pizza place.”

You raised a brow. “Harry Castillo, breaking his own rules?”

He smirked. “Sue me.”

A week slipped by like it was nothing. Every morning without fail, the bell above your coffee shop door would chime around 9:15, and there he’d be, Harry Castillo, sunglasses perched in his hair, stupidly charming grin in place, ordering the same vanilla iced latte you pretended to roll your eyes at every time.

And then you’d message each other throughout the day. Stupid things. Memes. Complaints about work. The occasional voice notes of him humming some old ‘80s song in traffic. You tried not to overthink how easy it was, how natural it felt to have him around in this quiet, steady way.

Until Thursday.

You were wiping down the counter, half-distracted by a message you were about to send him, when the door opened and in walked someone else, a tall, polished-looking woman you vaguely recognized from other times, she must be Harry’s assistant.

“For Mr. Castillo,” she said politely, not even glancing at the menu.

You felt it. That tiny, dumb pang in your chest you weren’t proud of.

“Sure,” you smiled, acting cool as ever while making his drink. “Tell him he’s a coward.”

The assistant blinked. “Sorry?”

You grinned wider, slid the cup across the counter. “He’ll get it.”

She gave you a confused little nod and left.

And sure enough, around thirty minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Harry ☕

Did you just call me a coward through my assistant?

You smirked down at your screen, thumbs flying.

You ☀️

Well, if the shoe fits. What happened to my daily sunshine?

It took less than a minute.

Harry ☕

Miss me that much?

You bit your lip, shaking your head like an idiot in the middle of your own shop.

You ☀️

Not even a little.

And for some reason… you knew he was smiling too.

Your phone buzzed again, this time, not a message.

Harry’s name lit up your screen, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you answered.

“Well, well, look who decided to remember how phones work,” you teased, leaning your hip against the counter.

His chuckle came through the line, warm and familiar. “Alright, alright, you made your point. I deserved that.”

“Damn right, you did.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke, and then his voice softened a little. “You busy tomorrow night?”

You raised a brow, even though he couldn’t see you. “Depends. Why? You need someone to make fun of you again in front of your mom?”

He laughed. “Tempting. But no. I’ve got this business thing, a party, really. Bunch of people I don’t care about, free champagne, probably awful music. Thought maybe you would like to come with me.”

You pretended to think it over. “Hmm. So basically, you’re asking me to be your emotional support human while you schmooze rich people.”

“Something like that,” he agreed, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. “But also cause I want you there.”

Your chest did that annoying tight thing again.

“It’s a job thing and everyone is taking their partners with them and you are mine, so…”

“It’s a job thing, really. Everyone’s taking their partners, and you’re mine. So…” He let the sentence hang, warm and unspoken.

You smiled, feeling a mix of nerves and something else you weren’t quite ready to name. “Alright, Castillo. I’m in.”

“Good,” he said, voice grinning through the line. “See you tomorrow, darling.”

You smiled at the pet name.

“See you tomorrow, Harry.”

You slipped your phone into your pocket, still smiling at the way he’d said “darling.” The warmth lingered longer than you expected.

Just then, the café door swung open with a burst of energy.

“HARRY?!” a familiar voice called out, loud and unmistakable.

You looked up to see Claire, radiant and glowing, stepping inside, fresh from her honeymoon

“Claire?” you laughed, walking to hug her “How was the honeymoon? How is Chris?”

Claire smiled warmly, returning your hug. “Good, good. Chris is back at work already. But now, Harry? Who? As in Harry Castillo, Chris’s groomsman? His boss?”

You blinked. “Wait, what?” you said, pulling back to look at her. “Harry is Chris’s boss?”

Claire let out a laugh, linking her arm through yours like she was about to spill the juiciest piece of gossip. “What? You didn’t know who he is? That man owns half of this city’s businesses. Restaurants, bars, hotels, real estate. Castillo Group? Ring a bell?”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Nope. Chris has worked under him for like three years now. He’s this insane mix of ridiculously rich and weirdly private. I’m honestly surprised he’s hanging around here every day.”

You just stared at her for a second, your brain tripping over itself. Harry. Castillo. You’d spent the last week teasing him about his extra shots of vanilla syrup and calling him an idiot, and he owned half the city?

“I need to sit down,” you muttered, reaching for the nearest chair.

Claire giggled, clearly delighted. “Oh my god, you really had no clue.”

“Not a single one,” you breathed out, half-laughing, half-panicking.

You sat down hard in the chair, your mind racing. Claire was still watching you with that gleeful, nosy-best-friend grin, and it hit you — shit. The agreement. The one where, for whatever ridiculous reason, you and Harry had agreed to fake date for these business things. And now here was Claire, freshly back from her honeymoon, connecting dots you hadn’t planned on anyone connecting.

Your stomach twisted. You had to lie.

“So…” Claire sing-songed, leaning on the table. “Are you guys…like… together?”

You forced a casual shrug, heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, uh… yeah. We’ve been… seeing each other.”

Her eyes widened like saucers. “Since when?!”

“Just after your wedding, really,” you said, keeping your voice light, hoping she wouldn’t hear the slight tremor. “We ran into each other a couple times and… it kind of just happened.”

Claire squealed, grabbing your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I was gonna,” you lied smoothly. “But with you on your honeymoon and… we’ve been keeping it quiet, seeing where it goes, you know?”

Claire beamed at you like you’d just handed her front-row tickets to a scandalous rom-com. “This is wild. I mean, Harry freaking Castillo. And you. I love it. You have to tell me everything.”

Claire pulled out a chair like she had no plans of leaving anytime soon, eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, how did it start? Who made the first move? Was it like, sparks-flying, slow motion thing?

You let out a nervous laugh, trying not to visibly panic. “Honestly… it was more like… he loves the coffee from here.”

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie.

Claire grinned. “Ugh, that’s so you. God, and I just knew he was flirting with you at the wedding, he had his eye on you the whole time.”

You swallowed hard, hoping your face wasn’t betraying you. “Yeah, well… we’ve kind of just been hanging out, keeping it low-key.”

“And you’re into him?” she asked, nudging your elbow with a teasing smirk.

You hesitated, because the answer was complicated and you weren’t even sure what counted as fake or real anymore, but you covered it with a casual grin. “Yeah… he’s actually… really great.”

Claire’s whole face softened at that. “Well, I’m happy for you. You deserve someone good, you know?”

And damn it if that didn’t sting a little.

You smiled. “Thanks, Claire.”

Before she could dig for more, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, a message from Harry.

Harry ☕

 Chris is already planning our wedding.

You smirked and quickly typed back.

You ☀️

 Claire’s too. You owe me.

You slid your phone away just as Claire sighed dreamily. “God, imagine if you actually married Harry Castillo.”

You laughed a little too loud. “Yeah… imagine.”

Claire arched a brow at your reaction, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh my god — you like him.”

You scoffed, grabbing a dish towel from the counter to busy your hands. “I don’t.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning back in her chair like she’d cracked some unspoken code. “You’ve got that dumb grin people get when they’re catching feelings.”

You shot her a look. “Claire, we’ve been ‘dating’ for like five minutes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she sing-songed. “That’s how it starts. Next thing you know, you’re moving into his ridiculous penthouse and adopting a designer dog.”

You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile. “First of all — if anyone’s getting a dog in this scenario, it’s me. And second, it’s not like that. We’re just… taking it slow.”

Claire softened again, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “Hey, look — I’m not trying to tease too much. I just… you deserve to be happy. And maybe this is good for you, you know? Something unexpected.”

You swallowed, throat a little tight because maybe it was. And maybe it scared you half to death.

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed again.

Harry ☕

Also, just so you know, I’m definitely getting you a huge portion of French fries tomorrow after the party. Can’t have my date starving.

You bit your lip, the flutter in your chest way too annoying for your liking.

You ☀️

I’m holding you to that, Harry.

Claire grinned knowingly. “That better be him.”

You rolled your eyes, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Shut up and tell me about your honeymoon already.”

And for now, you let yourself breathe.

The next day blurred past in a mess of deliveries, inventory lists, and your staff pestering you about whether or not you were actually dating the Harry Castillo, something Claire apparently hadn’t wasted a single second spreading around.

By early evening, you’d finally escaped into your small office at the back of the coffee shop, drowning in paperwork you’d been avoiding all week. The hum of the café outside was distant through the closed door, and for a while, it felt peaceful.

A soft knock pulled you from your numbers.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up, assuming it was Celine with one of her million shift questions.

But the voice you heard wasn’t hers.

“Hey.”

You looked up, and there they were. Those soft, impossibly familiar brown eyes you could not stop thinking about no matter how many times you told yourself you shouldn’t.

Harry leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup, from your own café, no less.

For a second, you couldn’t even get your brain to function.

“What…what are you doing here?” you asked, setting your pen down and quickly trying to look less flustered than you felt.

He grinned. “Had a meeting nearby. Figured I’d stop by, check if my favorite coffee shop owner was still alive… and maybe see if she’s still free for tonight.”

You swallowed. “I am.”

His smile softened, and for a beat, neither of you said anything. Just the quiet hum of the café and the low buzz of your heart thudding too hard in your chest.

Harry stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. “You look good, by the way.”

You snorted, gesturing at your slightly messy bun and sleeves rolled up past your elbows. “Yeah, peak fashion.”

“Always,” he teased, before his voice dropped a little. “I missed seeing you here this morning.”

Your heart gave an annoyingly hopeful skip. “You sent your assistant again.”

“Biggest regret of my day,” he admitted, his grin tilting to something softer, something that made your breath catch.

“I’m actually came here to give you this” he said, walking towards you.

You blinked down at the glossy black Versace bag he held out to you, its gold lettering practically gleaming in your dim little office. Your stomach dropped.

“No,” you said immediately, holding your hands up like it might bite. “Harry, absolutely not.”

He laughed, unfazed by your reaction, and stepped closer, setting it on your desk anyway. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s Versace!” you hissed, like saying the name too loud might summon the fashion police to haul you away. “I—no. I’m not taking that. What even is it?”

