I'm Angel. These are my wings.

Most Romantic (or sweetest):

Saturday - poetry and chocolate ice cream - Father in Law!Joel Miller x f!reader

I think these two lovebirds are the sweetest thing I wrote so far, I didn't even plan for them to be like that, it just happened 🥹

Joel is still holding you, his big paws on your ass.  His lopsided smile makes your knees weak, his eyes are fixed on you, lustful chocolate for you to devour, a look that leaves so little to imagination.  Every little wrinkle on his face, every mole and skin blemish, dimples and bald patches in his beard. He calls them flaws, you call them the map of love.  There’s a little scar on his temple, he said it was from hitting something when he was a kid. You’re always eager to kiss it, just because it’s so him.  He makes you think of wabi-sabi, the Japanese concept you once read about. That little scar doesn’t need to be fixed, like everything in him. His beauty is imperfections, raw, authentic, unique, deeply human.  Joel is just like that. Flesh and blood that hunt you down and make you dirty and imperfect but you never felt more liberated and your true self than wrapped in his arms.  “You have my lipstick all over your chin,” you giggle.  “Well, you, too. Think it’s perfect,” he replies, the pad of his fingers brushing your lower lip.  You clean up his and your messy face, lead him to the living room and make him sit on the couch.  “I’m going to put this away and take something to drink, don’t move.”  He gives you that look that always appears on his face when you walk away - longing and yearning. You’d call you both pathetic, but you’re so drunk in love, it’s just sweet. You’ve never seen Joel with that face before, it’s a “yours” face and you wouldn’t give it away for all the money in the world. 

Your Angst-iest writing:

I'm still proud of Everything in its right place first chapter, even if this fic is on hiatus at the moment. I think it's the best angst I've ever wrote so far.

Everything in its right place - Joel Miller x f!reader - Chapter 1 : A wolf at the door

“You know this relationship isn’t working Joel.”  Joel watched his wife, standing up in front of him, saying him she was about to leave.  He hoped it wouldn't happen, but he knew he had taken too many things for granted. This person, this stranger who looked him in the eye and told him she was leaving home, he no longer recognized her. Her eyes were different, a veil of hardness had fallen over them. Her body was different, unwelcoming, her arms stiff at her sides. Her hands, which once enchanted him, seemed unfamiliar, cruel, her fingers thin as claws ready to tear his heart apart. Her entire evasive figure seemed to reject him. “I can't go on like this. You can't go on like this.” Her voice was no longer a melody; those inflections that once delighted him now seemed unbearable, repulsive, hurting his ears. The kitchen walls were oppressive, the sizzling of the pan on the stove an unpleasant backdrop to that confession, the smell of burnt eggs reaching his nostrils like the final confirmation of his defeat. He turned quickly to remove the pan from the heat, cursing when he grabbed the hot handle, throwing the pan and its contents into the sink with a crash that splattered scrambled eggs all over him, the backsplash and the sink.  She stood there motionless, as if none of it concerned her anymore. Not the scream that Joel made, nor the unusable frying pan, nor the eggs that had made a mess everywhere. Joel turned around again, catching sight of the suitcases in the hallway. He looked again at his partner of fifteen years, his high school sweetheart, the woman he thought he knew better than anyone else. The impassive woman standing before him was not her. “You know what's going to happen now,” he hissed. “There's nothing else I can do.” She turned away. Joel felt words welling up in his throat. He opened his mouth, but no sound came out.  He wanted to shake her. He wanted to scream. He wanted to cry.  Joel hadn't cried since they lost Sarah.  He did nothing. He felt a lead weight sink into his heart as she walked in the hallway. He clung to the kitchen counter, his knuckles tight around the white laminate. The daylight streaming in through the window made everything terribly real, the pale December sun enveloping the room in a yellowish, almost sickly hue. Like jaundice, like an infection. The doorbell rang. She opened the door and Brian hurried to take her luggage. Brian, the office colleague whom his wife had invited to dinner once. The office colleague who had eaten at his dining table. Brian. The man who rattled off anecdotes about everything.  Brian. The man who knew a little about everything but only superficially, by his own admission. Brian, the man who had no flavor, totally forgettable, the most ordinary face Joel had ever seen. Brian, the man Joel had thought he never had to worry about. Brian, the man who was taking her away from him. It was a comedy of the absurd. A revolting, low-grade theater performance. Joel yelled his wife's name once. Just once, as she gathered the last of her things. She turned, looked at him, a slight crack of remorse finally bent the corners of her lips and veiled her eyes, she mouthed “I'm sorry,” and she was out the door two seconds later. Everything was shrouded in a gloomy silence. He didn't notice the tears streaming down his cheeks until he saw the damp patches on his gray sweater.  He didn't move until he felt a lick on his fingers. He wiped away his tears and looked down. He didn't even know when Tommy had scampered over there. Brown eyes, black muzzle, black and white coat. He looked at him gently, his slightly panting breath blowing on his hand before licking it again. Joel slumped to the floor, Tommy climbed onto his lap, resting his muzzle on his shoulder. He hugged him. And cried. He cried until he had no more tears left.

