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lupinqs · 2 months ago

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THE TONIGHT SHOW ━━ paige bueckers x actress!reader

☆ ━ summary: a talk show, an after party, and far too much champagne leads paige bueckers straight to you.

☆ ━ word count: 9.5K

☆ ━ warnings: smut (scissoring, oral, fingering)

☆ ━ links: my masterlist

☆ ━ author’s note: shameless timmy chalamet cameo because i love him…. anyways that pic with p and the champagne single-handedly revived my writing

THE DRESSING ROOM is loud, but in a muted way—voices murmuring over each other, flat irons hissing like snakes, the faint thump of bass through the walls as the Tonight Show band rehearses. You’re sitting in a high-backed chair, eyes half-lidded, a stylist brushing highlighter onto your cheekbone while someone else carefully curls the ends of your hair. You’re barely paying attention, letting yourself be fussed over like a human Barbie. You’re used to it by now.

Timothée’s sprawled on the little velvet couch behind you, legs hanging over the arm like a spider that’s given up. He’s buzzing, as usual, knee bouncing, fingers drumming against his thigh. You love him, but he never seems to run out of energy. You glance at him in the mirror as he tosses a piece of popcorn in the air and catches it with his mouth. Barely.

“Missed,” you mutter.

He gasps like you insulted his lineage. “Just untruthful.”

You grin, but your attention shifts. Something itches in your brain—some piece of information you forgot to check.

“What’s the lineup tonight?” you ask, voice pitched slightly above the hum around you.

The girl doing your hair, her name’s Rachel you think, nods absently as she wraps another section around the curling iron. “Rami Malek’s first, then you two. Oh, and I think Paige Bueckers has a little cameo. She’s crashing the monologue but doesn’t have an interview.”

Timothée sits up like he’s just heard his name. “Ohhh, because they won the natty, right?”

Rachel nods, unfazed. “Yeah. She’s just doing a little bit with Jimmy to start the show. Real quick thing.”

“Damn,” Timothée whistles low, like he’s genuinely impressed. “She a hooper, for real. I wanna meet her.”

You roll your eyes playfully but don’t say anything right away. Of course you know who Paige Bueckers is. Everyone does right now.

A few days ago, you watched her team win the national championship. You weren’t at home or anything sentimental—just curled up in your trailer between night shoots, a bowl of cereal in your lap and your assistant’s login for ESPN on your phone. But you’d watched her. The way she moved. The way she led.

You’re not a basketball diehard by any means, but the big stuff? You pay attention. And Paige is big. A name on the rise. A face that teenage girls across America are scribbling in the margins of their notebooks, reposting edits of on TikTok, screaming about like she’s Harry Styles during prime One Direction days. The girl’s got motion.

You don’t know what it is about her. Maybe it’s the way she smiles when she’s caught off guard or how she carries herself like she doesn’t care at all what anyone thinks. Or maybe it’s just the fact that she’s hot and tall and athletic and entirely too marketable.

Timothée tosses another piece of popcorn into his mouth. “What do you think she’s like?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes a little. Your co-star loves sports and Paige has been the biggest name in them this week. “I don’t know. Cool, probably.”

He nods along, chewing his popcorn. “Well, duh. She’s an athlete. They’re all cool.” (Case in point.)

You nod slowly, lips parting but not quite moving yet. You’ve been in rooms with world-famous people, with actors who have Oscars and musicians who have egos the size of planets. But there’s something about athletes—especially ones who just won something. There’s a heat to them, a freshness. Like they’re alive in a way everyone else is pretending to be.

“D’you think she’ll still be here after the show?” Timothée asks curiously. “Maybe at the after-thing?”

You hum, noncommittal.

But secretly, you hope so too.

Not that you’re planning anything. Not that it matters. You’re just curious.

That’s all.

And then—it’s time for rehearsal. Nothing new. You and Timothée are ushered through narrow hallways that smell faintly of hairspray and cold brew, past stagehands with headsets and clipboards. Jimmy’s warm-up guy gives you a quick wave. Someone hands you a printout with a few of the pre-cleared talking points: talk about the shoot in Italy, Timothée’s improv moment in the cafe scene, your character’s breakdown, funny story about the crying scene.

The usual fluff.

You barely glance at it. You and Timmy have done this song and dance enough times to know that the real magic happens when you ignore the cards and just talk.

Still, you sit side by side on the little couch in the green room, tossing lines back and forth as if you’re already on air.

“Okay,” Timmy says, clearing his throat in an exaggerated newscaster voice. “Tell me, what was it like doing another film where all you do is cry?”

You snort. “Life-changing. I mean, I think I’ve really got it down now. You, on the other hand…”

“Hey!” he clutches his chest dramatically. “I cried some beautiful tears.”

“Uh-huh.”

You’re both still laughing as the stage manager pokes her head in. “We’re about to get to your segment. Paige just finished her bit.”

At the mention of her name, something flickers in your chest—quick and sharp, like a spark. You don’t know why. You don’t even know her. You just saw her on TV a few days ago, limbs outstretched and screaming at the buzzer with the rest of her team swarming her like bees to honey.

Now she’s here, in the building. Probably just down the hall.

Timothée, of course, notices your shift. “You nervous?” he teases, nudging your shoulder.

You shake your head. “Nah.”

You don’t elaborate.

The rest of it happens fast.

They mic you up, fluff your hair one last time, and lead you through the wings toward the main stage. Jimmy’s voice floats through the air as he wraps up a bit with the band. The audience laughs, and the floor vibrates faintly with applause.

“Alright,” Jimmy grins, turning toward the camera. “Coming up next, two of my favorite people!” He calls your name and then Timothée’s, ushering you both onto the stage.

The applause swells like a wave. The music kicks in. You walk out with Timmy beside you, the lights hitting hard and hot, but you don’t flinch. You smile. You wave. You hug Jimmy and sit down on the couch, legs crossed, posture perfect. Timmy hams it up immediately, pointing at the crowd and then at you like, can you believe this woman? The audience eats it up.

It’s easy. Familiar. You talk about the movie. Timmy tells the story of how the gelato stand you filmed at got mobbed by fans. You talk about a scene that took eight takes because the wind kept flipping your hair into your mouth. Jimmy laughs too hard. The audience claps on cue.

And somewhere, offstage—maybe leaning against a wall or scrolling through her phone—Paige Bueckers is watching.

Maybe.

Not that it, like, matters.

PAIGE ISN’T USED to feeling like this.

She’s good with people. Always has been. Her dad used to say she could talk to a brick wall and get it to smile. She knows how to work a room, can flip the switch between lowkey and charismatic like it’s nothing. And normally, this kind of party would be her sweet spot—music pulsing, champagne in hand, famous people milling around.

But she’s been a little overwhelmed—and who can blame her? The last few days have been a whirlwind—interviews, flights, appearances, more interviews. Since the natty win, her world’s been spinning faster than usual, and not even her extroversion can keep up with the pace forever.

She’s grateful that Azzi and Kaitlyn are here with her. They’re posted up by the bar, all of them sipping champagne and trying to stay nonchalant, even though they just met Alicia Keys and Azzi legitimately had to walk away before she burst into tears.

“She said she watched the game,” Kaitlyn says, shaking her head in disbelief and swirling her glass.

“She said she loved my jumper,” Paige deadpans.

Paige lets the conversation blur around her, her eyes scanning the room over the rim of her glass. It’s crowded with beautiful, wildly successful people. She recognizes singers, actors, athletes. Everyone smells expensive and looks like they floated in from a campaign shoot.

Then she sees you.

You’re wearing a black dress that makes her blink twice. It clings in all the right places, dips a little lower than should be legal, and your hair is tucked behind one ear like you’re unaware of how gorgeous you look. Or maybe you are aware. Maybe that’s the point.

You’re deep in conversation with Kylie Jenner, who’s leaning in close, sipping on something pink and fizzy. Timothée Chalamet is perched beside you, laughing at something Kylie says, his hand tapping against her hip.

You look… perfect. Fuckable. Edible. Paige knows that it’s probably disrespectful to think of you like that when she’s never even spoken to you, but—damn—she can’t help herself.

Of course, she recognizes you instantly. She’s seen all your movies. Follows you on Instagram. Knows which photo you posted after the Venice premiere because she may or may not have saved it. She’s watched interviews you’ve done, including the one tonight with Jimmy Fallon and Timothée.

“You should go talk to her,” Azzi says beside her, like she’s been waiting for the moment Paige would finally catch up.

Paige startles slightly. “What?”

“You’ve been staring. Go rub your hands together and rizz her up or something,” Kaitlyn adds, laughing a little at the end. Azzi does, too.

“I haven’t—” Paige scoffs. “Fine, maybe a lil.”

Azzi nudges her with her elbow. “She’s right there. Just go say hi.”

“Yeah, because that won’t be weird. ‘Hi, I’m Paige, I’m a fan, please marry me.’” The blonde gives her best friend a look.

Kaitlyn grins. “You’ve said worse to girls you weren’t obsessed with.”

“I’m not obsessed with her.”

Azzi lifts a brow.

“… I’m just aware of her existence,” Paige mutters into her champagne.

She turns back toward you just in time to catch you laughing at something Kylie says. It’s a real laugh—head tilted back slightly, hand brushing your collarbone. You’re flushed with happiness or alcohol or both. Timothée leans toward you to whisper something in your ear, and you swat him away like a brother, grinning the whole time.

You look like a dream Paige isn’t sure she’s allowed to have.

Azzi nudges her again. “Go.”

“I’m waiting til she’s not surrounded.”

“She’s never not gonna be surrounded. That’s the point of people like her. They orbit.”

Paige sips her drink, hesitating. You glance up—just for a second—and Paige swears you catch her watching. Your gaze flits past, then back again, like you’re registering her face. There’s a pause, something unreadable in your expression, and then Kylie tugs at your wrist and you look away.

Paige exhales. She takes a sip of her champagne. She’s going to stay nonchalant. If she gets the opportunity to talk to you—later, maybe—then she will. But not right now.

Or, well, actually, maybe right now.

Because when she turns her head to look back at where you were previously standing, all she sees is Timothée Chalamet is walking toward the bar.

And you’re by his side.

You’re a few feet away, pausing just short of the counter to place a drink order. You laugh at something Timothée says, one hand resting loosely on the curve of your hip, the other reaching for a cocktail menu you probably won’t read. Paige’s eyes catch on the way your dress rides up just slightly as you lean forward, the way your hair falls over your shoulder, and it’s almost enough to knock the air out of her chest and send heat to her stomach.

She forces herself to look cool, calm. Like she belongs here. Like she’s not actively freaking out about the fact that the actress she might, sort of, maybe be lowkey obsessed with is now ten feet away ordering a drink.

And then it happens.

Timothée glances across the bar, eyes scanning lazily—until they land on her.

His whole face lights up. Like, visibly. Like they’re old friends or something.

“Yoooo! Paige!” he says, grinning, like he’s been waiting all night to spot her.

Paige blinks, actually looks behind her to make sure he means her.

“You’re Paige Bueckers, right?” he continues, already stepping closer. “Yo, I watched the championship game. You’re nasty. Ate them gamecocks up.”

Paige lets out a short laugh, genuinely caught off guard. “You watched?”

“‘Course I did, bro!” His grin widens, like it’s insane she didn’t believe. “I’ve been following y’all forever. Y’all are hoopers.”

Kaitlyn is already whispering to Azzi, probably something like what the hell is happening right now, but Paige tries not to pay attention to that. She holds her champagne glass a little tighter and nods coolly.

“Appreciate it, man. That means a lot,” she says, managing to keep her voice steady. “These are my teammates, Azzi and Kaitlyn.”

Paige watches as Timothée daps both of them up, his whole body buzzing—probably with champagne. “Nice to meet you guys. Love both your games, for real.”

And then Paige sees it—the way his eyes flick back to you as the bartender slides your drink across the counter. You’re turning to say thank you, lifting the glass to your lips. And then, without warning, Timothée reaches out, both hands grabbing onto your shoulders.

“Yo, you gotta meet someone,” he says, steering you gently but decisively in their direction. “Come here.”