“Relax,” he chuckled, leaning a hip against your desk, looking entirely too smug about your flustered panic. “It’s just something for tonight.”

“Harry, I have a dress,” you insisted, even though technically it was more of a safe option you pulled out for weddings. Nothing Versace-level. Nothing dating Harry Castillo-level.

He raised a brow. “Humor me.”

“Harry—”

“Look,” he said gently, his voice softening. “You’re doing me a favor by coming tonight. This is just… me saying thanks. I saw it, thought of you. That’s it.”

You stared at him, at those unfairly warm eyes and the sincere look on his face, and damn it if you didn’t feel your resolve wobble.

“…I’m still mad about this,” you grumbled, snatching the bag off the desk and earning a wide grin from him. “Besides you had been lying to me.”

“I can live with that, and we can talk about it tonight.” he said easily. “Pick you up at eight.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone with your paperwork, a dangerously fluttery heart, and a Versace bag you absolutely should not open, but already knew you would.

You stared at the bag like it might self-destruct, then sighed, dragging it closer with one finger.

“This is such a bad idea,” you muttered to yourself, but you were already pulling the tissue paper aside.

Inside was a slip of silk — no, satin — in a deep midnight blue that shimmered when it caught the light. It was elegant, simple, but devastating in the way only something stupidly expensive and perfectly chosen could be. You ran your fingers over the fabric, cursing under your breath.

Of course he would pick something like this.

Of course it would be exactly your style.

And of course your stomach would do a whole dumb somersault over it.

You shook your head, stuffing the dress carefully back into the bag before you could talk yourself into trying it on in your office like a deranged person.

Your phone buzzed on the desk.

Harry ☕

Hope you like it. And if you don’t, though, you’re wearing it.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile, and typed back.

You ☀️

You’re an actual menace, Harry.

A second later:

Harry ☕

Yeah, but I’m your menace tonight.

And god help you , you were so completely screwed.

You shoved your phone in your pocket before you could grin any wider, grabbed the Versace bag, and slipped out of your office. Celine caught sight of the bag immediately and narrowed her eyes.

“That better be for me,” she called.

You didn’t answer, just shot her a look and muttered, “Don’t start.”

And as you locked up that night, you tried, truly, sincerely tried, not to think about the way Harry Castillo made you feel like maybe, just maybe, none of this was pretend anymore.

The night settled around the city in a blanket of warm lights and cool air, the streets humming softly with the kind of buzz that made you feel alive but also… absolutely on edge.

You stood just outside your building, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around yourself even though it wasn’t cold. The Versace bag swung gently at your wrist, and you tried not to let your nerves show on your face, though you doubted anyone was paying enough attention to notice.

Except, you knew one person would.

You checked your phone again. No new messages, but the last one from Harry sat there like a tiny bomb in your inbox.

Harry ☕

On my way, sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

You took a steadying breath, glancing down at the dress in the bag again. You’d slipped it on before, just to make sure it fit. It had hugged your frame in a way that felt unfair. It made you feel like a version of yourself you didn’t quite recognize — a little too soft, a little too exposed, but undeniably… beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted Harry to see you like that.

A black car slowed to a stop at the curb, the passenger window rolling down. And there he was — messy hair, that infuriatingly charming half-smile, and brown eyes that somehow made you feel seen in a way you weren’t used to.

“Hey,” he called, voice low and warm. “Get in, gorgeous.”

You let out a breathy laugh, because damn him. “Stop being so smooth, it’s exhausting.”

“Can’t help it,” he grinned, leaning over to push the door open for you. “It’s a medical condition.”

You slid into the car, heart rattling in your chest. He looked over at you, taking in your makeup, the soft waves in your hair, and the way your lips curved even when you tried to keep a straight face.

“You’re nervous,” he said, not as a tease, just a fact, quiet and careful.

You shrugged. “A little. This whole… thing. I’m not exactly used to pretending to be someone’s plus one at a business party.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he reached over, his hand covering yours on your lap.

“You don’t have to pretend anything,” he murmured. “Just be you. That’s all I want tonight.”

And god, why did that make everything worse and better at the same time?

You gave a small nod, meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

The car eased to a stop outside one of those ridiculous glass-walled buildings uptown — the kind where the valet was in a tux and the guests stepping out of luxury cars looked like they belonged on magazine covers. You stared out the window for half a second longer than necessary, steeling yourself.

Harry climbed out first, moving around the car to open your door like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held a hand out to you, palm up, and you hesitated for just a second before placing yours in his.

His fingers curled around yours, warm, steady, certain. The touch sent a quiet current through your skin, but you forced a casual smile as you stepped out.

“You ready for this?” he asked, leaning in, voice for your ears only.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, smirking up at him.

The lobby was all polished marble, soft golden light, and the distant sound of a jazz trio playing something smooth and expensive-sounding. People were already milling around with champagne flutes in hand, and you could feel a few heads turn as you and Harry stepped in.

And then, he didn’t let go of your hand.

In fact, his grip tightened slightly as he guided you through the room, stopping to greet a few people, nodding here and there, that easy confidence radiating off him like he was made for this kind of setting.

To anyone else, it probably looked effortless.

To you, well, it was a little infuriating how good he was at this.

At one point, a woman in a sleek black dress and sharp red lipstick approached with a bright smile. “Harry, darling. And who’s this?”

You opened your mouth, not quite sure how to introduce yourself in whatever fake arrangement you were in, but Harry beat you to it.

“This is my girl,” he said easily, tugging you a little closer with a glance down at you that made your stomach tumble. “She’s the best thing I’ve had the good fortune to stumble into this year.”

The words knocked the air out of you for a second, because he said it like it wasn’t a line.

Like maybe he almost meant it.

You managed a polite smile and shook the woman’s hand. The rest of the introductions blurred a little after that, though you kept catching Harry’s thumb brushing the back of your hand, little grounding touches that felt way too natural.

When you finally had a moment alone by the bar, you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “My girl, huh?”

He grinned, leaning in close enough for only you to hear. “Could’ve gone with ‘darling’ again, but figured I’d keep you guessing.”

You tried to look unimpressed. Failed miserably.

“Smooth, Harry. Real smooth.”

And as he reached for two glasses of champagne, handing you one, he murmured with a crooked smile, “Perhaps, I’m not pretending as well as I thought I’d be.”

You barely had a chance to process the weight of those words — I’m not pretending as well as I thought I’d be — before a familiar burst of laughter snagged your attention from across the room.

You turned your head and there they were. Claire, in a gorgeous emerald green dress that made her glow, and Chris, looking sharp in a navy suit, his arm around her waist as they chatted with a small group of people.

Your stomach did a little flip.

“Uh oh,” you muttered, leaning in toward Harry so only he could hear. “Incoming.”

Harry followed your gaze, his lips quirking up when he spotted them. “Ah, the newlyweds.”

As if on cue, Claire’s eyes landed on you, and her whole face lit up. She nudged Chris, whispering something, and the two of them made a beeline toward you.

“Look at you two!” Claire practically beamed, pulling you into a quick, excited hug, then stepping back to eye you both with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “God, you clean up well. And together? This is unfairly attractive.”

Chris laughed, shaking Harry’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were bringing company tonight, man.”

“Would’ve been a crime not to,” Harry replied smoothly, his hand finding yours again like it belonged there, fingers threading through yours with ease. “Wouldn’t survive this kind of crowd without her.”

Claire’s gaze darted down to your joined hands, then back up to your face with a knowing smirk.

You gave her a look that said be cool, but it only made her grin wider.

“So how long has this been going on?” Claire asked, leaning in, teasing but genuinely curious.

You opened your mouth, brain scrambling for the number you and Harry had joked about before, but before you could answer, Harry spoke first.

“Since your wedding” he said, squeezing your hand gently.

You barely had time to register Harry’s answer before a small crowd pulled him and Chris away, laughing and talking loudly as they got drawn into a conversation with some other guests. You were left standing there with Claire, feeling suddenly a little out of place in your heels and dress.

Claire nudged you gently. “Well, that was smooth.”

You smiled, grateful for the distraction as you chatted with her about her honeymoon and how married life was treating her. The room buzzed with chatter, clinking glasses, and soft music — a perfect backdrop for what you hoped would be a low-key evening.

Then, out of nowhere, a light tap on your shoulder startled you.

Turning around, you found yourself looking up at a man with a charming smile and confident eyes, clearly trying to catch your attention.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” he said smoothly, voice low. “You have the kind of smile that could light up this entire place.”

You glanced at Claire, who was watching the scene with amused eyes, then turned back to the man, forcing a polite but firm smile.

“That’s very kind of you,” you said carefully, trying not to encourage him.

Before the man could continue, a strong presence settled beside you. Harry’s hand slid easily over yours, his gaze sharp and protective as he looked down at the newcomer.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, voice calm but clearly warning, “she’s with me.”

The man’s smile faltered as Harry’s eyes locked onto his, the unspoken message clear.

“Oh. Right. Of course,” the man said quickly, backing away with an awkward chuckle.

Harry’s jaw relaxed, but his hold on your hand remained steady, grounding you.

Claire leaned in with a grin. “Well, that was fast.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling the heat of Harry’s closeness settle around you like a shield.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you murmured.

Harry’s eyes softened as he squeezed your hand again. “Always.

Harry’s hand slid from your fingers to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, his body warmth seeping into you. Your breath hitched, heart fluttering as you were about to let yourself fall for this protective side of him, when out of the corner of your eye, you saw her.

Lucy.

She stood across the room, wearing a stunning black dress that hugged every curve, her raven-black hair cascading perfectly over her shoulders, and those icy blue eyes scanning the crowd like a queen surveying her kingdom. Everything about her, her confidence, her presence, hit you all at once.

Suddenly, the closeness between you and Harry felt less sweet and more like a calculated move. You realized then that Harry wasn’t doing this just to keep his family off his back. No, this was personal. A game. A way to get back at his ex.

Disappointment flooded your chest, thick and sharp.

You gently pulled away from him, smoothing your dress and forcing a steady breath.

“I… I need to get some air,” you said quietly, trying not to let the hurt show.