Your most humorous:

Closer - Tess x f!reader x Joel

I think both Awakening and Closer have humorous part, especially when it comes to Tommy, he became my funny guy for some reason and I love him 🤭

Closer ending is probably one of the best example of it:

Just as you were about to fall asleep—Tess hugging you and you hugging Joel—the door opened again. All three of you snapped your eyes open, trying to cover yourselves as best you could, Tess grabbing her shirt off the floor, you hiding behind Joel, as Tommy walked into the room. “What the fuck?” Tommy’s jaw dropped; his eyes darted from you to Tess to his brother at a ridiculous speed as he tried to figure out what the hell had happened. “You guys…” he began, pointing his finger at Joel, “fuck, you had a threesome? While I was downstairs keeping watch?!” Then he looked at you again, his eyes lingering, then at Tess, and back at Joel. “Fuck you, were those noises you guys making?! I thought they were fucking infected outside the door!” All three of you burst out laughing; Joel shrugged. “Damn, you could’ve at least invited me!”

Your sexiest:

Bunny - younger!sub!Harry Castillo x curvy mistress!f!reader

For the sexiest thing, I chose Bunny because I love this reader and she turns me on 🤤 I'm really proud of her! And you know how much I love a good boy and Harry is the best boy 😌

The room was silent around you, filled only with your breathing. He felt his pulse quicken, his chest rising and falling in ragged breaths, a light sheen of sweat beading on his neck. Your pussy was just above his hard cock. “Do you want to feel me?” He had never nodded so quickly in his life. “Yes, ma'am.” Even so, he could feel the heat between your legs, the scent of your arousal. He wanted to reach down, dip his fingers into your slick, taste your flavor and make you come on his lips, while your juices were dripping down his mustache, lips, chin, and neck. You would have been sweet on his tongue, intoxicating like a drug. Unconsciously, he pulled hard on his wrists, meeting resistance from the silk ribbon.  You pushed your hips back, brushing his naked cock with your still-clothed pussy and Harry couldn’t help it. He gasped hard, lifting his hips, searching for more friction.  You slapped his face, shooting him a withering look. “Behave.”  “I'm sorry, ma’am,” he whispered, the stinging pain of your slap inflaming his cheek.  Nothing stopped his cock from throbbing, though. Quite the contrary. It had never been so hard. Harry couldn't take his eyes off your breasts, swollen and taut beneath your bodysuit. You followed his gaze. “Would you like to have a taste?” You whispered.  “Yes. Please. Just - fuck - I need it.” “Oh, poor boy, you need it so bad?” you cooed. There was no derision in your voice, no mocking, no pity, just honey and cotton-candy sweetness.  You pulled down the front zipper of your bodysuit, your tits popping free from under the fabric. You smiled at his eager, passionate gaze. He had never seen anything more perfect.  You moved your hips a little upward, your pussy now brushing on his stomach as you leaned in, your tits one inch above his mouth.  “Take it, baby, show me how much you want it,” you whispered in his ear.  Harry didn't need to be told twice. His neck stretched out, his lips closed over one of your nipples, and his cock twitched desperately at the sensation. It was soft, warm and tasted so good. It was like it was made for his mouth.  Your fingers entangled in his hair, roaming through his curls. You moaned, “Good job” and the praise went straight down his spine and filled his limbs. He felt your breath itching while his mouth continued to suck, his tongue swirling eagerly over your hardened bud, his teeth gently grazing, enough to make you moan again.  He smiled against your skin, feeling proud, feeling so good about being able to elicit that kind of reaction in you.  “Yeah, baby, go on, suck on them.” Your pussy was throbbing, he could feel it distinctively, your wetness making the leather slippery and wetting his stomach.  He put his mouth on your other breast, giving it the same treatment, your soft skin making his head spin. He wanted you so badly, so badly he wasn’t even able to express how much in words at that point. 