You glance over, a little curious but not annoyed, your gaze settling on Paige and her friends as you approach. Paige straightens up slightly—not noticeably, she hopes—but she can already feel the warmth rising in her chest.

“This,” Timothée says, pulling you in beside him, “is Paige Bueckers. Bucketssss!” The way he drags out the second word leads Paige to believe he’s had one too many champagnes.

You smile easily, glossy lips pulling up at the corners. “Yeah, I know who she is.”

Paige feels her brain short-circuit for just a second.

Your voice is soft but certain, laced with that familiar confidence she’s seen in your interviews. And now it’s directed at her.

She nods, flashes a small grin. She hopes she seems chill. “Aye, good to know I’m not invisible.”

You laugh, and Paige swears the whole party sound dips out behind it. “Not even close.”

“This is Azzi and Kaitlyn,” Paige adds, gesturing toward her teammates, desperate to keep the conversation moving so she doesn’t drown in her own nerves.

You offer both of them a quick wave, clearly familiar enough with sports to know names, but you’re focused mostly on Paige now. And that’s dangerous.

Because up close, you’re even more stunning. Your dress dips just slightly in the front, and the shape of your cleavage makes Paige want to forget how to speak English. She reminds herself—she’s fine. She’s got game. She’s been in tougher spots than this.

But your eyes flick down her frame briefly—just a flash—and then back to her eyes. You tilt your head a little, smile. And she thinks, maybe she doesn’t.

“You played great in March, by the way. I saw that forty piece.”

Paige raises a brow, impressed. Her forty piece wasn’t in the natty or Final Four—it was in the Sweet Sixteen. So, maybe you weren’t just watching to watch. Maybe. “You watched that game?”

You shrug, taking another sip of your drink. “I dabble in excellence.”

Timothée lets out a loud drunken laugh beside you, “Dabble in excellence—I’m stealing that.”

Paige’s grin widens. “You can’t just dabble in March.”

“Guess I’m a committed fan, then,” you say casually, and God, you really don’t play fair.

Azzi catches Paige’s eye behind your back, giving her the most painfully obvious oh, you’re screwed face. Paige ignores her entirely.

“Well,” Paige says, lifting her glass toward yours, “cheers, then.”

You clink glasses with her, your fingers brushing against hers briefly. “Cheers.”

And it’s not flirty, not exactly—not yet. But there’s something in the way you’re looking at her now. A spark. An open door. Well, shit.

Paige doesn’t know where this is going, but suddenly she doesn’t care how tired she is or how long this week has been—because you’re standing in front of her in that damn dress, and you know her name, and your smile is enough to knock her off balance in the best possible way.

But, the thing about nights like this is that they never really slow down.

One minute, Paige is thinking she might actually be getting somewhere—that you might actually be into talking to her—and the next, someone who looks vaguely famous (blonde, sequined, expensive) is whisking you and Timothée away with a cheerful, “Come on, you have to meet—!”

You shoot Paige an apologetic little smile as you’re tugged off, mouthing something like sorry!, and then you’re gone. Just like that. The crush of bodies swallows you whole.

And Paige… is left standing there, still gripping her champagne glass like it might offer answers.

Azzi bumps her shoulder. “Paige,” she laughs.

“I’m calm,” Paige lies through her teeth, staring at the spot you were just standing in.

“Uh-huh,” Azzi nods, looking entirely unconvinced, biting her lip to fight another laugh from escaping.

Kaitlyn grins, too. “What’re you thinking?”

“I’m thinkin’,” Paige mutters, taking another sip, “that I shoulda said more.”

Azzi snorts. “Nah, you said enough. She was into it.”

Paige gives her a side-eye. “You think?”

“She smiled at you like this.” Azzi does a dramatic, slow-motion head tilt, batting her lashes.

“Stop.” Paige shoves her.

But… yeah, maybe she’s hoping her best friend is a little right about this one thing.

IT’S ALMOST AN HOUR before she sees you again.

In the meantime, she’s made rounds with Azzi and Kaitlyn, posed for some photos, took another flute of champagne, and then promptly lost track of them somewhere around a table filled with sliders and very fancy-looking truffle fries.

She heads to the bathroom just to get a breather, leaning against the marble counter and staring at herself in the mirror for a beat too long.

You’re fine, she tells herself. You’re not twelve. She’s just hot. And famous. And you’re…

She frowns. “Also hot. And famous,” she says out loud, trying to hype herself up. It doesn’t work. She’s never really cared about either of those things.

And, of course, the mirror—as expected—doesn’t respond.

She leaves the bathroom and steps back into the party, only to find that Azzi and Kaitlyn have fully vanished. Not just moved—vanished. Gone without a trace. It’s not that big of a room, but the lights are low, and the music is louder now, and she’s weaving through the crowd like she’s suddenly in a dream sequence.

Then—

“Your teammates ditch you?”

The voice comes from behind, low and familiar, and Paige freezes before she turns.

You.

You’re standing there holding an empty glass, still looking so fucking fine in that damn dress, your weight shifted to one hip and an amused tilt to your head like you might already know the effect you’re having on her.

Paige blinks once. “Uh…”

You stare.

She clears her throat, pulling herself together. “Yeah. Seems like they did.”

You nod, tapping the side of your glass. “It’s okay. I was ditched too.”

She laughs softly, eyes flicking down to the floor and then back to you. “Timothée ditched you?” She doesn’t add the fact that she thinks anyone ditching you might as well be a crime.

You shrug, scrunching your nose just slightly. “Yeah. He and Kylie left. They’re always escaping to go be nasty together.”

And Paige—

Paige blinks, because the first thought that enters her brain is: you and I can go be nasty together.

And the second thought is: Jesus Christ. What is wrong with me.

She manages to keep a straight face, nodding with a mix of mock solemnity and disgust. “Gross.”

“Very,” you agree, leaning a little closer. “But I guess that makes us the abandoned ones. Left to fend for ourselves in this sea of glitter and Botox.”

Paige chuckles. “Could be worse.”

You smile at her, a dimple popping out of your cheek. “Could definitely be worse.”

There’s a beat. A pause, but not an awkward one. The music swells in the background—some mellow pop remix of a song Paige doesn’t recognize—and your eyes haven’t left hers.

But then they do, glancing at her empty glass. “Out of champagne?”

She looks down like she didn’t realize it. “Apparently.”

You hold up yours, empty too. “Same. Let’s fix that?”

Paige nods, heart ticking up a notch. “Let’s.”

You both drift to the bar again, standing shoulder to shoulder while the bartender takes someone else’s overly complicated drink order. You lean in a little as you wait, not quite touching but close enough that Paige can smell the citrusy perfume on your neck.

“Sooo…” you say, dragging the word out, looking at her sideways and smirking a little. “You’re gon’ be the number one pick next week, yeah?”

Paige feels her face flush a little, blood rushing through her cheeks. The draft. Another thing that’s coming head-on. She’s excited. Grateful, of course. Just… also still a little overwhelmed. It’s okay; she’ll be ready come Monday.

She swallows, shrugging a little. “If that’s in God’s plan for me, then I guess so.”

Your eyes seem to soften a bit at that but before you can respond, the bartender finally turns to you both. Paige puts on her normal smile, ordering two more glasses and sliding her card across the counter before you can even reach for your handbag.

You arch a brow. “Really?”

“Mhm,” she hums, not elaborating. She leans against the bar, looks at you. She hopes she seems smoother than she feels.

Your lips twist into something almost flirtatious. “Fine. But only if I get to buy the next round.”

“You planning on stayin’ that long?”

You tilt your head, gaze sharp and playful. “I don’t know. You planning on making it worth my while?”

And there it is—Paige feels it hit her chest, the full-body flush of oh my God, this is happening.

She plays it cool. Leans in just a little. “I might.”

You hold her gaze for a moment. The drinks arrive. You both take a sip, and something simmers in the space between you.

“Okay then,” you say softly. “Show me what you’ve got, PB.”

THE DRINKS GO DOWN easily. Too easily, maybe.

Because—one minute, Paige is flirting with you at the bar, and the next, you’re both in the family restroom.

It’s a nice bathroom. Like, really nice. Too nice for what’s about to happen in it.

There’s a changing table, a comfy little chair in the corner, even a soft-glow light coming from behind the mirror. It smells like eucalyptus.

Paige watches as you push the lock in with a soft click. You move then, stepping right into her space.

She doesn’t hesitate. Doesn’t even think.

Her mouth is on yours before either of you says a word.

It’s hot. Messy in the way champagne makes everything feel a little blurred and desperate. Paige’s hands find your waist, pulling you closer and pushing you until your back hits the edge of the sink. You’re kissing her like you’ve been waiting all night to, and Paige is still trying to keep her cool but—God, the way you taste, the way you’re tugging at the open collar of her flannel—it’s a lot.

Paige slips her tongue into your mouth, licking around, tasting. You make a low sound when she sucks lightly on your bottom lip and Paige feels it everywhere.

“Fuck,” you mumble and Paige manages to laugh a little, low and breathless, before tilting your chin up to kiss you deeper.

Paige’s head spins a little.

How did she even get here?

She’s in a family restroom. At a celebrity afterparty. With you. Famous, perfect, actress you, whose Instagram she’s stalked more times than she’ll ever admit. And now you’re as close as possible, your tongue tangled with hers.

This can’t even be real.

And yet—your mouth moves to her jaw, kissing along it in slow, maddening lines, and Paige grips the edge of the sink behind you because if she doesn’t hold onto something, she might just melt into the floor.

You murmur into her neck, “You good?”

She laughs quietly, shakes her head a little. “Yeah,” she mumbles, a little breathless. She reaches for your face again, adding, “C’mere,” pulling you back in.

She kisses you, harder this time, a little reckless. You taste like champagne and mistakes and her own disbelief. And strawberry lip gloss. The same strawberry lip gloss that she’s essentially sucked off.

Your fingers slip beneath the hem of her flannel, lightly tracing the skin above her waistband, and it makes her hips twitch forward before she can stop it. You feel it. Smirk into the kiss.

“Easy, Bueckers,” you tease, lips brushing hers.

Paige swears something explodes behind her ribs. Like a firework. Or a panic attack. Or both.

She groans, kissing you again—if she doesn’t keep doing it, she might lose her mind. Her hands move back to your waist, grabbing you, your dress wrinkling slightly beneath the grip of her palms. You kiss her deeper, mouth open and needy, teeth grazing the blonde’s lip.

Paige’s hands slide lower, palms skimming down the curve of your back, fingers trailing over the fabric of your dress until they land—firmly, confidently—on your ass. She gives a slow squeeze, exhaling lowly at the feeling. You make a soft sound, too, and it nearly sends her spiraling.

Paige feels you press closer to her, your leg nudging between hers slightly. Her pulse picks up like she’s got two seconds left on the shot clock and the ball’s in her hands.

Her hands palm at you again, trying to memorize the shape of you. At the feeling, you pull back just enough to speak, lips kiss-swollen and spit-slick, eyes a little glossy.

“D’you wanna leave?” you ask, voice low and slightly breathless.

Paige’s mouth instinctively moves to your jaw, kissing there, slow and a little greedy. She hums against your skin. “Where would we go?”

You tip your head back slightly, exposing your neck to her in a way that drives her insane. “Back to mine?”

And—fuck.

That snaps something within Paige.

She stills for a half-second. Not pulling away. Just taking a moment. Letting that sentence sit in the air between you two.

Back to yours.

You. Your apartment. You, a little tipsy and flushed and stunning and clearly just as into this as she is.

How in the hell?

This doesn’t happen to her. Sure, she’s fucked a good amount of girls on campus. Sure, she’s got a lot of fans that edit her. But this? You? The girl with the Oscar buzz and the actual fame and that little black dress that’s been driving her out of her mind all night?

All she can think is—thank God for that natty.

She kisses you again, deep and hungry and like that answers the question for her.

You smile into it, pulling back just slightly, lips grazing hers as you ask, “Yeah?”

And Paige—grinning now, breath uneven, hands still resting on your ass, fingers skimming the back of your thighs because your dress is so short—says against your mouth, “Oh, yeah.”

You laugh, and it’s giddy and bright and sounds like bells. Paige wants to hear it again.