Harry opened his mouth, but you didn’t wait for his response. You turned and walked toward the door, your mind spinning with thoughts you hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

An hour passed like slow, heavy waves crashing over him, and Harry still hadn’t found you. The party’s noise throbbed behind the walls, but inside him, everything was quieter, empty in the worst way.

He finally stepped outside onto the balcony, the cool night air biting at his skin. His eyes scanned the dim space until they landed on you, sitting alone on the ledge, wrapped in your arms like you were trying to hold yourself together against the chill.

You didn’t look at him at first, just stared up at the dark sky as if searching for answers in the stars. Harry’s heart clenched, and without a word, he crossed the distance and sat down beside you, careful not to crowd your space.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with everything left unsaid. After a moment, Harry’s voice came out soft, almost hesitant.

“Hey��

You finally looked at him, eyes reflecting the distant city lights. “You lied to me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You said all of this was about your family but the truth is, you wanted to get back at Lucy fore leaving you and I’m the revenge gun.” You added.

Harry’s eyes darkened, guilt flashing across his face before he quickly masked it with something softer.

“I never wanted you to feel like that,” he said quietly. “You’re not some pawn in my past. You’re... you’re not that.”

You pulled your arms tighter around yourself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“But that’s exactly what it felt like tonight. Like I was just a way to get back at her.”

Harry looked down for a moment, then met your gaze again, earnest and raw.

“I—yes, I omitted that information.” He confessed, “But getting to know you…It has been so—so magical I-.”

You let out a shaky breath, unsure if you were angry, hurt, or just exhausted.

“I’m not mad.” You said calmly, “But I’m disappointed. You lied about this and you lied about who you are too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t tell me you were a billionaire either.”

Harry blinked, a slow, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair again, the vulnerability slipping through for a moment. “I didn’t think it mattered. I wanted you to like me for me, not my bank account.”

You studied him, the weight of the night pressing down on you, but beneath it all, a flicker of something softer.

“You think that low of me?” you asked, kinda hurt by that.

Harry’s face fell the second the words left your mouth — like you’d knocked the air right out of him.

“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer, his voice rough with regret. “God, no. That’s not what I meant. It wasn’t about you. It was about me. About… how people usually are with me. I didn’t want to risk it being the same with you because you’re—”

He stopped himself, swallowing hard, his eyes searching yours in the low light.

“You’re different,” he finished quietly. “You scare the hell out of me in the best possible way. And I’ve been so terrified of messing it up, I already did.”

Your chest tightened, your arms still wrapped around yourself, and for a second you weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or pull him close. Maybe both.

“I’m not some charity case you get to parade around, Harry,” you said softly. “I’m not a revenge plan. I’m not something you use to prove a point to an ex. I’m a person.”

“I know,” he said, stepping even closer, his hand hesitating before gently brushing your arm, as if testing if you’d let him. “And you deserve better than what I did tonight. I swear to you… none of this feels like a game to me anymore. It hasn’t for a while.”

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing in the cold night air, trying to steady the storm inside you.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what it could be. But if you want this plan to keep going, you need to be honest with me. No more half-truths. No more omissions.”

Harry nodded, the weight of your words settling between you like some fragile, unspoken truce.

“I can do that,” he said, voice low, sincere in a way you hadn’t seen before tonight. “You deserve that. Hell, you deserve more than that, but… I’ll start there.”

His hand lingered at your arm, fingers grazing your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you drift any farther from him. You didn’t pull away this time, though your heart ached with a mix of too many things you didn’t have names for.

After a long, quiet moment, you huffed a breath, a ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You realize Claire is never letting me live this down if we go back in there together.”

Harry’s mouth curved into a crooked smile, some of the tension easing from his face. “I’ll take full responsibility for that.”

You arched a brow. “Including when she makes a slideshow of our imaginary honeymoon?”

He laughed, and it was soft, real — nothing polished or smug about it. “Even then.”

A beat passed. The cold didn’t sting as sharply now. The city lights flickered in the distance, and his eyes never left yours.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Let’s finish what we started. But this time… you’re honest with me. Every step.”

“I promise,” Harry murmured.

Harry glanced at you, noticed the way your arms were still wrapped around yourself against the cold, and without a word, shrugged out of his jacket.

“Here,” he murmured, draping it over your shoulders with a tenderness that made your heart ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You inhaled instinctively — it smelled like him. Warm, expensive cologne and something inherently Harry beneath it.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your fingers brushing his as you pulled it tighter around yourself.

He lingered a second longer, his hands hesitating at your shoulders, as if debating whether to say more, to touch more. But instead, he just gave you a soft, crooked smile.

“You know,” he said quietly, “even when you’re mad at me, you still look beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile pulled at your lips. “You’re dangerously close to losing jacket privileges.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Noted.”

Another silence fell, but this time, it felt… different. Not heavy with things unsaid, but fragile in a new, tentative way — like a beginning neither of you were quite brave enough to name yet.

After a moment, you exhaled. “Come on. Let’s get back in before Claire starts a betting pool.”

Harry grinned at that, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the knot in your chest loosened just a little.

He held the door open for you, his hand grazing your lower back as you stepped inside, light, unassuming, but enough to remind you he was still there.

You stepped back into the warmth of the party, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses wrapping around you like a familiar, chaotic blanket. But it wasn’t the glittering lights or the music you noticed first. It was her.

Lucy.

She was standing near the bar in that slinky black dress, her arm looped through some guy’s, but her blue eyes were locked on one person.

Harry.

You saw it plain as day, the possessive flicker, the bitterness she couldn’t quite hide behind her practiced smile. And something inside you, some heady cocktail of defiance, adrenaline, and maybe the tiniest hint of revenge, surged to the surface.

Without giving yourself a chance to overthink it, you reached out, grabbed a fistful of Harry’s shirt, and tugged him down to you.

His eyes widened in surprise just a beat before your lips crashed onto his.

And damn it if it didn’t feel electric.

The world around you blurred, the music, the people, even the cold ache of what had happened an hour ago, all of it drowned under the warmth of his mouth on yours. He hesitated only a second before his hand cupped the side of your neck, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness you weren’t ready for.

It wasn’t a fake kiss.

Not the kind meant to sell a lie.

It was something else.

When you finally pulled back, breathe a little short, you caught the flicker of shock and unmistakable jealousy in Lucy’s face.

Good.

Harry’s gaze searched yours, his thumb brushing your jaw like he couldn’t help himself. “What… was that for?” he murmured, his voice low and a little breathless.

You smirked up at him, chest still pounding. “Just reminding someone what she lost.”

His grin spread slow and crooked, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous and unguarded. “God, you’re something else,” he whispered.

You shrugged, though you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. “Come on. Let’s go to grab some champagne.”

And for the first time that night, it felt like it was your game now.

Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe you — or maybe like he was starting to realize he didn’t want to stop believing in you. His hand found yours again, this time with no audience, no pretend, no reason but because he wanted to.

“Lead the way,” he murmured.

You tugged him through the crowd toward the bar, your smirk lingering just long enough to catch the storm brewing in Lucy’s eyes. It wasn’t even about her anymore, not really. It was about you. About reclaiming a night that had made you feel small, powerless, and used.

The bartender raised an eyebrow as you slid two fingers across the counter. “Your best champagne,” you said, grinning. “On his tab.”

Harry laughed, leaning in close, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling the spark in your chest catch fire, “but you like it.”

A minute later, two crystal flutes of something bubbly and outrageously expensive were in your hands. You raised yours toward him, chin lifting. “To terrible ideas.”

Harry clinked his glass against yours, his gaze never leaving your face. “And to hoping they turn into the best ones.”

You swallowed a smile, the warmth of the champagne chasing the last of the cold from your skin. But you knew this wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

Because even as you let yourself lean into the ridiculousness of it, the party, the pretend, the kiss that didn’t feel so pretend anymore, you could still feel Lucy’s stare like a needle in your back. And deep down, you knew you’d only made things more complicated.

Some time later, the night had dulled into that sleepy, glittering haze that parties get when they’ve gone on too long — the music softer, the conversations blurring together, the champagne no longer crisp but heavy in your veins.

Harry had gotten swept away by a group of older men in tailored suits, half business partners, half family friends you didn’t know and didn’t care to. You caught his eyes a couple of times across the room, his expression apologetic, but you just waved him off with a small smile. It was fine.

You and Claire ended up perched on one of those ridiculously overpriced velvet couches near the corner, away from the crowd, both of you leaning into each other like you were back in college again, sneaking out of classes and eating junk food on your dorm floor.

Claire sighed dramatically, resting her head against yours. “If one more man over forty-five tries to explain crypto to me, I’m throwing myself into that champagne fountain.”

You snorted, eyes heavy-lidded, tipping your head to rest against her shoulder. “Wake me up before you do. I wanna see that.”

“Okay.”

A comfortable quiet settled between you, the room spinning a little too warmly, the lingering scent of expensive perfume clinging to the air. You let your eyes flutter shut for a minute, feeling Claire’s steady breathing and the distant hum of voices.

“Hey,” she murmured after a while, nudging you gently. “You okay? You’ve been… quiet.”

You gave a small shrug, not opening your eyes. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

She hummed knowingly. “You know he’s into you, right? It’s not just about Lucy.”

Your eyes flickered open then, and you turned your head just enough to look at her. “Claire—”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s a goner.”

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t… I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

Claire smiled softly, squeezing your hand. “You’re living a little. About damn time.”

And before you could say anything else, a familiar hand brushed your shoulder.

You glanced up to find Harry standing there, eyes only for you, his tie slightly loosened, hair a little messy, looking like the man everyone in the room wanted a piece of — but right now, it felt like he only wanted you.

“Sorry I disappeared,” he murmured. “Stealing you now.”

Claire grinned, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. “Go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up a little unsteadily as Harry’s hand settled on your back. His palm warm, grounding.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You gave a small smile. “I want to go home.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, concern flickering across his face. His hand didn’t leave your back as he leaned in a little closer, voice soft enough that only you could hear it over the hum of the party.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Without another word, he threaded his fingers through yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before gently guiding you through the crowd. You caught Claire’s knowing smirk from the couch as you passed, mouthing text me later before you disappeared through the doors.

The night air hit you in a rush, cool and sharp against your skin. You breathed it in like a balm, finally free from the thick press of the party, the expectations, the eyes.

His hand lingering at your back as he walked you toward the car. Neither of you said much. You didn’t need to. The silence was different now, not heavy, not awkward. Just… quiet.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, watching you slide in before joining you on the other side. The driver asked where to, and for a second, you hesitated.

But then Harry spoke, his voice low and certain.

“To her place.”

You glanced at him, and he met your eyes, a softness there that made your stomach flip.

“Only if you want me to,” he added, quieter now, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You exhaled, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips.

The car pulled away from the curb, the city lights blurring past the window, and for the first time that night, you let yourself lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and neither of you said another word the whole ride home.

…….....

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of your building, you sat up a little, rubbing your eyes as the exhaustion of the night caught up with you. Harry climbed out first, rounding the car to open your door like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand reached for yours again, steady and sure, and you let him help you out.

As you reached your front steps, he lingered behind you, hands in his pockets, a soft smile playing at his lips.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head as he looked up at your place, “you haven’t shown me your place yet.”

You let out a tired, slightly amused breath, glancing over your shoulder at him. “It’s pretty modest.”

He shrugged, that easy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. I’m sick of penthouses and marble bathrooms.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you pulled your keys from your bag and unlocked the door. “Well, don’t get too excited. The fanciest thing in there is probably my coffee maker.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice low, something softer threaded in it as he followed you inside.

The warm glow of your little apartment welcomed you both. It wasn’t much, cozy couch, a few mismatched frames on the walls, books stacked where they probably shouldn’t be, but it was yours. Lived in. Safe.

Harry took it in, the way you half expected him to make some kind of teasing comment about your thrift store throw pillows or the crooked bookshelf, but he didn’t. He just smiled.

“I love it,” he said quietly.

You hung up your coat, his jacket still around your shoulders. “You want some tea or…?”

But before you could finish the question, he crossed the room, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Your heart gave a helpless tug in your chest.

“Harry?" you whispered.

And before he could overthink it, he closed the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted like exhaustion and honesty and the quiet promise of something you weren’t quite ready to name yet.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, like neither of you wanted to be the one to pull away first. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, holding you there like maybe this was exactly where you were meant to be all along.

When you finally parted, breath mingling, foreheads nearly touching, you managed a wry little smirk, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.

“You’re breaking rule number three,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft and teasing, but there was no hiding the way your pulse fluttered.

Harry chuckled, low and rough, his thumb brushing your cheek again. “Yeah,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours. “I’m starting to think I want to break all of them.”

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

💌tags<3: If you would like to be removed of perhaps you don't like this anymore, please tell me.

@jasminedragoon @stcrrjoon @sptbear @picketnifflerniffler @greenwitchfromthewoods @fallout-girl219 @suzysface @aomi-recs @capuccinodoll @fvispunk @orcasoul @joeldarling @mystickittytaco @onlythehobi @darkheartgatita @isabella-rose-trastamara @spencercmlover @brittmb115 @correapunk @aomi-nabi @annulmaelae @32-flavors @berriesarepunk @joelmillerpascal

@lotusbxtch @dean-and-baby343 @pedrofan @hisuccubus @daryltwdixon @sourrollercoaster @holholliday @loveisacowboyyy

@hhallefuckinglujahh @primadonnasdream @chewie-bars @starstriker027 @glitterspark @casualbananapatrol @06nasyrah13

@unicornsandpugs @orcasoul @grayandthyme @sincerelywithheartt @starstriker027 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927

@ro-nahime-things @kimi01985 @pastelpinkflowerlife @isabella-rose-trastamara @majuia @secretlettersfromyourlove @he-is-the-destined @thalitxa @copperhalfcent @throttlepascal @avengerfan25

[fvispunk]

LLAMEN A DIOS QUEDE PICADISIMA

"Whatever you'd like us to be" | part 1

harry castillo (materialists) x sunshine! reader

series masterlist | next chapter

Summary: the one where you met this incredible, charming man at your best friend's wedding.

w.c: 9,3k.

warnings: age gap (reader is 29-30 and harry 47), mentions of puke, and fluff. (Not angst, shocking)

A/N: This chapter comes out two days later than intended becuase I deleted it by mistake so it's all rewritten. Okay, I wanted to put all the stuff that you can find in a rom-com and It probably came out as a little lame, cringy. It made me want to vomit. If you don't like it, move on, but if you do, please tell me what you think. Also, I may have lied a bit in the summary I shared weeks ago👀 (I rewatched 13 going 30 and I got "Crazy for you" by madonna stuck in my head).

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

Self-proclaimed, a hopeless romantic. That’s how you would define your way too much overthinker heart, mind, body and soul. As a whole. Yes, still completely indulging your life from being the little girl dreaming about the handsome charming prince that would come to save you to the full growing adult, still spending her time overindulging in the rom-com fantasy.

How wouldn’t you?

You were practically living in a romantic comedy. Just… not the starring role.

All over again.

You had witnessed your all your group of friends meeting stranger and becoming each’s others world. How they stumbled into other people in that oh-so-whimsical way, fall in love, have the inevitable argument that had leave them screaming into their pillows the moment their bodies hit their bed, followed by the questions and the “yes, I do” walking into the happily ever after.

You were still waiting so patiently for the love to fall into your feet like it did back in those movies. That the right person would knock up your world in the most unexpected way, when you least expected it.

At least that is what people had told you, out of pity, out of a terribly cruel joke. And of course, you kept smiling. It was always there, in your mind. Scanning around room of possible candidates, who out of these people could be the love of your life?

In movies, love had always found a way to look like the key needed to fix everybody’s problems. The mere touch of another’s hands, or having an eye to catch across a crowded room would be enough to make turmoil’s ease, to make your heart burst and make your cheeks hurt from all the smiling.

Which made you cliché. Hopelessly, irrevocably cliché.

Because now, here you were.

At your best friend’s wedding.

She looked unfairly beautiful, practically glowing in a white-laced dress that her now-husband had insisted on paying for. You’d been there for all of it — the dress shopping, the cake tastings, the flower debates that nearly ended friendships. You’d held her hair back when she drank too much at the bachelorette party and sobbed about how she didn’t feel like herself anymore.

And you were genuinely, truly happy for her.

But as you sat alone at the table, watching her sway under the fairy lights with her new husband, something tight settled in your chest. A quiet, persistent ache.

Because now you were the last one.

Your little circle of childhood friends, the five of you who used to swear you’d grow old together, drinking cheap wine on Friday nights and complaining about your disastrous dating lives — one by one, they’d all paired off. Two of them pregnant, one already discussing baby names and nursery colors like it was the most natural thing in the world. Another one had just bought a house with her boyfriend, some fixer-upper they were documenting on Instagram like it was a home renovation series on a streaming platform.

And you?

You were still the one ordering takeout for one. The one picking movies no one else wanted to see. The one looking for a sign, a spark, a stranger’s glance across a crowded room.

Claire looked heartbreakingly beautiful, the kind of beautiful that made your chest ache in that sharp, bittersweet way. The lights from the chandelier above cast a warm glow over her, catching in the delicate beading of her dress as she swayed with Chris, her new husband, to some old love song you didn’t quite catch the name of.

They were laughing — that soft, private kind of laugh shared between two people in a world of their own — and you felt your throat tighten.

God, you were such a sap.

You hadn’t even noticed the tears gathering in your eyes until you blinked, and one threatened to slip free. You caught it with the pad of your finger before it could ruin your mascara. It wasn’t jealousy, not really. It wasn’t even loneliness. It was… longing. A longing for a moment like that. To be someone’s person. To have your own first dance, your own secret laughs beneath fairy lights straight out a movie.

And then, as if she could feel it, Claire’s gaze lifted, cutting across the room, and landed on you.

Her eyes softened, the kind of look that made you feel sixteen again, sneaking out of her bedroom window in the middle of the night, promising you’d never let some boy come between the both of you. She gave you a wink, wide and mischievous and so her, and then that wide, brilliant smile bloomed across her face.

You smiled back, the tears spilling over now, though you doubted anyone could tell in the dim light. In that moment, you were so damn happy for her you thought your heart might burst.

But as the song slowed, and the couples began to fill the floor around them, you felt that ache settle deep in your ribs. That quiet reminder.

You were the one still waiting.

The clinking of glass against silverware broke through the hum of the ongoing conversations, and a chorus of “Speech! Speech!” rose from the tables. Claire shot you a look, that go on, it’s your turn look, and your stomach immediately flipped.

Right. Your maid of honor duties.

You took a steadying breath, grabbing your champagne glass and rising to your feet, the sudden attention of the room making your skin prickle. Claire was watching you, eyes gleaming, her hand curled tight around Chris’s. God, she looked so happy.

You cleared your throat and gave a small, sheepish smile.

“Well,” you started, your voice a little shaky at first but finding its footing, “I was told to keep this short… but then Claire also told me to pick a dress I’d feel ‘comfortable’ in and look at me now.”

The room chuckled, and you felt yourself relax a little.

“I’ve known Claire since we were around eight years old. She was the new kid next to my house in my neighborhood, and I was the bossy little girl who made her promise that she liked dogs and Titanic, or else we couldn’t be friends.”

Another soft ripple of laughter.

“And you know what? She did. And from that day on, we became thick as thieves, inseparables. She’s been my person ever since. My partner in crime. The voice of reason when I’m about to make a terrible decision or at least, the one holding my hair back while I make it anyway. The one who had always had my back, the one who had watched me shine and I’ve been watching her shine too. Just as this very same moment, where she is lighting up this room entirely by herself.”

Claire laughed a little into her glass, tears shining in her eyes.

You glanced down at your notes, but they suddenly felt useless. All these words were coming straight out from your heart anyway.