But then you’re both moving. You smooth your dress, pulling it down a little, fixing your lipgloss in the mirror with a lazy swipe of your finger. Paige straightens her flannel and tightens her ponytail, trying not to look like she was just seconds away from doing something very vile in a public restroom.

You unlock the door. Step out first.

Paige follows, hand brushing the small of your back before she shoves it in her pocket, like if she doesn’t, she’ll touch you again in front of everyone.

You both re-enter the noise and chaos of the party like nothing happened. Paige sends a quick text to Azzi and Kaitlyn—wherever they are—telling them of where she’s going.

You catch her eye over your shoulder as you lead the way toward the exit. And Paige just follows—completely, hopelessly, happily gone.

YOU TAKE THE SUBWAY.

You could’ve called a car—should’ve, probably—but it just feels easier like this. It’s late, the platform is as quiet as it is all day, and there’s something a little funny about a famous actress and a famous basketball player going home on the subway following a celebrity afterparty. You half expect her to complain or hesitate, but she doesn’t. She stays right beside you the whole time. Close, like she needs to feel the heat from your skin.

You feel the same. It’s almost like your skin might catch fire if she gets any nearer.

You don’t talk much, just a few soft jokes between stations. Stuff like:

“Are the subways usually this dirty?”

“Paige.”

And:

“People are staring.”

“Yeah. At you.”

“Mm. Doubt it.”

“You’re holding the pole like it owes you money, Bueckers. You’re not exactly blending in.”

(Clearly, Paige is not a New Yorker.)

She laughs at that, quietly, and you watch her from the corner of your eye.

You didn’t plan this. At all.

When the girl doing your makeup mentioned Paige Bueckers would be popping into the Tonight Show monologue, you’d barely reacted. Just filled it away. You knew who she was, of course—who doesn’t, at this point? You’re not deep into basketball, more of a casual watcher, but she’s impossible to ignore. A little golden, a little unreal.

You definitely didn’t expect to be on your way home with her a few hours later.

But then Timmy geeked out. Saw her at the bar, dragged you to meet her. Said her name with this over-the-top awe as if he isn’t ten times more famous than her. You’d just laughed and let him, not thinking too much about it—until you got close.

And then, yeah, you understood.

She’s hot.

Like, obviously. She’s tall, strong, stupidly pretty in a way that seems both entirely effortless and at the same time a little intentional. Her posture alone—the confidence in her stature—made you straighten up, and you put on your best perfectly casual acting face for moments when you don’t feel quite as casual as you should.

But it wasn’t just her appearance.

She’s kind. That was clear right away. Not performative or trying too hard. Just nice. And funny, in a dry way. Quick with the side comments. Self-aware. And slightly, slightly nervous around you, which you can’t lie—you like. It’s endearing.

There’s this quiet little tension between you now. A hum under the surface. Every time your knees brush on the subway bench, you feel it spike. She keeps glancing at your legs like she’s trying not to, like she doesn’t realize you’ve already caught her twice.

You don’t say anything. You just sit there and let it build.

The ride doesn’t last long. Your stop comes faster than expected, and Paige follows you off the train without a word.

It’s chilly outside. The city’s quieter than usual, but not silent. It never is. You walk a block to your building, Paige’s steps in rhythm with yours, and when you glance over at her under the streetlight, she looks down and gives you a half-smile. It makes your chest tighten a little. Like something you didn’t know was there is trying to make itself known.

Inside your building, you greet the doorman, who gives you a knowing look that you ignore. Paige nods politely. She’s got that people-pleaser charm—you can tell.

The elevator is slow. Old. You both step in and the doors close with a soft thunk.

You hit the button for your floor. Then, the air shifts.

There’s a pause—quiet but heavy. The kind of silence that makes you feel the other person. Paige stands just a little too close. Not aggressively. Just… aware. The distance between you isn’t quite respectful. Her arm brushes yours, and neither of you move away.

You stare straight ahead, but your eyes flick sideways every few seconds. She’s doing the same. You can feel it. Like heat. Like static. The air between your bodies buzzes like it’s waiting for permission to break.

The elevator dings.

Your floor.

You step out. She follows. And this time, she’s close enough that you feel the warmth of her breath as she exhales.

You swallow and walk to your door, unlocking it quickly, gingers a little clumsy on the key. Your heartbeat’s in your ears now. Loud.

The door swings open, and you step aside to let her in.

Paige walks in slow. She glances around, taking in the space—it’s nice. You know it is. Acting—well, it makes good money. And your apartment is a reflection of that.

You let her look around, setting your keys down and toeing your shoes off. When you glance back up, she’s watching you.

Neither of you says anything.

You walk over to her slowly.

And Paige—still looking at you like she’s not quite sure how this is real—just stands there, letting you close the space between you.

Your fingers find the hem of her flannel, gently.

“You wanna stay a while?” you ask, voice quiet, casual.

She nods.

And this time, it’s her who kisses you.

Its immediate. The fire. The heat. The way her mouth meets yours like it’s something she’s been dying to do all night—maybe longer. Her lips are warm, soft but urgent, and you can barely keep up with the way she kisses you, like she’s been holding herself back and now there’s no reason to anymore.

You make a sound against her mouth, half gasp, half laugh, and she responds with a low hum, hands already gripping your hips like they’re the only thing keeping her tethered to the Earth.

Your fingers slide up to her shoulders, trying to steer, to hold, to anchor—but you’re barely steady yourself. The two of you stumble back a few steps, laughing breathlessly between kisses as she walks you toward the couch, bumping a wall, into the table, not even caring. Her hand is on your lower back, guiding you—no, pushing you—and you let her, let her press you into her, let her kiss you like she knows exactly what she wants and exactly where she wants it.

It’s messy. Hands moving with no direction, your bodies pressing into each other like you’ve already forgotten you’re in your own damn apartment. Her mouth moves from your lips to your neck for half a second and you feel your knees weaken a little. You bite your lip, grab her jaw, kiss her harder. It’s so much, too much—but not enough.

You gasp against her mouth, “Wait—bed,” and she pulls back, just a breath away, eyes wide and dark and already a little wild.

“Yeah,” she says, already reaching for your hand, letting you pull her because she’s not familiar with the space.

You thought maybe you’d end up… here. The couch. The floor. Whatever. But no—you make it to the bedroom, somehow. Still kissing, still giggling in these little gasps when you bump into furniture. Still fumbling. Still grabbing.

Once you’re there, you push her down onto the bed, your palms flat on her chest. She goes easily, grinning up at you as her back hits the mattress. She’s breathing hard. So are you.

You crawl into her lap, settling your thighs on either side of hers, letting her hands immediately go to your waist again—strong, sure now. Her fingers grip you tighter than before. She’s steadier. More confident. And it’s really fucking attractive.

You bend down and kiss her again, slower this time but just as deep, just as desperate. Her hands slide up your back, over your spine, under the hem of your dress, wandering. You don’t stop her. You don’t want to.

And God, the way she moves underneath you. The way she kisses you now—like she’s not nervous anymore. Like she’s got you, and she knows it.

Your lips trace down, slow and hungry, grazing her skin like you want to memorize every part of her. Her jaw. The curve of her throat. The warm spot just beneath her ear. You suck lightly at first, then a little harder when you feel her shift beneath you—when her grip tightens and her breath gets heavier.

She mutters something low and strained, a quiet “Christ,” that sends a pulse right through you.

Her hands slide under your tiny dress. You feel her fingers splay across the back of your thighs before moving your, gripping your ass in a way that’s both firm and reverent. Like she’s still shocked you’re even here, straddling her, touching her. You groan softly against her neck, sinking your teeth gently into her skin there before pulling back with a kiss.

Your focus shifts to her flannel. The sparkly thing that you think probably only she can pull off. You eye it, fingers fumbling a bit as you reach for the buttons. She doesn’t move to help you at first. Just keeps her hands right where they are, thumbs brushing slow, distracting circles as she watches you with this little smirk.

You finally get the last button undone and she shrugs it off, tossing it across the room. She’s left in a black Nike sports bra and cargos and somehow still looks like maybe the hottest person you’ve ever seen in your life—and, seriously, you’ve seen a lot of hot people.

Your hands run up her bare abs, firm beneath your palms, before she pulls you back down like she can’t go another second without your mouth on hers.

This kiss isn’t sweet or exploratory. It’s flat-out hungry. Like now she’s got permission to take her time and take her fill. Her hands are back on you again, sliding lower, gripping tighter, pulling you down into her until your whole body is flush with hers. You can feel the heat of her skin through the fabric between you, the tension that’s been simmering since the moment your eyes met hours ago now boiling over.

You grind into her without even thinking, and the way her breath stutters against your mouth makes your whole body buzz.

You chuckle, soft and breathless, pulling back just enough to look at her. Her lips are kiss-bitten, cheeks flushed, pupils blown wide.

“Okay?” you whisper.

“Mm,” she hums before pulling you back into her quickly like she was offended you pulled away at all in the first place.

You respond immediately, tongue sliding against hers, teeth clashing. Her hands are everywhere. Your hips roll against hers instinctively, your breath catching every time her fingers dig into your skin or slide along your thighs. It’s hot and heavy and dizzying in the best way.

At some point, she pulls back just slightly, lips parted, gaze hungry. She looks down at the way your dress rides yo as you move against her and then back up at you like she’s barely holding it together.

“Can I take it off?” she asks, voice low, almost hoarse. Her hands pull at the fabric a little. “Needa see you.”

There’s this desperate kind of honesty in the way she says it that shoots straight through you. You not without even thinking, already helping her—grabbing at the hem of the dress, pulling it over your head, tossing it blindly across the room.

It lands somewhere near the door. Neither of you cares.

Now, you’re in nothing but your lacy black thong (thank God you decided to wear a sexy pair of underwear today, seriously), straddling her, skin flushed and warm and bare to her, and when Paige looks at you—really looks at you—she groans under her breath. Head falls back for a second like she needs to reset, eyes fluttering before they lock onto you again, darker than before, icy blue mixing with the black of her enlarged pupils.

“Shit,” she mutters, hands sliding up the backs of your thighs to your waist, then higher. “You’re—”

She doesn’t finish the sentence. Doesn’t have to.

She pulls you down to her again, but this time her mouth doesn’t go to your lips. Instead, she kisses across your chest, slow at first, open-mouthed and warm. Her rough palms hold you firm against her, fingers splaying along the swell of your ass as her lips move down. And then her mouth closes around one of your nipples, sucking—lightly at first, just enough to make you twitch in surprise—and then again, a little harder, her breath hot where it fans out.

You exhale shakily, fingers fumbling with her hair tie before undoing it, letting her ponytail fall loose. She looks up at you for just a second, grinning like she knows exactly what she’s doing to you.

And she keeps kissing across your chest and tits, mouth open and warm and purposeful. Her lips drag over the swell of you, her tongue flicking occasionally at your nipples like she’s trying to memorize the way you taste, the way you react. And you do react—your back arches, your hands tighten in her hair, and your hips roll forward against her without even thinking about it.

She hums in response, low and satisfied. The sound vibrates against your skin. Her fingers tighten at your waist, holding you in place, guiding your rhythm.

“Fuck,” she murmurs against you. “Don’t stop doin’ that.”

You don’t.

You move against her with a little more purpose, the friction sending a slow burn through your body. Her hands are hot and strong where they grip you, and her mouth doesn’t let up. She kisses over the curve of one of your tits, up to your collarbone, then back down, her breath shaky now too. She’s unraveling under you, even if she’s trying not to show it.

But you’re unraveling, too. Fast.

You let her mouth linger a little longer, let yourself feel every second of it—and then you’re tugging away from her, chest rising and falling a little too fast. Her eyes flick open, meeting yours, a silent question in them.

“I need…” you trail off, already reaching down.

She gets it. She shifts under you, lifting her hips as you start pulling at her cargo pants. She helps, fumbling a little in the rush to get them off, and her boxers come with—unintentional, but neither of you is complaining.

Paige leans up, kissing you again—a little slower now, a little more sensual. Tongues sliding and tangling languidly. There’s a kind of reverence in it now, like she’s savoring. You’re straddling her still, one knee braced beside her bare thigh, your chest still flushed and wet from her mouth, your breathing uneven. Her hands are at your hips, fingers flexing like she can’t decide whether to hold on tighter or let herself get lost in the feel of you completely.

Her fingers drift along, ghosting along the hem of your thong. She pauses, just barely.

“Can I?” she asks lowly. It’s respectful; you like that.

You nod, already leaning in. “Yeah,” you say softly. “Yeah, Paige.”

She kisses you once more—quick, urgent—before sliding her hands down, easing your underwear over your hips, your thighs. You lift just enough to help her, and she works them off completely, tossing them to join the growing pile of clothes somewhere on the floor.

And then she pulls you down again. Fully. Flush against her.

You gasp quietly at the contact, your bare cunt pressed to hers, the heat and slick between you unmistakable now.

Paige groans quietly, head dropping to your shoulder, arms wrapping tight around your waist as she holds you to her. Her hands splay wide across your lower back, like she needs to ground herself in the feeling of you there. Her lips brush against the curve of your neck, and you feel her smile just barely.

“Fuck, ma, you’re killin’ me here,” she mumbles into your skin.

You laugh, breathless. “Pretty sure you started it.”

Her hand drifts lower, palming your ass, her mouth now back on your jaw. “And I’mma finish it.”

Her words send a jolt through your stomach. And then she’s shifting beneath you, hips twitching up against yours, your slick clits bumping. Her palms guide you, moving you against her with slow, grinding pressure.

It’s instinct more than choreography. Your bodies find the rhythm together, messy and hot and overwhelming.

You let out a sound—something caught between a sigh and a moan—and she tightens her grip like she’s trying to draw more out of you. Her eyes are glazed over, locked on yours, and there’s a kind of quiet desperation in them that makes you grind down against her harder.

“Fuck, that—” you gasp a little as she shifts her angle, her pussy hitting yours just right. “Right there, Paige—”

She groans, pulling you down so your forehead is resting against hers, your lips brushing. You can feel her breath against your mouth, fast and shallow. You can hear the slick, vile sounds of your wetness against hers filling the room.

“Keep going,” she mumbles. “You feel so good, just—don’t stop.”

You nod, can’t even form a real answer, just roll your hips against her again, and again, chasing the way her body feels under yours, the way her mouth keeps finding your throat, your jaw, your shoulder. Her skin is slick with sweat, her hair dampening, sticking to her forehead.

You’re both panting heavily now, bodies moving in sync, heat building between you like it’s alive. The room spins a little around the edges, your heart pounding so loud it feels like the only thing you can hear besides Paige’s voice, the occasional moan, and the rustle of sheets.

She grips your waist and rocks up into you, and the pressure makes your vision blur.

“Shit,” you breathe.

Paige laughs under her breath, low and ragged. “Mm. I—I know.”

Everything begins to sharpen around you and you lean in, kissing Paige as hard as you can—teeth clashing, mouths open and desperate. Every roll of your hips, every sound that escapes either of your lips, every gasp and half-muttered name. Her hands hold you so tight you think she might leave bruises—you don’t care. Your cunts are warm and wet and swollen, sliding messily enough to get each other’s arousal on both of your thighs.

It builds fast. Hot and tight in your chest, in your stomach, in the way you’re grinding against her now—faster, harder, needing more, needing her. She’s right there with you, her mouth pressed to the side of your neck, her voice rough and muffled against your skin.

“God, you’re—” she chokes out, breath stuttering. “You feel—shit, I’mma—”

“Paige,” you mewl.

She nods, biting at your throat a little.

That’s all it takes.

Everything inside you snaps. White heat floods your senses and you fall into it, trembling and moaning against the blonde, your whole body shuddering as you come, pressed tight against her. Paige follows right after, hips stuttering, arms wrapped tight around your waist as she falls apart with you.

You collapse against her—completely boneless, your cheek pressed to the curve of her shoulder. Paige’s arms stay around you, her chest rising and falling in sharp bursts against yours, skin slick with sweat.

For a moment, neither of you says anything. You just breathe. Skin damp, thighs sticky. Hair in your face. Her heartbeat thudding loud under your ear.

Then she rolls, gently shifting you onto your back and settling between your legs again. Her body rests over yours, her nose nudging your jaw before she starts trailing wet kisses along your neck and shoulder.

You hum at the feeling, the pads of your fingers trailing down the side of her arm. “Feels good,” you murmur lazily, eyes half shut.

Paige chuckles against your skin, lips brushing just beneath your jaw. “Yeah?”

You nod slowly, watching as she lifts her head just enough to smirk at you, her eyes heavy-lidded and bright. Then, without breaking eye contact, her hand moves lower—slow, easy. You don’t even realize where it’s going until you feel it between your thighs, her fingers sliding between your slick folds, pressing lightly against your sensitive clit, confident and sure.

Your breath catches.

Paige leans up, her mouth just by your ear. “Can you gimme another?”

You blink at the ceiling for a second, trying to form a coherent thought. She was nervous before, you could tell, and now she’s so damn sure. You turn your head to see her. Her expression is intense—she looks almost like she would devour you if she could. Her fingers stay resting on your clit, unmoving with the slightest bit of pressure. The touch alone makes your skin feel like it’s buzzing.

You swallow. “Mhm. Yeah,” you stumble out.

Paige’s mouth curls into a grin, something between cocky and sweet. “Good girl.”

And then her fingers finally move. She circles your clit—once, twice, three times. Your thighs twitch some, still sensitive from before. Paige reaches down after that, sliding her middle finger inside you. She gives you a moment to adjust before adding a second digit in.

You try to keep it together—you really do—but the way her fingers move in and out, slow and certain, curling just when you need her to… she knows exactly what she’s doing. Her blue eyes flick between where her fingers thrust inside you, covered in your slick, and your face. Her lips are parted, chest rising and falling with the same shallow rhythm as yours. It’s hot in here. You’re sweating. You’re both still breathless, still recovering and already going again.

Your hand tightens your grip on Paige’s bicep as she moves her fingers just a little deeper, her wrist flexing with intention. Your hips twitch up in response, and you catch her smirk as she glances up at you—flushed cheeks, messy blonde hair, a cocky look in her eyes that should be illegal.

“Oh, my God,” you mumble, breath hitching.

She grins, biting her lip as her gaze stays locked on the way your cunt swallows her digits. It’s seems to do something to her because then—quietly, mostly to herself—she murmurs, “Fuck, I gotta taste you.”

You think your breath may stop entirely.

She shifts downward, pressing kisses across your stomach as she goes—soft, almost worshipping. Her fingers never stop moving, scissoring inside you, making it even harder for your lungs to function, and her mouth follows the trail of heat between your thighs.

Her tongue flicks out, swiping between your folds. You shudder at the feeling. Simultaneously, her fingers keep working you open, skilled, like she’s mapping out every reaction she gets. The combination of both is almost too much. You can’t help it—you grip at her hair, threading your fingers through the soft strands and tugging when she does something particularly good—which is often.

And she notices. Of course she does.

Paige hums against you, just enough vibration to make your thighs tremble. Then she glances up at you—barely, eyes hooded, teasing. “Don’t tap out on me yet, ma.”

Your eyes roll back at the nickname and the feeling of her fingers hitting that spongy spot inside you. You let out a breath that’s half a laugh, half a moan. “I—I’m not,” you say, trying to convince both her and yourself.

Her grin flashes, all pride and playfulness, before she dives back in—lips slick, tongue slow and focused. Her mouth wraps around your clit and sucks deliberately while her fingers curl inside you just right. You feel yourself fall deeper into it, into her, one hand pressing to the back of Paige’s head like you don’t want her to go anywhere.

You don’t. You really, really don’t.

She speeds up just a little, coaxing another sound from you, and your hips lift off the bed involuntarily. “God, I—”

That earns you another smirk against your skin, and she doesn’t stop. She’s locked in—and she’s not letting up until she gets everything she wants.

So, she keeps going.

Even when your hips stutter and your lungs stumble. Even when your hands slip from her hair to the pillow, fingers flexing and grasping at anything to hold you down. Even when you whimper something that barely sounds like her name.

Paige doesn’t stop.

Her mouth is certain, her tongue sliding through your folds, up and down across your clit. You feel like you’re melting into the mattress, boneless, trembling, completely at her mercy. Her fingers never lose rhythm, continuing their thrusts, and you vaguely wonder if her hand is cramping yet.

At one point, you hear her murmur something against your cunt, too muffled to catch.

“What?” you gasp, barely managing the word.

She lifts her head slightly, lips shining, and says, “Said you taste really fuckin’ good. Can’t get enough of you.”

And then her mouth is right back on you, her head shaking back and forth as her tongue follows the movement across your swollen clit. You make a sound that isn’t even close to human. It’s almost too much. The way she licks into you with purpose, the way her hand holds your thigh down like you might actually float away, the way her fingers keep coaxing more out of you like it’s her only mission.

“You’re—Paige, fuck, you’re…” You can’t even finish the thought. Can’t form words. Cant think straight. And she loves it. You can tell in the way she groans lowly into you, like you’re the best meal she’s ever had, like she’s the one getting off.

It’s so good. It’s too good.

Her fingers start pumping harder and faster, a white ring forming around them. Paige is unrelenting; she can probably tell that the coil deep in your belly is preparing to snap. She wraps her lips around your bud again, sucking and sucking and sucking.

“Paige—” you gasp, voice breaking. “I—shit—I can’t—”

“Yes, you can,” she murmurs, low and husky against you. “C’mon, mama, I gotchu.”

She thrusts again. She lays her tongue flat, shaking it.

That does it.

Everything tightens, your whole body curling in on itself for one suspended second—before it all shatters. You cry out, hips stuttering, thighs shaking as the orgasm rips through you like a wave, overwhelming and all-consuming. You can’t even think. All you can do is feel. Her. Her mouth. Her fingers. Her voice.

She works you through it, gentle now, easing you down. Only when you’re twitching and completely spent does she finally pull away.

You’re panting. Drenched in sweat. Barely coherent.

And Paige looks… completely wrecked in the best way. Her lips are swollen and pink, her cheeks bright red, her fingers slick. She licks them slowly, not breaking eye contact, cleaning the cum off.

“Good Lord—taste unreal,” she mutters, voice rough. Then, she leans down, kissing the inside of your thigh before crawling back up your body, lazy and satisfied.

When she finally teaches your face, she’s grinning. She kisses you softly, almost sweetly now, brushing her nose against yours as she whispers, “Told you I needed that.”

You shake your head, smiling a little in disbelief, letting her peck your lips one more time before laying on you. Paige is warm and a little damp with sweat, her breathing now steady. You run your fingers lazily along the slope of her shoulder, and she hums a little at the touch, face buried in the crook of your neck, inhaling your scent.

For a while, it’s silent. You’re not sure if it’s too late or too early, only that the city outside your window sounds far away.

Paige traces circles on your side with thumb. Slow, soft. Barely there.

“Hey,” you say eventually, voice a little raspy.

“Mmm?”

You glance down, and she shifts just enough to look at you. Her eyes have gone a little sleepy—she looks pretty like this. You think she probably looks pretty all the time, though.

“So, like… Dallas, right?” you ask hesitantly, bringing up the WNBA draft on Monday.

She pauses, and you feel her thumb stop its movement. “I mean, yeah,” she says eventually, her voice quiet, almost careful. It’s not set in stone—but everyone knows. She’s going to Texas.

You nod, stare at the ceiling for a second. You’re not sure if you should say what you’re thinking. You just met her tonight. But… fuck, she was good. And she’s hot. And she’s nice. And she’s funny. And—what’s the harm? “I’m filming a movie there all summer.”

There’s a beat of silence. And then you glance down at her and you watch as she stares at you for a long moment before her lips begin to curl up in the softest, most dangerous smile.

And, oh yeah—you already know. You’re both so screwed.