“I’ve watched this woman survive terrible boyfriends, bad haircuts, quarter-life crises, and Sunday hangovers. I’ve seen her fall down and get back up more times than I can count. And then, one day, this guy” you gestured toward Chris, who grinned like an idiot, “walked in and… he just stole her from me because he stole her so beautiful heart. He made her laugh in a way I hadn’t seen in a long time.”

Your throat tightened, but you pushed through it.

“I think we spend a lot of our lives searching for someone who feels like home, that feels like you are stepping right into the daylight in a cold winter day, and watching you two, it’s pretty clear you’ve found yours.”

Claire was fully crying now, mascara be damned, and it made your own tears sting again.

“I love you both, so much. And I know there’s no one else I’d rather see steal her from our Friday wine nights and chick flick marathons.”

You raised your glass, your voice soft.

“To Claire and Chris. May your life be filled with belly laughs, and that kind of love that feels like being sunbathed in winter.”

The room lifted their glasses in a chorus of agreement.

You caught Claire’s glassy-eyed smile one more time before you sat down, heart pounding against your ribs. A warm buzz of applause followed you, and you felt yourself flush under the attention, but it faded as the music picked back up, and people returned to their conversations, laughter filling the room.

And that’s when you felt the gaze of someone over you. Leaning against the bar.

One of Chris’s groomsmen. You’d seen him earlier, lingering at the edge of the group photos, dodging the eager wedding planner who kept trying to wrangle everyone into neat lines. He wasn’t like Chris’s other friends, younger, loud, glued to their phones and betting on who’d get lucky tonight.

He was older than the rest of Chris’s friends. You guessed mid-forties, maybe a little more. Salt-and-pepper hair, streaked silver at the temples in a way that made your so ever hopeless romantic brain short-circuit a little. His suit jacket fitting the right place, and his tie loose around his neck. He nursed a glass of something dark in his hand, he was smiling widely, and there was something about the way his mouth curved at the corner that made your stomach do a quiet little somersault.

Because he was still looking at you.

Not staring. Not the sleazy, lingering kind of look you were far too used to dodging at weddings.

Like he had seen something.

Like maybe you weren’t as invisible as you’d felt your whole life.

You quickly looked away, heat blooming up your neck.

God, you felt ridiculous.

You grabbed your phone from the table, pretending to check a message you knew wasn’t there. Your fingers hovered over the screen before you started typing something into your note’s app, a silly habit of yours when emotions threatened to spill over.

“Is it pathetic to hope for a meet-cute at someone else’s wedding? Asking for a friend.”

You dropped the phone face down on the table, the soft hum of conversation blending with the strains of an old love song floating from the speakers. Some of the guests were coupling off on the dance floor again, swaying under the canopy of string lights, the whole room glowing in that amber, too-perfect, makes-your-heart-ache kind of way.

Your gaze wandered and landed on your parents, just a little way from Claire and Chris. Your mom's head resting against your dad's shoulder as they moved together, slowly, like the whole world outside this song didn’t exist. Your dad leaned in, murmured something, and your mom let out that small, breathy laugh you knew by heart, the one that meant she was still hopelessly in love with him after all these years.

It made your chest tighten in a way that was both painful and sweet. You rested your chin on your arm, propped up on the table, a smile tugging at your lips as you watched them.

And then, a tap on your bare shoulder.

You startled a little, blinking as you turned, and there he was.

The groomsman.

Up close, the salt-and-pepper was even better, the kind of hairstyle you only thought existed in movies. He had fine lines around his eyes, the kind people got from all the laughing, and a half-crooked, easy smile that did something absolutely unforgivable to your stomach.

“Hey,” he said, voice warm, a little rough at the edges. “Mind if I sit?”

You blinked, caught off guard by how direct it was, and gave a little laugh before gesturing to the chair beside you. “Not at all. Unless you’re looking for a table with a better company, in which case… terrible choice.”

He chuckled, setting his drink down and sliding into the chair, leaning back with that unbothered confidence of someone perfectly at ease in their own skin.

“I would really like to have your company,” he said, tipping his head toward the dance floor. “Figured it was time to come here and talk.”

The air between you crackled, just a little, in a way that made you hyper-aware of how close he was now. How the room seemed to blur at the edges.

“I’m Harry, by the way,” he offered, holding out a hand.

You took it. Warm, calloused, and it lingered just a second longer than strictly necessary.

You gave him your name, and he repeated it back in a way that made it sound better than you’d ever heard it before.

You bit your lip, fighting a grin. “You’re one of Chris’s friends, right?”

He nodded. “Yeah. From work

There was a beat of quiet, not awkward, at all, but that kind of silence that could lead to new things, like a thread tugging between you both.

Then Harry tipped his head toward the dance floor, smirking. “So… are you one of those ‘leave before dessert’ types, or would you like to dance with me?”

You blinked, caught off guard.

And then you smiled. A real one. Maybe, just maybe, the hopeless romantic in you had been waiting for this moment all along.

“I guess that depends,” you teased, setting your glass down and standing, “do you lead or follow?”

Harry chuckled, rising to his feet. “Guess you’ll have to find out.”

And as his hand slid into yours again, leading you toward the floor beneath the warm glow of fairy lights, you felt that old ache loosen its grip.

The opening notes of “Crazy for you” by Madonna starting drifting through the speakers

Swaying room as the music starts

Strangers making the most of the dark

Two by two, their bodies become one

It was already making memories out of moments you didn’t know you were making.

I see you through the smokey air

Can't you feel the weight of my stare?

You're so close but still a world away

The air shifted.

Not dramatically, not with some cinematography hush, but enough that your chest tightened and your eyes stung in that way they did when something beautiful caught you off guard. You weren’t expecting that song, weren’t expecting this, any of it.

Harry’s hand in yours tightened and he smiled when he caught the look on your face, those amber-flecked eyes crinkling at his, a small, knowing thing.

“You look quite adorable now, you know?” he murmured, just loud enough for you to hear over the soft thrum of the music and the buzz of other voices.

You felt yourself blush, your stomach flipping like you were sixteen again and someone had just scribbled do you like me? yes or no on a napkin.

“I do not,” you laughed under your breath, trying to play it cool, though your face was already giving you away.

Harry only grinned wider, tugging you a little closer as you reached the edge of the dance floor. “Yeah, you do,” he said softly. “But it makes you look even more beautiful.”

I'm crazy for you

Touch me once and you'll know it's true

I never wanted anyone like this

It's all brand new

You'll feel it in my kiss

I'm crazy for you

Crazy for you

The song wrapped around you both as he rested a careful hand at your waist, your other hand finding his shoulder. It wasn’t a crowded floor anymore, the couples left were mostly the older ones, swaying to memories of their own.

And there you were.

Slowly, you began to move.

Trying hard to control my heart

I walk over to where you are

Eye to eye, we need no words at all

The world shrank to the sound of the song, the warmth of his hand, and the way he was looking at you like you were the only thing worth noticing in the room.

“I love this song,” you admitted quietly, your voice barely above the music.

Harry smirked, leaning in a little. “Of course, you do.”

You arched a brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

He laughed, low and genuine. “It means you have good taste. And maybe… you’re a bit of the romantic type.”

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips. “Maybe.”

The moment lingered, that good kind of quiet stretching between you.

Then, softer, almost shy, which you didn’t expect from him, Harry asked, “So… what took you so long to come say hi?”

You bit your lip, looking up at him through your lashes. “I could ask you the same thing.”

He chuckled, shaking his head. “Touché.”

And then you were both grinning again, like two people who’d known each other for more than just the length of a wedding reception.

I'm crazy for you

Touch me once and you'll know it's true

I never wanted anyone like this

It's all brand new

You'll feel it in my kiss

You let yourself lean into it, into him, into the warmth of the room and the simple sweetness of being wanted. No rush, no pressure. Just the music, his hand on your back, the soft shuffle of your feet in time.

Harry's thumb traced a lazy circle against your waist. He smelled like warm spice and something clean, and his hair fell into his eyes when he dipped his head to look at you.

“I was hoping you’d say yes,” he murmured, like it was some kind of secrecy.

You tilted your head. “To dancing?”

“To this,” he gestured vaguely between you both, lips quirking up. “I don’t usually… I mean, I’m not good at this kind of thing. Not since…”

His words trailed off, but you understood. You weren’t exactly a champion at it either. All the near-misses and unspoken things you’d tucked away over the years, waiting for a night like this, a person who, perhaps looked like the one.

“I’m glad you did,” you said, meaning it more than you expected.

He smiled again, that softer one, the one that made his eyes crinkle and your stomach flip.

“I’m crazy for you…” Madonna crooned, and you both chuckled at the timing.

“Bit on the nose, huh?” you teased.

Harry leaned in closer, his breath warm against your ear. “Yeah, well, maybe I’m a bit of a romantic too.”

That earned a grin from you. And without really thinking about it, you rested your head lightly against his shoulder. He didn’t pull away. In fact, his hand tightened at your back, and he let out a breath, like maybe he’d been waiting for this too.

The song carried on, wrapping you both in a haze of something golden and bittersweet. The room around you blurred. You didn’t notice the servers’ clearing glasses, the other couples slowly shuffling off the floor. It was just you and him and the words of a song older than both of you.

When the last few notes played out, neither of you moved right away.

You stayed there, his chin resting lightly against your temple, your hand fisted in the fabric of his shirt.

And then, quietly

“Can I see you after this?” he asked, his voice low and unsure in a way that made your heart ache a little.

You pulled back just enough to meet his gaze. His eyes were warm and a little nervous and completely open.

“I’d like that,” you whispered.

Harry smiled, and it was that same grin from earlier, the one you realized you’d already grown stupidly fond of.

“I should—” His words faltered, his gaze shifting over your shoulder, his expression flickering. Something tightened in his jaw. You followed his line of sight before you could stop yourself.

A woman stood a few feet away, near the bar, a vision in a deep blue dress that shimmered under the glow of the lights. She was stunning, the kind of woman who didn’t just enter a room, she owned it. Waves of dark hair, a tilt of her head like she knew exactly how she looked and how it made people feel. And you knew her. Not well, but enough.

Lucy.

She was the one who’d introduced Claire and Chris. A friend of a friend, always on the fringe of your social circles, always a little too cool, a little too knowing.