#paige bueckers #uconn wbb #paige bueckers fic #uconn huskies #wbb #wcbb #dallas wings #wnba #paige bueckers smut #paige bueckers fluff #paige bueckers x reader #paige bueckers x oc #wlw

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lonely-ey3s · 27 days ago

Text

Heartlines | Chapter Five

pairing: harry castillo (materialists) x f!reader

chapter summary : After an eventful night and morning between you and Harry, a bit of a surprise appearance takes your feelings for him to a whole new level - as well as his.

chapter warnings: fluff, slow burn, Harry speaks Spanish (translations will be there), SMUT (18+ MDNI), praise kink, mentions of a child having health issues, soft!harry, flirting, if I missed anything, lmk!!

word count: 9.7k

a/n: ya'll that new trailer that came out thursday for materialists - i will not survive... he looks so god damn good. ughh. enjoy 💗

also just a reminder! chapters will be every other sunday alternating ride or die !!

your feedback is very important to me, and I want to thank you for all the reblogs, comments, and likes. I secretly hope you like this story. 🤍

Dividers by: @saradika-graphics and @cafekitsune

Masterlist

You woke slowly, sunlight stretching in lazy stripes across the ceiling, the faint hum of the city below barely audible through the windows. Harry was gone — his side of the bed empty but his scent still there, filling you with warmth.

You smiled when you saw the folded clothes left neatly at the foot of the bed: a worn Fleetwood Mac T-shirt and a pair of soft gray sweatpants, both unmistakably his. A quiet message: Sleep in, I’ve got you.

You pulled them on and padded barefoot out into the apartment, rubbing sleep from your eyes.

The stillness felt different without him, but not lonely. The space was lived in, comfortable, and understated — a perfect reflection of him. And as you wandered through, you began noticing the little intimate details.

Framed photos dotted the shelves and side tables. Harry and his brother at what looked like a lake cabin, beer bottles in hand, laughing hard. Another one of him with a toddler strapped to his chest in a carrier, both of them wearing matching sunglasses. You chuckled and assumed that was his nephew, 'little Harry.'

Another with two little kids — a boy and girl — curled up in his lap asleep, ice cream melted on their shirts. You smiled. These must be his niece and nephew… Anthony and Esmerelda.

As you rounded the corner into the living room, your eyes landed on something unexpected — a sleek wooden panel on the built-in shelf popped open just slightly. Curious, you pulled it open the rest of the way, revealing a hidden toy basket tucked neatly inside. And not just any toy basket — it was full to the brim.

Barbies, G.I. Joes, building blocks, small dinosaur figurines, race cars, even a few slightly worn storybooks with sticky notes marking favorite pages. Your heart warmed. It wasn’t thrown together — this had been gathered over time, with love. Harry didn’t just watch them… he knew them.

You were still crouched by the toys when a sudden sound made you jolt — the click of the lock.

Your eyes found the clock on the stove,

'There's no way he's home already...'

The front door opened.

A man stepped in quickly, holding a set of keys and looking down at his phone. “Hello? Anyone home?” he called, before glancing up and spotting you.

You stood quickly, heart racing for a beat. He froze too — startled, but not unfriendly. His brows raised as he took you in.

He looked enough like Harry to make your breath catch.

“Oh—God, sorry,” you said, taking a step back. “You scared me.” You let out a nervous chuckle.

“I'm sorry, didn’t mean to,” he said with a quick smile, holding up his keys in one hand and a plastic bag in the other. “I’m Simon. Harry’s brother.”

Your eyes widened. “Ah, you’re the man in the picture!” You let out a chuckle of relief. “That makes sense. You look just like hi—”

Before you could finish, two tiny, giggling bodies darted into the apartment behind him, barely noticing either of you as they bee-lined to the hidden toy basket like they had radar for it.

“UNCLE HARRY!” Savannah called out, already pulling a Barbie out by the hair.

Little Harry followed right behind her, eyes sparkling as he grabbed a G.I. Joe figure. “Where is he?” he looked around the room like he was scanning for his uncle.

Simon closed the door with his foot and chuckled. “Not here yet, guys. He just texted me that the meeting ran a little long. Said he’d be home in fifteen.”

You blinked. 'Shit. Did he text me?'

You stepped forward, hands shyly held in front of you. "Shoot, I'm um, I'm sorry. I didn’t check my phone when I got up.”

“No worries,” Simon said easily, then turned to you with a grin and extended his hand. “So… you must be the girl my brother can’t stop talking about. Y/N, right?”

You took his hand, smiling shyly. “That’s me.”

“He talks about you a lot,” Simon added, his tone warm but with a teasing lilt.

“Oh no,” you groaned playfully.

“No, no—don’t worry. All good things.”

Before you could respond, Savannah popped her head up from the toy pile. “Are you Uncle Harry’s girlfriend?”

You looked at Simon, who shrugged with a grin. “6-year-olds, no sense of boundaries…” he mouthed like that explained everything.

You laughed and crouched beside her, not knowing how to answer. “Maybe. Would that be ok with you and your brother?”

Savannah nodded seriously. “You’re really pretty. Do you know how to braid hair?”

Little Harry chimed in from beside her. “Do you like dinosaurs?”

You felt yourself ease, the nerves melting at their innocence and curiosity.

“Um, yes and obviously yes,” you said, smiling wide as they scooted closer to show off their treasures.

Simon let out a low whistle and looked at you. “You’re a natural.”

You glanced at him, then back at the kids. “So… what’s the plan for today?”

Simon’s smile softened a little. “I’ve gotta take Lindee to a doctor’s appointment. It’s a long one — some tests we’ve been waiting on.” His tone dipped, just slightly. “She’s been having a rough couple of months, I’m not sure if Harry’s told you anything… but, we’re still figuring it all out. We didn’t want the little ones there… too much waiting, too many questions, you know?”

Your chest tugged at that as you didn't know about her condition.

You only knew little parts about his family. Enough to know these two by name. But something unexpected made you want to help, be involved with his family, and life. You wanted to do what you could to help.

You nodded gently. “Of course.”

“We don’t know how serious it is,” Simon added quietly. “We’re trying to keep things light around these two."

He put a few things on the counter, some snacks and notes about the kids it looked like.

"I think Harry forgot he offered to sit them or messed up the days, he sounded pretty anxious about messing it up when I talked to him earlier — but honestly, if they’re with you for a few minutes, that’s probably going to be the highlight of their week.”

You smiled, touched, but understandably a little overwhelmed. “I’m happy to keep them company until he gets home.”

“Appreciate it,” Simon said, then gave a pointed glance toward the toy explosion already happening on the living room rug. “And good luck.”

You laughed as he slipped out the door — and just as it closed behind him, Savannah crawled into your lap, holding a Barbie and a hairbrush, humming to herself.

Something about the simplicity of this cracked something else down in your walls. The domestic warmth blooming deep inside you made you excited and hopeful.

‘I could get used to this…’ you thought happily to yourself for the first time in a very long time.

You sat there, cross-legged on the living room rug, surrounded by a kingdom of chaos — blocks, dolls, dinosaurs, a few puzzle pieces that had absolutely no business being where they were, and two very curious little humans who were now firmly attached to your orbit.

Savannah handed you a Barbie dressed in a ball gown and a sparkly purple shoe on only one foot. “She’s getting married today,” she said very seriously. “But Ken is late because his car broke down and he had to ride a T-Rex to the church.”

Little Harry popped his head up from behind a toy Jeep. “No, she’s not getting married yet. She has to fight the lava monster first!”

You gasped dramatically, pressing the back of your hand to your forehead. “She didn’t prepare for lava! I thought this was going to be a romantic comedy, not an action movie...”

Both kids burst into giggles as you acted out Barbie swinging a plastic sword with terrible sound effects. “Hiiii-yah! Take that! For love and sparkles!”

Savannah flopped against your arm. “You’re funny. Can you come over every weekend?”

You smiled. “Only if I get to voice the lava monster again.”

Little Harry looked up at you, wide-eyed. “Are you gonna marry my Uncle Harry?”

Your mouth opened, then closed. “That’s… a big question, buddy.”

Savannah tilted her head as she got off your lap to come sit in front of you with her brother. “Do you kiss him?”

You grinned and pulled your knees to your chest shyly. “Sometimes.”

They both made the most exaggerated gagging sounds you’d ever heard, and you couldn’t help but laugh.

“Do you have kids?” Savannah asked next, completely undeterred.

You shook your head. “Nope, not yet.”

“Do you have a dog?”

“No dog.”

Little Harry looked scandalized. “Not even a turtle?”

“Not even a turtle.” You shrugged with mock drama.

Savannah gave you a long, assessing look. “We’re gonna have to fix that.”

You chuckled and picked up the Barbie, fixing the dress. “I’ve got a family dog, though, but he lives with my parents… does that count?” You looked at the two sitting eagerly in front of you.

They looked at you and then each other and grinned in unison before turning back to you.

“Does the puppy get to visit you?” Little Harry tilted his head.

You nodded, “He does, once in a while…”

Savannah perked, “What kind of puppy is it?”

“He’s a mix, but he’s big and fluffy!” You smiled brightly.

“His name is Grizzly because he looks like a big ol’ bear!” You put up your hands like bear paws, then lunged forward and tickled their bellies. Loud squeals and giggles filled the apartment.

After they caught their breath, Savannah leaned in with the wide-eyed look of someone about to share a very important secret.

“Uncle Harry talks about you all the time,” she said, voice hushed like a little conspirator. “When he calls Daddy, he always says he misses you. He said you might be the one the other day!” then she got up and walked away to get another toy leaving that bombshell.

Your heart skipped, and you let out a small chuckle at the abrupt remark.

“I’m sorry, he said what?”

Little Harry nodded enthusiastically. “He said it on FaceTime! I was in the car and he said, ‘I don’t know, man… I think she’s it.’ Then Daddy told him to calm down,” he added with a proud giggle.

You blinked, stunned. “He really said that?”

Savannah turned and gave you a serious nod. “Yup. And after you met him at the wedding, he wouldn’t stop talking about you at family dinner. He told Mommy you looked beautiful, like a princess. And he said he couldn’t wait to see you again. He was smiling really big when he said that.”

“Like this!” Harry added, stretching his mouth wide and goofy.

You laughed, flustered and deeply, secretly moved.

“I… didn’t know he felt that way,” you murmured, more to yourself than to them.

Savannah shrugged in that way only a kid could and came back over to sit by her brother. “He even told grandma and grandpa about you, and daddy said to mommy, ‘It must be serious, he never tells my mom and dad about someone this early in the relationship. This girl must be someone special for him to open up about it this early'...”

That did it — your heart was officially a puddle.

You brushed a strand of hair from Savannah’s face and smiled. “You two might just be the best little gossip reporters I’ve ever met.”

Little Harry puffed up proudly. “We hear everything.”

—

Harry walked to his front door at a fast clip, raking a hand through his hair as he approached the door.

He hated being late for anything, but especially today.

The meeting had run longer than expected, and though Clarkson had been impressed, all Harry could think after getting a call from his brother this morning, was how he’d forgotten he promised to watch the kids — and how that now fell on you.

He had talked to Simon — told him you were there — but he hadn’t heard back from you since texting earlier to let you know.

And now, nerves stirred low in his stomach. Not because he didn’t trust you, but because the idea of throwing you into chaos without warning made him feel like a complete ass.

He opened the door quietly, bracing for a mess or the aftermath of two tiny humans against well — you.

However, when Harry stepped inside, a bouquet of sunflowers in hand, he paused when he caught sight of you on the floor — a Barbie in one hand, a G.I. Joe in the other, voicing a dramatic monologue about lava monsters and true love.

He blinked once.

Then smiled.

Nothing could have prepared him for the swarm of emotions and feelings rushing through his mind and heart at the sight of you.

Savannah and little Harry turned at the sound of the door clicking shut and gasped excitedly.

“UNCLE HARRY!” they shouted, scrambling over pillows and plastic blocks to throw themselves at him.

He caught them easily, crouching to their level, sunflowers still clutched in one hand as he hugged them with the other.

“What’s goin’ on here, huh?” he asked, chuckling. “Looks like I missed all the fun!”

“Uncle Harry, she’s really good at dolls,” Savannah said breathlessly. “And she knows how to do Barbie’s warrior voice!”

“But... she needs a turtle,” little Harry added solemnly.

Harry looked up at you over their heads and grinned, shaking his head. “You’re magic, you know that, right?”

You chuckled and shrugged, “Nothin’ too complicated when it comes to playing Barbie and GI Joe…”

He smiled and held up the bouquet. “These are for you. For… throwing you into the madness…” his big brown eyes looking at you apologetically.