The ache in your stomach came so fast it almost made you dizzy.

You didn’t ask Harry anything. Didn’t need to. The way his posture changed, the way something soft in his face shuttered when he looked at her, you already knew.

And then, as if sensing the shift in you too, his eyes found yours again.

“Sorry,” he said quietly, voice rough. “She’s… well, she’s my ex.”

There it was. Like a thread snapping. The warm, golden haze of the moment instantly clouded over.

You tried to keep your face even, but you knew, and your disappointment showed it. Because suddenly, every word he’d said, every touch, every smile felt suspect. A well-placed scene meant for someone else to see.

You swallowed hard and forced a small smile, stepping back.

“I should… I’m gonna go check on Claire,” you said, voice breezy, pretending like your stomach hadn’t just dropped.

Harry opened his mouth, maybe to stop you, maybe to explain, but you were already turning, weaving through the bodies on the dance floor.

The fairy lights didn’t feel so warm anymore. The music blurred, background noise to the rush of your pulse in your ears.

You didn’t look back at him.

Instead, you made your way toward the patio doors, needing air, or space, or just distance from the way your chest felt too tight. Leaning against the cool railing outside, you focused on the string lights overhead and the muffled bass of songs still playing inside, the last notes lingering like a memory you’d already lost.

“Well, well, well,” a familiar voice teased behind you.

You turned to find Claire grinning, two glasses of champagne in her hands. She passed you one before settling beside you, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“What was that all about with Harry?” she asked, nudging your arm. “Are you two lovers or something now?”

You snorted, the sound a little rougher than you meant it to be, taking a sip of the champagne to buy yourself a second.

“God, Claire,” you said, trying for lightness. “No. We’re not… it’s not like that.”

She raised a brow. “Could’ve fooled me. The way he was looking at you? And you were looking back? Come on, if that wasn’t ‘we’re about to kiss and possibly leave this party together’ energy, I don’t know what is.”

You sighed, your shoulders slumping a little as you stared down at the bubbles in your glass.

“It… it felt nice,” you admitted. “But then…”

Claire’s teasing expression faded into something softer.

“Then what?”

You hesitated. It sounded petty, it sounded stupid when said out loud, but you needed to get it out.

“His ex is here,” you said quietly. “Lucy.”

Claire’s brows shot up. “Lucy Lucy? As in my matchmaker Lucy who introduced me to Chris?”

You managed a small, sad smile. “Yeah. That Lucy.”

Claire let out a low whistle. “Damn. Didn’t know they dated.”

“Neither did I. And when he saw her… it just… I don’t know, Claire. It felt like maybe everything tonight was for show. For her.”

You hated how small your voice sounded at the end.

Claire set her glass down on the railing and turned to face you fully, her face fierce now in the way only best friends get when someone’s hurt you.

“Okay, first of all, Harry is not like the type to do that. And second, even if it started like that, it sure as hell wasn’t about her by the time, he was holding your hand on that dance floor.”

You gave her a look, but she only crossed her arms.

“Look, you don’t have to believe me,” Claire said, “but I know what I saw. And what I saw was a man completely blindsided by you.”

Your stomach fluttered at her words, hope and ache and wariness all tangled up.

“Maybe,” you murmured. “But I don’t know if I have it in me to be someone’s revenge plot, Claire.”

Claire softened, looping her arm through yours.

“You’re nobody’s second choice, okay? If he wants a chance, he better prove it.”

You leaned your head against her shoulder.

“Always. Now, do we stay out here and talk shit, or do we finish our champagne and crash the open bar?”

You laughed, for real this time.

“Option two, obviously.”

And that was how the night blurred in that perfect, tipsy way weddings sometimes do, a little hazy around the edges but warm in the middle. You and Claire did crash the open bar, and somewhere between your third stolen cocktail and a disastrous attempt at the Cha Cha Slide, you laughed so hard you thought you might actually pull a muscle.

Claire kept up a steady stream of hilarious commentary about guests’ outfits, especially the guy who looked like a knock-off James Bond and the woman whose hat could double as satellite reception. Chris eventually joined you both, rolling his eyes but grinning like a man who knew better than to interfere with you two in full chaotic mode.

By the time the fairy lights were dimming and the last slow song played, you were clinging to both Claire and Chris, arms looped around their shoulders as the three of you swayed slightly in your own little goodbye moment.

“You two are disgustingly adorable,” you slurred with a grin, poking Chris in the chest. “Like… offensively so. Ugh.”

Chris chuckled. “And you, my dear, are going to feel this in the morning.”

“Worth it,” you declared dramatically, tightening your hold on Claire. “Best wedding date ever.”

Claire snorted. “You didn’t even come with a date.”

“Exactly.” You winked. “No one to babysit me. Freedom.”

She grinned, pulling you in for a tight hug.

“I love you, you idiot.”

“Love you more, bridezilla.”

You hugged Chris too, and as you finally stepped back, Claire grabbed your hand.

“Text me when you get home, okay?”

“You’re both are going to be busy on your wedding night to worry about me, I’ll handle it.”

but she just raised a knowing brow.

“Okay, I Promise I’ll text you.”

You blow a kiss to her, stepping out into the night, the cool air brushing against your flushed skin, making you shiver just a little. The sounds of the wedding faded behind you, muffled laughter, a distant swell of music. and you pulled out your phone, squinting at the screen as you opened your ride app.

God, your head was fuzzy. The good kind. The kind where everything felt slightly tilted but softer somehow.

You were fumbling with your screen brightness when the sound of a car window rolling down made you glance up. A sleek, black car had pulled up by the curb. Not the kind you called on an app, this was the kind of car with tinted windows, polished within an inch of its life, and a driver in a suit behind the wheel. And sitting in the backseat, one elbow resting casually on the window frame, was Harry.

His tie was nowhere to see now, the top two buttons of his shirt undone, and his hair a little messier than earlier. His expression was… unreadable. Cautious, maybe. Hopeful. A little drunk himself.

“Hey,” he said, voice low, like the night wasn’t quite done with you both.

You blinked at him, caught off guard again, and your heart did that stupid thing, skipping when it shouldn’t.

“Hey,” you echoed, half a smirk on your lips despite yourself. “Fancy car.”

He shrugged, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth, his gaze flicked over you, softer now, “I wanted to ask if maybe you wanted a ride.”

You opened your mouth, then closed it, shaking your head with a small, wry laugh. “Harry…”

“I swear it’s not what you think,” he cut in quickly, leaning out a little. “About her. About all of it. I saw her and yeah, it threw me. But tonight… you? That wasn’t about her. It wasn’t planned. I didn’t even know she’d be here.”

You stared at him, your mind a mess of champagne bubbles and the ache of old disappointments, but also that tiny, traitorous spark of wanting to believe him.

“I’m not great at this,” Harry added, softer now, the grin dropping.

And there it was.

That vulnerable, bare thing hanging between you both.

“You don’t have to say anything now,” he went on. “I just… didn’t wanna leave it like that.”

You let out a long breath, looking up at the sky for a beat, then back at him.

“Where’s this thing headed?” you asked, jerking your chin toward the car.

Harry’s grin came back, slow and hopeful. “Anywhere you want.”

Without another word, you walked around the car and slipped into the seat beside him. The interior smelled like leather and expensive cologne, and it was too warm in that way that made you a little sleepier, a little braver.

The driver glanced at you through the rearview mirror.

“What’s your address, miss?”

You turned to Harry, a teasing smirk curling on your lips.

“I want French fries,” you declared, pouting a little, like it was the most reasonable answer in the world.

Harry blinked — then laughed. A real, rough-edged laugh that made something stupid and soft twist in your chest.

The driver looked between the two of you, a little uncertain.

“Mine,” Harry told him, voice easy but eyes on you, like he was making sure you were okay with it.

Harry huffed a laugh, leaning his head back against the seat for a second before turning toward you, one brow raised.

“Your house is made of fries?”

“I mean… no,” he grinned, “but now I’m wishing it was. Missed opportunity.”

You shrugged, leaning a little closer, tipsy boldness settling in your bones.

“Bit misleading, don’t you think? You promise me fries, take me to your place, and what? No fries? That’s emotional manipulation, Harry.”

He grinned wider, his eyes crinkling at the corners in that way that made your stomach flip, and he squeezed your hand where it still rested between you both.

“Alright, alright. Fries first. House later,” he promised, turning to the driver.

“Can you swing by that 24-hour diner close to mine?”

The driver nodded without missing a beat “Sure, sir.”

You beamed, victorious.

Harry looked at you like you hung the damn stars in the sky.

“Anything else, your highness? Milkshake? Nuggets? Entire dessert menu?”

You smirked, pretending to think it over.

“Surprise me.”

You didn’t even remember closing your eyes. One second you were leaning your head back against the seat, listening to Harry’s voice teasing the drive about you, and the next thing you knew, you felt a gentle hand on your shoulder.

“Hey,” Harry’s voice was soft, rough with amusement. “Sleeping Beauty. We’re here.”

You blinked your eyes open, disoriented by warmth and the quiet hum of the city outside. Harry’s face was close, and for a second you just stared at him, tousled hair, soft grin, eyes like the warmest kind of trouble.

Before your brain could catch up to your mouth, you blurted, “You’re really handsome, Harry Styles.”

Harry blinked, then let out a surprised, breathy laugh, scrubbing a hand over his face.

“My last name is Castillo.” He grinned, raising a brow at you.

You let out a sleepy, tipsy giggle, leaning your head against the seat again.

“Whatever,” you mumbled, eyes half-lidded, “you’re even more handsome now.”

He smiled at that, not a cocky smirk, but a soft, heart-twisting curve of his lips. The kind of smile someone saves for moments that matter.

“Come on, trouble,” he murmured, holding out a paper bag. “Got your fries.”

There was something so endearing about you, something he hadn’t quite expected. You didn’t posture, didn’t play at being hard to get or effortlessly untouchable like so many others in his world. There was a simplicity to you, not plain, not ordinary, but honest. Soft edges and sharp wit. A way you laughed with your whole face and said exactly what you meant, even if it came out half-asleep in the back of a car.