You stood and came over, accepting the sunflowers with a warm smile.

“They're perfect, Harry. And you’re forgiven... maybe.” you teased.

He chuckled and then turned to kiss each of the kids' heads, "I'm so happy to see you both. Give me a big ol' squeeze..."

They both wrapped their arms around him and hugged him tightly and squeezed him tightly. He acted like it was too tight and strained his breath, "Too tight! Too tight!"

They both giggled and let him go. He let go of his breath dramatically and chuckled at their reactions.

You chuckled watching him with them and squatted in front of him to meet everyone else at their level. Watching him with these two made you start to feel things that you don't think you've ever felt with someone before — and that made you a bit nervous, but in the best way.

Savannah turned and looked at your flowers, leaning in to smell them.

You looked at her smiling, “Did you know that your Uncle Harry is so sweet that he gets me a different type of flower every time he sees me? Just so he can figure out my favorite flower is?”

They both giggled and shook their heads.

Savannah turned back to Harry, gently placing a hand on his cheek and tilting her head. “What flowers are you going to get next time, Uncle Harry?”

He leaned into her hand and softly said, “I was thinkin’ maybe daisies or lilies… what do you think, nena?” (Baby girl)

She gave you a long, thoughtful glance, then leaned in and whispered something in his ear. His smile widened, eyes flicking up to meet yours again.

“Got it,” he whispered back, pressing a playful kiss to her forehead. “I’ll make it happen.”

He stood, which you followed, setting the flowers on the counter nearby. His eyes became a little softer. “Thanks for watching them. I know that wasn’t the plan.”

You leaned in and kissed his cheek, “I didn’t mind. Besides, they kept me very informed.”

Harry’s eyes narrowed at the kids. “What secrets have you unleashed?”

Before you could answer, he lunged, scooping Savannah up with a gasp. “What did you say about me, huh?” he teased, tickling her sides.

Savannah shrieked with laughter. “Nothing! We didn’t say anything!”

Little Harry clung to his leg, trying to climb him. “My turn Uncle Harry! My turn!”

Harry tossed Savannah up gently and caught her as she kicked her feet mid-giggle. “Tell me!”

“Never!” she laughed. “It’s our secret!”

“I’ll get it out of you!” he growled dramatically, setting her down then launching a tickle attack on little Harry, who collapsed in a fit of squeals.

You were laughing so hard you had to lean against the counter.

When Harry finally lunged for Savannah again, you stepped in, gently grabbing his arm.

Savannah squealed and took off running down the hall. Little Harry wasn’t far behind.

“No! Leave the children alone!” you said dramatically, digging your heels in playfully. “Hurry, guys, run away! I can only hold him back for so long!”

The kids cackled with laughter as they disappeared down the hallway, and Harry grinned down at you.

You waited to hear them away from you before you looked up at him and grinned.

“I missed you this morning,” you said softly, your voice still tinged with amusement, but now threaded with something a little more tender. “Waking up without you after the night we had…”

His expression changed, warm and serious all at once. “That won’t ever be happening again,” he murmured. “I’ll make sure of that.”

Your breath caught, just a little, and your cheeks turned pink.

You slid your hands from his arms up to his shoulders, smoothing the fabric of his shirt. “So tell me, how’d the meeting go?”

“Well,” he said, his hands settling on your waist. “It went well. We finalized the paperwork, and Clarkson didn’t drag it out too long. But honestly?” He leaned in a little closer. “I would’ve rather been here, with you… especially after this morning…” He pulled you closer by your waist.

Your smile softened, and you bit your lip playfully. “Were you late? You had to leave in a bit of a hurry…” You blushed, remembering how he left in a rush after you two got quite distracted by each other.

He grinned, his voice dropping just a little as he leaned in, eyes flicking to your lips. “Just by a minute or two.”

You raised an eyebrow. “Before or after Clarkson showed up?”

He smirked. “Still made it before Clarkson — so, win-win for me.”

He was about to kiss you when the kids ran back up and tugged at Harry’s sleeves. "Uncle Harry! What are we doing today?!”

Harry glanced at you and raised a brow, asking wordlessly if you were up for it.

You nodded, already enchanted by the tiny chaos monsters. “I’m in for whatever...”

He looked down at them. “How does the aquarium sound?”

Savannah gasped. “FISHIES!”

Little Harry screamed, “SHARKS!”

They both bolted back to their toys to plan their sea-themed outfits.

He took that opportunity of being alone again and wrapped his arm around your waist.

“You’re incredible,” he whispered, leaning in, forehead brushing yours. “I was freaking out in that meeting thinking I’d left you in the middle of a hurricane.”

You smiled, fingers playing with the collar of his shirt. “It was a little unexpected…”

His brows pulled together, apologetic.

“…but honestly?” you added, brushing your lips against his, “It was one of the best first mornings I’ve ever had.”

He blinked, heart in his throat. “Yeah?”

You nodded. “Your niece and nephew are adorable. Your lava monster voices need work though I heard.”

He laughed, and that sound—low, sincere, entirely his—vibrated between you. “I’ll make it up to you later. Properly.”

“You better,” you teased, leaning into his warmth as the kids shrieked over something in the toy bin.

He leaned in and kissed you softly, right in the middle of the chaos, before pulling back and whispering, “For the record, I missed you this morning too. I hated leaving you alone on our first morning together.”

You hummed and smiled warmly, “Today was only our first Saturday morning together… you’ve got six more days of the week to make up for today, yeah?”

He nodded and leaned back in, pressing his lips against yours in a slow, deep kiss before pulling back and nudging your nose against his, “So, does that mean you’re here for the remainder of the week?”

You lightly giggled and shrugged teasingly, “I guess that depends on how this aquarium date goes…”

He cupped your cheek and smiled adoringly at you, “Indulge me on how I can make that happen?”

You pecked his lips lightly, “Now, where’s the fun in that, Uncle Harry?” You smirked, then turned around towards the kids.

“Alright, who’s got dibs on feeding the stingray’s first!?”

They both gasped, turning around towards you and raising their hands, squealing, together, “Me! I want dibs!”

The aquarium was buzzing with weekend energy — the distant echo of children laughing, the hum of bubbling tanks, and a soft blue glow cast across your face from the massive wall of swaying jellyfish.

It was alive with color — deep blues, greens, and flashes of neon swimming in vast, glowing tanks. The gentle sound of water moved through the air, punctuated by excited voices and the occasional splash from a stingray tank. It smelled faintly of salt and something oddly comforting, like childhood field trips and wonder.

Harry’s fingers laced with yours as you walked through the first gallery, the coolness of the glass displays offset by the warmth of his hand. Every now and then, he would gently bump your shoulder with his, or tug you closer when the crowds pressed in, and you found yourself leaning into him like it was the most natural thing in the world.

Savannah skipped ahead a few paces, clutching the “Scavenger Hunt for Kids” pamphlet the front desk had given her like it was sacred treasure.

“Uncle Harry!” she called over her shoulder, “It says we have to find a fish with spots! That means we have to look at every tank!”

Harry grinned and kissed the top of your head. “If you'll excuse me, I've been recruited for a very important mission...”

You chuckled and reached for little Harry, who had started wandering the other way toward a glowing wall of jellyfish. He took your hand easily, small fingers curling around yours with total trust.

As you walked together, you could feel Harry’s gaze drifting to you — soft, thoughtful, a bit like he couldn’t believe what he was seeing, like he couldn't believe this was real.

You met his glances with the same unspoken warmth, the glow of the morning still fresh in both your bodies. The night before had opened something — the kind of emotional closeness that felt real. Today was only deepening it.

The two of them moved to the next gallery together. You and little Harry followed close behind.

At the touch pool, Savannah squealed when a stingray slid under her fingertips.

Harry crouched next to her, one arm around her back for support, the other guiding her hand carefully. “Gentle fingers, Savi. Just like I showed you, remember?”

The way he said her name — calm, affectionate, patient — made something stir in your chest.

Then little Harry climbed into his lap unprompted, tiny arms wrapping around his uncle’s neck. “I wanna touch it too...”

You stood a few steps back and watched the scene play out, your heart aching in the best kind of way. The way Harry whispered encouragement in his nephew’s ear, held him steady, and smiled wide when he succeeded — it was instinctive. Soft. Fatherly.

You could see it. See what he’d be like with his own child one day.

And that image, him with a tiny human who shared his messy curls and dimpled grin — made you fall just a little harder.

He looked up then and caught you watching.

His expression changed instantly — something warmer, quieter, blooming across his face.

He mouthed, "What?" like he didn’t know he’d just broken your heart open.

You shook your head with a soft smile and mouthed back, "Nothing."

When he stood and walked toward you, he slipped his free hand into yours again, thumb brushing gently over your skin.

“You okay?” he whispered, bending to kiss your cheek.

“More than okay,” you said, brushing your fingers along his jaw, looking up at him adoringly. “You’re… kind of amazing with them, you know that?”

His brows lifted slightly, eyes filled with something unspoken. “Yeah? You sure it’s not just the jellyfish lighting messing with your head?” He joked.

You laughed and leaned in, brushing a kiss to his lips. “Pretty sure.”

As the kids raced ahead toward the penguin exhibit, Harry leaned close and whispered into your ear, “Thank you for the last 24 hours… I–” he looked down shyly as you both continued to walk. “I think this is the happiest I’ve been in a long while.”

You squeezed his hand and glanced at him. “Me too.”

He looked at you and smiled, but there was something else in his eyes, something deeper, something that you saw last night but for a brief moment.

Savannah ran up and grabbed his hand, shaking it eagerly, making you two stop in your steps.

“Uncle Harry, can I borrow your phone, please? I want to take pictures of the baby penguin to show Lindee and Mommy!” She pointed back to the exhibit, where a cute little baby penguin was sitting between its parents' legs.

Harry chuckled, gently letting go of your hand to fish his phone from his pocket. As he opened the camera app, the lock screen flashed for just a moment — and your breath caught.

It was you.

Last night. At the masquerade ball.

You were seated across from him, in that deep red satin dress, the candlelight catching the curve of your smile. A champagne flute was lifted just barely to your lips, your eyes sparkling with something only he had seen. You hadn’t even known he’d taken it. It was candid, soft, and real — and the fact that he had chosen that moment as his lock screen made your heart flutter wildly in your chest.

A slow smile spread across your face. “When did you take that?” you asked softly, your voice dipping below the hum of the aquarium crowd.

Harry looked down at the screen and grinned. “Snuck it at dinner. You looked... breathtaking. Couldn’t help myself.”

Your cheeks flushed, but you didn’t look away.

He handed the phone to Savannah, who took off excitedly toward the penguin exhibit. With his now-free hand, Harry slipped his fingers back through yours, and the two of you followed behind at a slower pace, watching her giggle as the baby penguin waddled across the rock platform.

“You sure you’re okay with all this? I’m sure you weren’t expecting to be on babysitting duty today…” he asked under his breath.

You squeezed his hand. “Are you kidding? This is the best day I’ve had in a long time. I don't care what I’m doing, as long as I’m with you, I’m happy.” You smiled over at the kids who were giggling as they took photos.

Harry looked over at you, his brow softening, like he didn’t quite believe he was lucky enough to hear you say that.

Savannah came skipping back with Harry holding her hand, both beaming. “Uncle Harry, can we take a picture together now? All of us!”

Harry grinned. “Only if I get to pick up you, mister!” Then looked at Little Harry.

Little Harry let out a cheer and immediately clung to his uncle’s leg.

With practiced ease, Harry hoisted him up onto his shoulders, little legs swinging over his chest. You laughed as Savannah ran to you and lifted her arms to be picked up.

“Me too!”

You bent and scooped her up, giggling as she wrapped her arms around your neck. Harry handed his phone to a woman standing nearby. “Would you mind?”

“No problem,” she grinned, angling the phone.

You stood side by side against the shark tank — Harry’s arm looped around your back, Savannah in your arms, little Harry on his shoulders — and smiled wide as the first click echoed.

Another photo.

Then another.

Just before the last one, Savannah whispered something completely unexpected and hilarious in your ear, “Do you think the penguins kiss with their beaks?”

You burst into laughter, turning your head to look at her. And that’s when the camera clicked again.