To his eyes, you were sunlight at golden hour. The hum of an old record player on a quiet Sunday. The warmth of fries after midnight. The kind of beautiful that didn’t ask to be noticed, and because of that, somehow, you were impossible to look away from.

And as you took the bag from his hand and peeked inside like it was a treasure chest, your sleepy grin making his heart trip over itself.

The elevator ride up to his apartment was quiet, save for the crinkle of the paper bag in your hands and your content little hums with every fry you pulled out. Harry kept sneaking glances at you, waiting, maybe even bracing, for the inevitable reaction.

People always reacted.

The first time Lucy had stepped inside, she’d gasped, breathy Oh my god, Harry, her eyes darting to the floor-to-ceiling windows with a view of the city like it was some priceless painting, her hands trailing along the marble countertop like she could feel the weight of his bank account through it.

But you, you didn’t even look up.

You walked right past the windows, past the absurdly expensive furniture he didn’t even like, straight to the couch, kicking your shoes off and curling up with the fries like it was your own place.

Harry watched you for a second, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth.

“You’re not even gonna pretend to be impressed?” he teased, leaning a shoulder against the wall.

You popped a fry into your mouth, eyes half-lidded from sleep and salt and whatever warmth was left between you both.

“I mean,” you shrugged lazily, “it’s nice. But these fries are stealing the show right now.”

Harry’s grin softened as he stepped closer, his eyes locking onto yours with something deeper now, something unspoken but electric.

Without warning, his hand reached up, fingers curling gently around your cheek, pulling you closer.

The paper bag slipped from your fingers, fries spilling softly onto the floor.

And then his lips were on yours, soft at first, like a question, then pressing harder, more urgent.

Perhaps both of you were a bit typsy but your heads were totally clear.

You gasped for air, caught off guard, but kissed him back, your hands finding his shoulders, your heart racing like it might burst out of your chest.

His other hand slid to the small of your back, pressing you against the wall with a warm strength that sent shivers down your spine.

It felt good, better than good, like something you’d been waiting for without knowing it.

But just then, a sudden wave of nausea rolled through you, sharp and unwelcome, pulling you out of the moment.

You broke the kiss, blinking, trying to steady yourself.

Your hand flew up to your mouth, but it was too late. A sudden, harsh wave hit, and before you could stop it, you were retching over Harry’s shoes.

He froze for a moment, eyes wide in surprise, then quickly crouched down to steady you, his voice calm “Shit — hey, it’s okay, it’s okay,” he murmured, rubbing a hand over your back.

“Oh my god… I need the bathroom,” you managed to choke out, wiping your mouth with the back of your hand.

Harry didn’t even flinch. “Down the hall, second door on the left,” he told you quickly, already helping you to your feet.

You bolted, following his directions, and sank to your knees beside the toilet just in time for another wave to hit.

A few minutes later, after cleaning up the mess in the living room and tossing his ruined shoes in the trash, Harry padded down the hall. He found you sitting on the cool bathroom floor, your back against the wall, looking pale and a little miserable.

He knelt down beside you, a bottle of water in one hand and a clean towel in the other.

“Hey,” he said gently, a crooked little grin on his face. “Thought I’d better come check you didn’t pass out on my bathroom floor. Bad for your reputation.”

You groaned softly, leaning your cheek against the cold porcelain of the toilet, eyes half-lidded as you looked over at him.

“I really need more French fries,” you mumbled, your voice raspy but stubborn.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he sat beside you, one knee bent up.

“No, you need to sleep,” he said, brushing a few strands of hair away from your face. “Fries tomorrow. Sleep now.”

You made a small noise of protest, closing your eyes. “But I’m gonna die without them.”

He grinned, his hand still resting lightly against your temple. “If you die, I’ll be arrested. Can’t risk it. So — bed.”

You cracked a sleepy, tipsy smile. “You’re bossy, Harry Castillo.”

He snorted a soft laugh. “Yeah, well… someone’s gotta keep you alive tonight.”

Then, gently, he helped you up to your feet. “Come on, let’s get you to bed before you pass out on my bathroom’s floor.”

Harry kept an arm around you as he guided you out of the bathroom, your steps slow and a little unsteady. You clung to his wrist like a sleepy child, head drooping against his shoulder while he half-laughed, half-worried you might collapse again.

He pushed open the door to one of his rooms, though it was obvious no one had ever really stayed in it before. Soft, clean sheets. Dim, cozy lighting. Not as sleek as the rest of the apartment.

“Alright, c’mon, trouble,” he murmured as he helped you sit on the edge of the bed.

You tried to peel off your dress but only managed to tangle an arm halfway through the strap before sighing dramatically. “This thing’s trying to kill me.”

Harry huffed a quiet laugh. “Okay, okay. I got you. Arms up.”

He helped you ease out of the dress, careful, eyes pointedly keeping to your face like an absolute gentleman. He reached for a t-shirt, one of his, soft and faded with the passage of time, the kind of thing people would fight over in a breakup, and slipped it over your head. It hung to your mid-thigh like a dress.

“Perfect,” he said with a small smile, pulling the covers back.

You were already half-asleep again when he turned toward your purse sitting on the side table. He dug through it, phone, lip gloss, keys, a crumpled receipt, until he found a small pack of makeup remover wipes.

“Bingo.”

He crouched beside the bed, gently tilting your chin. “Hey, sleeping beauty. Let’s get this off so you don’t wake up with mascara all over the place.”

You made a sleepy, agreeable noise as he carefully wiped the makeup from your face, his touch tender, his thumb brushing your cheek more than once.

When he finished, he tossed the wipe and ran his hand over your hair. “There. Not bad.”

Your eyes fluttered open, gaze finding his, a tiny, crooked smile on your lips. “I like you, Harry.”

Harry grinned, heart stupidly clenching. “Yeah, well… I kinda like you too, French fry girl.”

And he pulled the blanket up over you, brushing one last stray hair from your forehead before clicking the light off.

The morning light slanted through the tall windows, soft and too bright for the pounding in your head. You groaned, bringing a hand to your temple as you cracked an eye open, and immediately froze.

This wasn’t your bed. This wasn’t your ceiling. And that smell definitely wasn’t your candle from Bath & Body Works.

You sat up slowly, blinking around at the unfamiliar room, trying to piece together the hazy, champagne-fogged puzzle in your head.

Harry.

The wedding.

Your stomach flipped for a whole other reason this time as you swung your legs off the bed and stood, wobbling slightly as you padded barefoot toward the door.

You stepped into the hallway, the muted sound of city traffic far below, the faint scent of coffee in the air. A few steps more and you rounded a corner, stopping when your eyes landed on him.

Harry was sitting at the table by the window, sunlight catching in the messy curl of his hair, a mug in one hand, phone in the other. He looked unfairly good for a man who had dealt with a drunk you.

The second he saw you, his face lit up. That same easy, crooked smile that had gotten you into this mess in the first place.

“Morning, trouble,” he grinned, setting his phone down. “How’s the head?”

You winced, pressing your fingers to your temple. “It’s… existing.”

He chuckled, gesturing to the chair across from him. “Come sit. I made coffee. And I’ve got water and Tylenol with your name on it.”

You blinked at him, still a little dazed. “Wait… did we have sex?”

Harry’s grin faded instantly, his expression softening into something careful, not offended, not smug, just… sincere.

He shook his head. “No,” he said quietly. “We didn’t.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. And before you could spiral into embarrassment, he kept going.

“I would never,” he added, eyes steady on yours, voice low and firm. “Not like that. Not with you. You were tipsy, half-asleep, and throwing fries at me in my kitchen.” A crooked smile tugged at his mouth again. “I got you into a t-shirt, wiped off your makeup, and put you to bed. That’s it.”

Your chest warmed, a knot somewhere in your stomach loosening a little at his words, at the way he said them. Not defensive, not self-righteous. Just honest.

You gave him a small, sheepish smile. “Okay. Good. I—“

“You threw up on my shoes though” He interrupted, hiding a smile.

“Oh my god!” You said, taking your hands to cover your face, “I can pay you back.”

Harry laughed, a real, full-bodied one that made his eyes crinkle at the corners. “Oh, absolutely not,” he grinned, leaning back in his chair. “Those shoes deserved it. Honestly, they were ugly as hell.”

You peeked at him through your fingers, groaning. “I’m mortified. I am so sorry. I’ll pay you or — or buy you new ones. Whatever you want.”

He shook his head, waving a hand like it was nothing. “They were Gucci,” he confirmed, grinning at the way your eyes widened like saucers.

“Oh my god,” you groaned, dropping your head to the table dramatically. “I’m a monster.”

He reached over and nudged your arm gently. “Relax, it’s fine. Honestly, I hated those shoes. It was a mercy kill.”

You lifted your head, giving him a hopeful look. “Okay, but… to ease my guilt. Coffee. On the house. From my coffee shop. For a year. It’s the least I can do.”

Harry raised an eyebrow, pretending to consider it. “A year, huh? Unlimited?”

“Unlimited,” you confirmed, hand over your heart.

His grin turned smug. “So, do you own a coffee shop?”

“Yes.” You replied.

“Yes,” you replied, sitting up a little straighter, a flicker of pride sneaking through the mortification. “It’s called Willow & Coffee. — down on 10th.”

Harry’s brows shot up, a surprised grin pulling at his mouth. “Wait—” he pointed at you, then let out a disbelieving laugh. “You own that place?”

You blinked, confused but curious. “Yeah… why?”

“Are you kidding?” he shook his head, leaning back in his chair, grinning like this was the best plot twist he’d heard all week. “I always send my assistant there. Every morning. Best coffee in the entire New York, hands down. I didn’t even know the owner was… you.”

You laughed, both flattered and a little flustered. “Well, guess you’ve been funding my rent without even knowing it.”

He smirked. “And here I thought I was just overpaying for caffeine addiction. Turns out, it was fate.”

You rolled your eyes fondly, grabbing the Tylenol he’d set out for you. “Fate and Gucci-vomit.”

You popped the Tylenol into your mouth, chasing it with a sip of water, then your eyes drifted down to the plate of breakfast he’d made — fluffy scrambled eggs, crispy bacon, and toast with a little dish of jam on the side.

Your stomach, now steady enough to form coherent requests, let out a soft, very real growl.

Harry caught the sound and grinned. “Eat,” he said, nudging the plate toward you. “Figured you might need something great this morning.”

You didn’t need to be told twice. “God, yes,” you murmured, grabbing a fork and digging in. The eggs were perfect, soft, buttery, with just the right amount of salt. You groaned around a mouthful. “Okay, you cook too? Is there anything you don’t do?”

Harry chuckled, sipping his coffee. “Plenty. I’m shit at assembling furniture. And parallel parking. But breakfast? I’ve got that handled.”

You grinned around another bite of bacon. “This is incredible. I should puke on your shoes more often.”

He laughed again, head tipping back, a warm sound that filled the kitchen. “Noted. But let’s make it a special occasion thing, yeah?”

You smirked, reaching for a slice of toast. “Deal.”

You finished the last of your toast, licking a smudge of jam from your thumb as you leaned back in your chair, feeling marginally more human. Harry was watching you over the rim of his coffee mug, that same soft grin on his face.

“So,” he said casually, setting his cup down, “are you gonna give me your number, or do I have to track you down at your coffee shop like some hopeless caffeine addict?”

You snorted, pulling your phone from where it was sitting on the table. “Pretty bold of you to assume I’d want to see you again after the great puke disaster of last night.”

“Oh, please,” he smirked, sliding his phone across the table to you, “I haven’t laughed that hard in months. You’re a keeper.”

You bit your lip, fighting a grin as you typed your number into his phone and handed it back. “There. Now you can make use of your free membership.”

He glanced at the screen, saving your contact with a small, satisfied smile. “Perfect.”

A little while later, you stood up, reluctantly peeling yourself away from the warmth of his apartment and his stupidly good breakfast. You padded back to the bedroom where your things were and quickly pulled yourself together, your head still a little fuzzy but far better than earlier.

When you came back out, Harry was leaning against the doorframe, watching you with that same infuriatingly good-natured smile.

You stepped up to him, feeling bold in the way only a hangover and a good breakfast could make you, and pressed a light, lingering kiss to his cheek. His skin was warm, and you could feel the faint scratch of stubble beneath your lips.

“Thanks for taking care of me,” you murmured, pulling back to meet his eyes.

He smiled, a little softer this time. “Anytime, trouble.”

Once you stepped out of his apartment, the air hit your face, clearing the last haze of sleep and champagne from your head. Your phone buzzed in your hand, and you glanced down to see Claire’s name lighting up the screen.

Are you alright? You didn’t text me last night!

You smiled softly, fingers hovering over the keyboard before you replied:

Yeah, I’m okay. Thanks for checking in. Talk soon, enjoy the start of your married life.

Pocketing your phone, you took a deep breath, steadying yourself

Three days passed, and you hadn’t heard a word from Harry since you left his apartment. The silence gnawed at you more than you expected — a quiet, unsettling kind of disappointment that crept in slowly.

Why had you even thought he’d be different?

You tried to shove the thought aside, burying yourself in work instead. The hum of the coffee machines, the chatter of customers, and the smell of fresh espresso helped distract you, kept your mind busy.

Just as you were about to lose yourself in some inventory paperwork, one of your employees approached, holding out a small envelope.

“Boss? There’s something for you here.”

You slowly opened the envelope, expecting a note or maybe a card — but instead, you felt a tap on your shoulder. Turning around, you barely had time to register the scene before your eyes locked onto a giant bouquet of roses, nearly as tall as you were.

And then you realized, those roses had legs.

Behind the massive, fragrant explosion of red petals, Harry was standing there, grinning like he’d just pulled off the best surprise ever.

You stood frozen, stunned, your heart skipping a beat.

“I wanted to grab my free coffee and see the boss of this place,” he said with a wink, “people say she’s really pretty.”

You rolled your eyes but couldn’t stop the smile tugging at your lips.

“Well, you got the right place,” you replied, shaking your head in amused disbelief.

The whole office watched, a mix of surprise and delight lighting up their faces as Harry stood there, roses in hand, like something out of a movie.

You cleared your throat, trying to play it cool. “Alright, Mr. Castillo, let’s get you that coffee.”

Harry stepped closer, still holding the bouquet like a proud knight with his shield. He glanced around at the curious faces in the office, then back at you with that playful glint in his eyes.

“So,” he said, voice low and a little hopeful, “how about you make me company while I grab that coffee? I don’t do well with crowds.”

You raised an eyebrow, teasing. “Are you asking me to take care of you, Harry Castillo?”

He shrugged with a charming grin.

The room seemed to hold its breath for a moment, and you found yourself smiling more than you expected.

“Alright,” you said, “but only if you promise to keep those roses away from the coffee counter.”

He laughed, stepping beside you as you both headed toward the café.

“Deal.”

You led him toward the little counter tucked near the back of your coffee shop, the scent of roasted beans and warm pastries wrapping around you both like a soft blanket. The employees tried their best to look busy, but you caught a few of them sneaking glances, one of the baristas nudging another with a grin.

Harry leaned against the counter, setting the ridiculous bouquet down carefully beside him.

“So… what’s the house special?” he asked, eyes on you like you were the only thing worth noticing in the room.

You smirked, grabbing a cup and jotting down his name on the side with a little heart.

“Depends,” you teased. “Are you looking to be impressed?”

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair.

“I don’t care. As long as you’re drinking one too.”

You shook your head, amused despite yourself, and started making the drinks, your fingers moving on autopilot while your heart tried to pretend it wasn’t skipping like a damn drumline.

When you handed him the cup, he didn’t take it right away, his hand brushed yours, lingering just a second too long.

After you took a set-in front of him, you notice him fidgeting with his fingers.

“Is there something wrong, Harry?”

 He lifted his gaze to meet yours. “Okay, well. There is something I need to ask, well said. It's kind of embarrassing. But I need to ask you something.”

You arched a brow, curiosity tugging at your lips as you leaned in a little, elbows on the table.

“Okay…” you teased lightly. “Now you have to ask. Can’t leave me hanging like that.”

Harry let out a nervous little huff of a laugh, rubbing the back of his neck.

Harry shifted in his seat, his usual confidence flickering for a second, and god, it made your stomach flip. You weren't used to seeing him like this.

He cleared his throat, lifted his gaze to meet yours again, and gave a crooked, sheepish little grin.

“Okay, so… this is gonna sound insane, and probably is, but I kinda need a favor. A big one.”

You narrowed your eyes playfully. “You’re really milking that whole free coffee deal, huh?”

He chuckled, then rubbed the back of his neck again. “Yeah, well… see, there’s this event thing, like, family thing… and I may or may not have told them I was seeing someone. Which was stupid. I know, I know,” he added quickly when your eyebrows shot up. “It’s just, they won’t stop setting me up with these awful dates, and I panicked. So now… I need someone to, uh, pretend to be my girlfriend. For a little while.”

Your lips parted, surprised. You blinked at him.

“Pretend?”

“Yeah,” he said, a little too fast. “Just for a bit. A couple dinners, maybe an event or two. Nothing crazy. Just enough to convince my mum and Nan to get off my back for a while.”

You stared at him for a second longer, and then, against your better judgment, a slow smirk tugged at the corners of your mouth. “You really dug yourself into a hole, huh?”

“Deep,” he admitted, grinning now too. “And you… well, you’re the only person I trust not to sell me out mid-dinner.”

What Harry didn’t say, what he couldn’t say, was that this wasn’t just about his family. Not really.

Sure, his mum and Nan were relentless, and sure, the dates they lined up for him were a special kind of torture. But if he was being honest with himself, something he wasn’t great at. This whole idea had started when his ex-had shown up at his sister’s engagement party last month, hanging off the arm of some the guy she had left him for. And Harry had felt something sharp twist in his chest, something ugly he didn’t want to name.

He’d told himself it didn’t matter. He’d moved on. Or at least, he’d been trying to.

Then you came crashing, quite literally, into his night at the wedding of one of his closest friends, and throwing up on his Gucci shoes like it was some kind of cosmic joke. And instead of being annoyed, he’d laughed. Genuinely laughed. And when he’d tucked you into bed, wiping makeup from your cheek, something soft and unfamiliar had settled in his chest.

There was something about you. Something he hadn’t expected. Something he didn’t want to break.

You were easy to be around. You didn’t fawn over him or try to impress him. You didn’t treat him like he was made of glass, or like he owed you something. You were real in a way he hadn’t realized he was starving for. And yeah, maybe it had started as a petty plan to prove something to himself, to the world, to Lucy, perhaps, but somewhere along the way, it stopped feeling like a game.

And now, sitting across from you while you teased him about his free coffee addiction, that quiet, stubborn part of him wanted to wrap you up in bubble wrap, to keep that warmth you carried, untouched by the messes of his world.

He ran a hand through his hair, a small smile playing on his lips as he watched you mock-consider his ridiculous offer.

God, what am I doing?

But you looked up at him then, those eyes bright with mischief and something softer underneath.

“Alright, Harry. But you owe me.”

And he knew, without a doubt, he was already in deeper than he meant to be.

💌💌💌💌💌💌

💌tags<3: If you would like to be removed of perhaps you don't like this anymore, please tell me.

@jasminedragoon @stcrrjoon @sptbear @picketnifflerniffler @greenwitchfromthewoods @fallout-girl219 @suzysface @aomi-recs @capuccinodoll @fvispunk @orcasoul @joeldarling @mystickittytaco @onlythehobi @darkheartgatita @isabella-rose-trastamara @spencercmlover @brittmb115 @correapunk @aomi-nabi @annulmaelae @32-flavors @berriesarepunk @joelmillerpascal

@lotusbxtch @dean-and-baby343 @pedrofan @hisuccubus @daryltwdixon @sourrollercoaster @holholliday @loveisacowboyyy

@hhallefuckinglujahh @primadonnasdream @chewie-bars @starstriker027 @glitterspark