In the image, you’re mid-laugh, eyes sparkling, your hair slightly wind-tossed. Savannah’s cheek is pressed to yours, both of you joyful and completely in the moment.

And Harry? He’s not looking at the camera.

He’s looking at you.

His head slightly tilted, lips curved in the softest smile, eyes full of something deeper—something quiet and steady, soaking you in like he can’t believe you’re real and his.

When he glanced down at the photo afterward, he hesitated — just for a second — before locking his phone and slipping it back into his pocket with the softest smile on his face.

You sat together near the otter enclosure after that, the kids mesmerized as two otters floated by holding hands.

You leaned into him gently, your voice quiet. “So… Lindee? Tell me about her, what’s going on?”

Harry’s jaw tightened just slightly, and he nodded. “She’s… been having headaches for a couple of months now. We thought it was just stress or allergies or, you know, kid stuff. But then a couple weeks ago…”

His voice caught.

“She had a seizure. During her dance recital. It was terrifying. Full room. Lights. Everyone watching. She just… collapsed.”

You felt your chest tighten as your fingers found his again, holding tight.

“Simon and Liv took her to the ER. Got her stabilized. She’s been home from school the last few weeks in case it happens again. But today, she’s seeing a specialist — a neurologist. They’re doing scans. EEG, MRI. Trying to rule out epilepsy… or something worse.”

“Cancer?” you whispered.

He nodded once, jaw clenched. “That word’s been hanging in the air like smoke ever since. They’re trying to keep it from the younger ones until they know what they’re dealing with. Trying not to scare them. But…” his voice cracked.

You reached over and touched his cheek, gently turning his face toward yours.

“I’m here,” you said softly. “Not just for days like the masquerade or lazy mornings in bed. I want to be here for this too — your family, your real life. I’m here for it all...”

Harry stared at you, stunned for a beat.

“I’m really grateful you’ve let me in like this,” you added. “You didn’t have to, I know it’s not easy letting people in when things are this difficult and sensitive… but I’m so glad you did. I’m glad I can be here for you, I can take care of you…”

He reached up and covered your hand with his, pressing his mouth to your palm.

“I want you to know all the parts of me,” he said, voice low and steady. “Not just the man you kissed last night, but the parts that love fiercely. That protect. That laugh and cry and screw up sometimes.” he let out a soft chuckle.

Then he looked toward the kids giggling as they tapped the glass excitedly, completely oblivious to the weight of the conversation nearby.

“That means letting you meet the people I love and cherish the most.”

You followed his gaze—Savannah clutching the stuffed unicorn she’d brought from home, little Harry pretending he could speak otter.

And then he looked back at you.

And the way his gaze softened as it landed on your face confirmed that you were slowly becoming one of those parts he cherished too.

By the time you all made it back to Harry’s apartment, the kids were buzzed with aquarium energy and begging for pizza with “extra cheese and dinosaur nuggets”, which Harry diplomatically negotiated down to just extra cheese.

After placing the order, he had been swept up into their whirlwind with a grin that hadn’t left his face since this morning.

You excused yourself to catch up on a few messages and work emails that needed your attention. You sat on the couch and began catching up while listening to the chaos around you.

“Uncle Harry!” Savannah called from the living room, clutching a book she’d fished out of the toy bin — a picture book with a faded spine and glittery stars on the cover. “Can you read this one? You do the funny dragon voice!”

Harry groaned dramatically but with a smirk. “The dragon voice again? That voice hurts my throat, sweetheart.”

Little Harry popped up from behind the couch. “Pleeease?”

He sighed in defeat, flopping onto the rug in the middle of their growing nest of pillows. “Fine. But only because I like you two.”

You smiled from the couch, glancing over your phone as you hit “send” on a short work reply. Harry met your eyes just briefly, and gave you a wink — like he knew you were watching. And then, without hesitation, he dove right in.

The dragon voice was absurd. Deep and gravelly, with a dramatic flair that made both kids squeal with laughter. He switched between characters effortlessly — a prince with a posh accent, a queen with a fake British lilt, a tiny mouse who spoke in squeaks.

You laughed quietly into your sleeve as he performed.

Then came the part where the princess confessed her love to the knight — complete with illustrated sparkles and cartoon hearts.

Harry read it in the most over-the-top romantic tone possible, fluttering his lashes as Savannah clutched her chest in mock swoon.

“And then,” he read, “they got married under the stars, surrounded by dragons and cupcakes. The end!”

Savannah gasped. “Uncle Harry! Would you ever get married under the stars?”

Harry chuckled, closing the book slowly. “I mean… sounds kinda nice, doesn’t it?” He looked at her, smiling adoringly.

“Would you marry her?” Little Harry asked, pointing right at you, eyes wide with the innocent boldness only kids could get away with.

You froze, still on the couch, pretending very hard to check something on your phone even though you were listening to every single word.

Harry let out a soft breath, his voice gentle. “She’s pretty special, kiddo,” he said. “If someone like her wanted to marry someone like me? I think I’d be the luckiest man in the world.”

There it was again, that feeling creeping back up. That feeling that can only mean one damn thing.

“Are you gonna kiss her again?” Savannah asked, giggling.

Harry leaned in, lowering his voice slightly — just loud enough for them, and maybe you, to hear. “That’s between me and the pretty lady, okay?”

“Do you love her, Uncle Harry?” she whispered back almost instantly, cupping her hands around her mouth like she was whispering a secret, even though it wasn’t quiet at all.

Harry paused, glancing once toward you.

You kept your eyes on your phone, but your heart was thudding against your ribs. You could feel a heat slowly creeping up your spine, butterflies completely going mad in your belly.

“I think,” he said softly, looking back at her, “when someone makes you laugh, and makes you feel like… well… you, and wants to be part of your world… it’s easy to start loving them...” He looked down at the book in his hands shyly.

Savannah and little Harry exchanged a knowing look — the kind that only tiny humans with very big feelings could give.

There was a tiny pause.

“Will she come to Grandma and Grandpa’s anniversary trip with us next week?” Savannah asked, her voice bright again. “We need another person for Uno because Grandpa cheats.”

That made Harry laugh, full and real this time. “That’s true, nena... Grandpa does cheat." he settled his laugh and nodded. "And you know what? I’ll ask her later about the trip, how 'bout that?”

They both nodded excitedly and giggled softly.

He must’ve turned because suddenly his voice dropped to a near-whisper, as if trying to keep it between just them. But your ears picked it up anyway.

“She’s special, you two. The real kind. Maybe hold off talkin' about our wedding... we don't want to scare her off, yeah?”

Little Harry whispered something you couldn’t hear, and Harry let out a low laugh that made your chest ache.

You sat there on the couch, with a soft smile tugging at your lips. You didn’t mean to eavesdrop, not really. But you also didn’t want to move and miss a single word. Hearing him with them — patient, playful, and so full of gentle love, it made something in you shift again.

Just as you fell into your thoughts, a knock came at the door for the pizza, and the chaos resumed.

Paper plates were passed out, juice boxes opened, and the kids settled in with slices twice the size of their heads.

You stayed on the couch for a moment, watching it all — Harry kneeling on the floor, passing napkins to sticky hands, laughing when Savannah got sauce on her nose.

He was so good at this. At them. At all of it.

And it made your chest ache in a way that felt like falling. It made you think back to just a few weeks ago when you were walking down the aisle with him – you had no idea this would be where you would be, that you'd be feeling this way.

You had no idea you’d be falling in love with your brother-in-law’s best man after knowing him for less than a month.

It was crazy, right? There’s no way he felt the same way.

Later, after the pizza had been devoured and the sugar crash began to set in, the kids returned to their mountain of toys, chattering about which movie to watch. It was between Peter Pan and Aladdin. The two of them were battling it out in a game of rock, paper, scissors to decide.

While that went on, Harry stood and crossed the room toward you, his steps slow and sure.

He came up behind the couch and leaned over gently, his lips brushing your cheek, then trailing lower to your shoulder, where he let a soft kiss linger.

“Hey,” he said, voice low and full of affection. “You still working, or… do I get to steal you now?”

You looked up at him, smiling. “Steal away.”

He grinned, that boyish one that reached his eyes, and nodded toward the growing pillow pile. “They want to build a fort. I told them it’s only possible with an expert architect.”

“Oh yeah?” you teased.

“And I told them,” he murmured, brushing a strand of hair behind your ear, “I happen to be dating one...”

Your heart swelled as you slid your phone aside and stood, letting him pull you into a warm hug. You rested your forehead against his, both of you quiet for a second as the kids giggled behind you.

“You,” he whispered, “You are a huge reason today has gone so well for these kids. You’ve been my rock. Thank you…”

You looked at him and smiled, “I’ve enjoyed being with you… seein’ you in your ‘uncle’ mode,” you teased.

He chuckled and leaned in, gently kissing your lips once before you hummed and pulled away, speaking softly, “But wait to thank me… at least until after I’ve built the damn best pillow fort these two have ever seen.”

You touched his cheek and grinned, kissing his nose. “One so fantastic – they get a second burst of energy that we will both regret…” You joked.

He chuckled and leaned back in to capture your lips, kissing you slowly and softly once more, lingering on your lips before grinning as he pulled away, “Then it’s a good thing they are going home in a couple of hours, isn’t it?” then winked and started walking back over to the pile of pillows, your hand in his.

The glow of the TV bathed the blanket fort in soft light, flickering over sleepy cheeks and tangled curls. Both kids had finally given in to exhaustion — Savannah curled into a pillow, one sock half off, her stuffed unicorn tucked under her arm; little Harry lay sprawled beside her, his tiny foot resting against your thigh.

You and Harry had shifted into a quieter part of the night. He was stretched out beside you, his arm wrapped comfortably around your waist, fingertips brushing soft circles on your hip beneath the blanket.

His breathing had slowed, and yours matched it — a steady rhythm of comfort and quiet.

You hadn’t said anything for a long moment, watching the movie together, letting yourself simply feel the warmth of him next to you… but something in your chest stirred. Not just from the softness of the evening — but from what you’d felt watching him earlier.

You turned your face toward his shoulder, your voice barely above a whisper. “Can I tell you something?”

Harry looked down at you, his expression immediately attentive and soft. “Always.”

You swallowed softly, your hand trailing along his chest. “Back at the touch pool… when Savannah was scared to touch the stingray, and you knelt down with her and talked her through it so gently—like it wasn’t about the stingray, but about making her feel safe…”

He gave a faint smile. “Yeah?”

You nodded, something tight and wonderful forming in your throat. “It... It kind of broke something open in me...”

His brow furrowed slightly, not out of confusion, but with that careful focus he always gave you when you were trying to say something real.

“I’ve been… hesitant about a lot of things,” you admitted. “About letting someone in that far. About letting anyone in, period. About what it’d look like… long-term. About whether I could really picture all of it — marriage, family, all that." You softly sighed and a warmth filled your chest, "But today, with you… I didn’t just picture it.”

You turned, looking into his eyes now.

“I wanted it.” You paused for a moment, watching his eyes soften. “Harry, I want that with you.”

Harry’s lips parted, his hand sliding up to cradle your jaw as if he needed to touch you to anchor himself.

You smiled through the sudden pressure behind your eyes. “I want forts on the floor. I want more aquarium dates and sticky fingers and bedtime books in silly voices. I want all of it… But only if it’s with you.”

For a moment, all he could do was stare at you — like he was trying to remember every single word, every blink, every curve of your smile.

Then, gently, he leaned in and kissed you — tender and slow, his hand tangling in your hair, his thumb brushing your cheek.

When he pulled back, his forehead rested against yours.

“I’ve never wanted anything more,” he whispered. “And I’ve never been more sure of anything in my life than being with you.”

You were about to speak again, about the ache in your chest, when the front door creaked open quietly, followed by the soft rustle of keys and hushed footsteps.

Simon’s voice came low from the entryway. “Harry?”

Harry gently eased away from you, crawling toward the edge of the fort and lifting one of the blankets aside to peek out at his brother.

“Hey,” he whispered back with a wide smile.

Simon stepped in with Liv just behind him. She looked tired but smiled warmly when she spotted you curled up among the blankets, and even more so when she saw her sleeping kids, at peace and content.

“Sorry we didn't knock... we didn’t want to wake them,” Liv murmured, crouching down beside Savannah, brushing her hair away from her face gently.

“You can let them sleep a bit longer,” Harry said softly. “We can carry them down.”

Simon nodded, but something in his face had changed — a stillness, a weight.

Harry stood slowly. “What is it? What happened at the appointment?”

Simon glanced back at Liv, then met his brother’s eyes.

“We got the results,” he said, voice tight.

You sat up at that, your chest suddenly hollowed out by the shift in the air.

Harry’s voice dropped. “So? What’d they say?”

Liv took a slow breath. “They confirmed it’s a rare form of epilepsy. Not a tumor. Nothing surgical. It’s… manageable.”

Harry’s shoulders slumped with visible relief, but Simon continued.

“They think it’s genetic — a rare juvenile type. We’ll need to meet with a neurologist and work out a treatment plan. Medication, maybe diet changes. But it’s not cancer. She’s gonna be okay.”

Harry exhaled sharply, running both hands through his hair before stepping forward and pulling his brother into a tight hug. Simon clapped a hand on his back, jaw tight as he blinked quickly.

You felt tears prick your own eyes — a complicated, swirling relief.

Liv moved to gather Savannah, murmuring softly as the little girl stirred. Simon lifted little Harry, who barely blinked before settling against his dad’s shoulder again.

“We’ll get out of your hair. Thank you so much for today. I’m sure they had a blast…” Liv whispered, heading to the door.

You smiled and nodded, “It was lovely getting to meet them...”

Simon smiled at you and then nodded towards his brother, “Have a good night, you two. Thanks again for this.” Then he closed the front door behind him.

When Harry turned back to you, you were already standing, eyes soft and warm.

He crossed the room in two steps, wrapping his arms around you tightly, his face buried in your neck. You held him just as fiercely, your eyes slipping shut.

“She’s okay,” you whispered. “They’re okay... It's going to be ok...” you comforted.

He nodded into your skin, a few tears falling from his eyes, feeling completely safe to feel these overwhelming feelings with you.

And for a long moment, the two of you stayed like that — wrapped in a hug that said everything neither of you had the words for yet.

The two of you worked together to clean up the living room. Quietly chatting about soft moments today between the kids, picking up the toys, pillows, and blankets as you reminisced. The movie's credit music played in the background, and the warmth of the kitchen lighting created a soft atmosphere.

You leaned against the kitchen counter after bringing the dishes to the counter, arms crossed loosely as Harry stood across from you, running a hand through his hair.

“Can you stay tonight?” he asked, voice gentler than it needed to be — like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to hope.

You smiled, nodding once toward your shoes at the front door. “It’s late. And I think my shoes already made that decision.”

Harry smirked, eyes flicking down toward your socked feet. “Good. I uh, I didn’t really feel like watching you leave...”

You tilted your head, your voice softer now. “Even after today? The chaos, the impromptu babysitting, the emotional rollercoaster?” You teased.

He chuckled and stepped closer, resting his hand on the counter's edge beside yours, voice becoming more sure and soft. “Especially after today.”

You looked up at him, heart already warmed, and something a little more vulnerable settled between you.

“I know it wasn’t what you probably pictured,” he said, voice low, “your first full day here.”

You watched as his eyes danced over your features. “I wanted to cook for you, put on music, maybe convince you to dance barefoot in the kitchen with me..." He hummed as he found your eyes. "Not throw you into pizza-and-bedtime madness.”

You hummed softly and softly sighed before smiling. “But, I liked today,” you said, honest and firm. “I liked all of it. Even the madness.”

He smiled, gaze softening.

“Still…” he murmured, reaching out to tuck a piece of hair behind your ear, “... let me make it up to you.”

You leaned into his hand slightly. “Oh yeah? How so?”

“Let me take you to bed… start there.” He gently kissed your cheek.

You blushed and felt butterflies stir in your stomach at thinking of what he'd do to make things up to you.

You smiled and turned toward the sink to gather the used plates and glasses from the counter, “Let me finish these up so we don’t have a mess in the morning, then I’m all yours. I promise…”

He stepped up behind you, slow, quiet — until his chest was flush with your back. You stilled, the dishes becoming forgotten in your hands.

He wrapped his arms around your waist and pressed his lips to your neck. The kiss was soft at first. Barely there.

Then another, just below your ear.

Then lower, to your shoulder, as his hands splayed over your stomach, pulling you gently against him.

“Harry…” you whispered, the breath catching in your throat.

“I’ve got someone hired specifically to do my dishes, hermosa…” he said, his voice a husky murmur against your skin. “Now come to bed.”

You set the plate down in the sink, heart suddenly racing.

And when you turned in his arms, he met your eyes with that same quiet intensity that always seemed to undo you completely.

Neither of you said anything – but you didn’t have to.

You simply stepped closer — close enough that your hands slid over his shoulders — and he swept you up effortlessly, your legs wrapping around his waist like it was second nature. His hands gripped your thighs, firm and sure, and he didn’t break eye contact as he carried you through the quiet apartment.

The hallway blurred as you leaned down and kissed him, slow and hungry and aching now, your fingers tangling in his hair.

The soft ambient light from the city spilled in through the windows, casting long golden lines across the sheets. His eyes never left yours as he hovered over you, the weight of the day melting into this single, still moment.

His thumb brushed along your cheekbone, and his voice came low, velvet-warm. “I thought about this all day. You. Here. Us, like this.”

You reached up, fingertips grazing his jaw. “I thought about it too.”

Your eyes fell to his lips like you were under a spell. “I missed you in bed this morning… I wanted more of you...”

“I wish I could’ve stayed…” Then his lips met yours, gently at first. A kiss made of soft sighs and lingering warmth. He kissed you like you were the answer to every question he didn’t know how to ask, slow and steady, deepening until you were breathless beneath him.

As he pulled your shirt over your head and tossed it aside, he took a moment to just look. His gaze traced every inch of you, and when his eyes met yours again, something in them softened — not just lust, but awe.

“You’re beautiful,” he murmured. “Not just like this. You… You are everything to me.”

Your breath caught.

He leaned down and kissed you again, slower this time — his hand moving across your side, like he needed to feel every part of you to make sure this was real.

That warmth simmered low between your bodies as you explored each other slowly, softly. His mouth found your collarbone, your shoulder, trailing kisses as if mapping every curve with intention.

You sighed his name, curling your fingers in his hair, pulling him closer to your body.

But then, his body shifted, not rushed, but more certain. His grip on your hips tightened slightly, his kisses deepened, and that softness between you began to smolder.

He pressed his forehead to yours, breathing hard, voice dipping. “Tell me what you want.”

“I want you,” you whispered, your voice trembling now with something more primal. “All of you.”

That’s all it took. His mouth met yours again, but this time it was different — hotter, hungrier.

His hands slipped beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down with a low groan. He kissed down your stomach, slowly, reverently, then came back up to hover above you, his chest heaving slightly.

“I need to feel you,” he said, voice gravel now. “Need to be inside you.” He cupped your cheek gently.

You nodded, pulling him closer, legs wrapping around his waist as he pressed against you — skin to skin, breath to breath.

When he finally slid inside, you both gasped at the sensation.

He moved slowly at first, grinding his hips deeper with each stroke, his lips brushing yours, your jaw, your neck. He whispered your name, his hands anchoring you to the mattress as the pace between you built — slow burn to wildfire.

Every thrust, every moan, every whispered praise sent sparks shooting through your body.

“I’ve got you,” he breathed against your throat, kissing it gently. “I've got you, mi vida.”

You held him tighter, head tipped back as the rhythm built, pleasure curling at the base of your spine. The way he moved inside you, deliberate and overwhelming, making you feel everything all at once.

“Please… keep going…” You mewled, back arching upwards, gripping his bicep.

“Yeah? Right there, baby?” He kept up the pace, sucking love bites into your neck.

When it finally broke — that tidal wave crashing over you, it was nothing short of electric.

You clung to him, shaking, gasping his name. And he held you through it, murmuring things into your skin you barely registered through the haze of release. Soft, reverent words like, ‘so good, so perfect, I’ve never wanted anything more like I want you.’

And when the world stilled again, when the only sound left was your mingled breathing, he kissed your forehead, temple, and lips, grounding you back to earth.

“I want every night like this,” he whispered into your hair before pressing his forehead against yours.

You touched his cheek, gathering your bearings, and grinned as you panted softly, breath still uneven against his. “God… if this is what every night with you is like, I’m in so much trouble.”

Harry let out a low chuckle, his thumb brushing along your jaw as he looked down at you, completely wrecked and totally in awe. “Trouble, huh?”

You nodded slowly, teasing and breathless all at once. “The kind I wouldn’t mind drowning in, of course”

He kissed your lips once gently. “Then let me ruin you every night.”

He murmured after a beat. “Every night. Every morning. I want them all with you.” before he leaned back in for your lips.

He stayed there, inside you, kissing you slowly, deeply, letting your legs fall from his waist only to adjust, wrapping an arm under your back and shifting you gently, rolling you until you were straddling him.

He looked up at you, hands finding your hips as if they belonged there. “You have no idea how beautiful you are like this, do you?” he asked, breathless and grinning.

You leaned down and kissed him slowly. “I’m beginning to understand based on how you’re lookin’ at me.” You smirked against his lips.

Your bodies found a new rhythm — slower now, but deeper, more connected.

You moved against him, your fingers laced through his, pinning his hands to the bed beside his head as your lips brushed his jaw, his throat, your name like a prayer on his tongue.

He groaned as you rolled your hips again. “Fuck, baby… you feel unreal like this...”

You moved in time with him — your forehead resting against his, your lips brushing his every time you moaned, like breathing each other in was the only thing that mattered.

His hands slipped free to touch you again, one cupping your jaw, the other sliding up your spine to hold you close, anchoring you to him.

“I don’t ever want to come down from this,” he breathed, his voice a ragged edge of longing.

You put your hand over his and moaned his name before breathing, “Neither do I… I can't ge— fuck…” you gasped feeling him start to thrust against your g-spot.

Your forehead fell against his as you started to whimper, “Oh god, you feel so good… right there… don’t stop…”

He nodded frantically and whispered as he felt himself close to climax as well, “Yeah? You gonna cum for me, baby?" then grunted feeling a deep pull behind his navel. "Fuck... where? Where do you want me?"

You nodded and your hips stalled as his continued to thrust up into you, breath quick and shaky, whispering. "Inside me..."

When you fell apart again, this time together, it wasn’t loud. It was felt. Felt in the way his hands held your hips still as he groaned your name. Felt in the way your lips pressed to his shoulder as you gasped into him, trembling with aftershocks.

You collapsed against his chest, both of you sticky with sweat and breathless, wrapped in a tangle of sheets and warmth of each other.

His arms held you there, one hand stroking your back, the other brushing through your hair.

“I meant it,” he whispered after a few moments of quiet, kissing your temple. “I want every night like this… every morning after. All of it.”

You didn’t lift your head. You just smiled into his skin.

“Me too,” you whispered, your fingers lightly drawing slow circles against his chest. “Especially if they all end with you beneath me, looking at me like that.”

He chuckled, sleep already tugging at his voice. “I’m sure I can arrange that, mi cielo.”

You felt sleep pulling you under it’s spell as you hummed in agreement before murmuring, “Will you be here in the morning? No early morning meetings?”

His eyes fluttered shut slowly as he hummed sleepily and murmured back, deep and low in his chest, “I’ll be right here, my love…”

It took you a few seconds to register those two words. But when it clicked, your head shot up from his chest and looked up at him, eyes wide and heart pounding. Except sleep had already taken him as he began lightly snoring.

Your thoughts began to swarm you with a number of questions:

‘My love?’

‘Did he really mean that, or was that just sleep mincing his words?’

‘Was it a term of simple endearment? Am I overthinking this?

'He says things in Spanish… does it mean something different in Spanish?’

‘Does he love me? He said he was falling – but does he actually love me?’

‘Shit. Do I love him?’

You slowly laid your head back down on his chest and thought about that last question for a moment.

After a few moments, a warmth spread through your chest, and a smile spread across your face as the realization hit you:

You love him, and you think he might love you back.

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