most romantic (or sweetest): i went with this little bit from the final chapter of feral. it's not the words used, necessarily, but i think there's just something so inherently romantic about two people who belong together and who would find each other in every life.

“I’m glad you found me.” You say, leaning your head back on his shoulder. “I would’ve died without you.”

“I would’ve died without you too.” He whispers against your temple. 

There are different kinds of death, and you know that yours and Joel’s aren’t the same. You would’ve died in the practical sense— Too young, too sheltered, too inexperienced to survive a world that is designed to eat you whole. And sure, maybe you would’ve survived long enough to reach Jackson, and maybe Maria would’ve been welcoming to you even without knowing you’re Joel’s soulmate, but the odds have never been in your favor. You probably would’ve died before that, either from the elements or by the teeth of infected or the hands of people. 

Joel’s death is one of the souls. He would’ve died without you because he needs you, pure and simple— Needs his mate, needs the half of his soul that makes up your DNA. He would’ve withered away, his mind breaking down before his body did, a man left more animal than human until there was nothing but primal instinct. 

You’re not certain which one is worse. 

“I would’ve found you.” He says, as if sensing where your thoughts were leading to. “In every life, every universe— There is not a single alternative to that. I would’ve found you and taken you home.”

your angst-iest writing: idk if this is cheating or not because i haven't posted this yet but mercy kill is definitely the angst-iest fic i've ever written! it's a joel miller x reader thingie i'm cooking up, i sort of put a pause on this because it requires a very specific mindset but i want to get back to it once i'm done with sotw!

None of your bullets hit him. His big body collides with yours, shoulder to your chest as he throws you both to the ground; his arms cage you as you fall, your head hitting hard against something— A rock, a tree root, the ground. You don’t know and you don’t have time to figure out because his closed fist hits your cheek hard enough to send your entire body to the left. Your gun is nowhere to be seen but you figure that doesn’t matter much, since it’s been rendered useless; you grab whatever you can, gasping for air when he puts his entire weight on your chest. Apart from the original punch he’s not really trying to hurt you, more like immobilize you but in your panic you don’t even notice, your fingers wrapping around the barrel of the rifle that is still on his back. You yank, and you try to roll to the side, your hips pushing against his as you try to find any sort of leverage to get him off of you. 

The world stops when you feel the sharp edge of a hunting knife on the soft cleft underneath your chin. You freeze and so does he, his eyes wild and angry, his entire body weight still suffocating you; you wait for the mercy kill he owes you but it doesn’t come, his knife still against your skin, his eyes frantically searching your face. 

Joel opens his mouth but he’s cut off by a gurgling sound from behind him. The girl, sitting against a tree, her brown eyes wide with fear and pain as she clutches her neck, dark red blood pouring from between her fingers. 

Turns out your aim isn’t so bad, after all.

Joel seems to forget you entirely; he jumps off of you with the sort of agility of a man thirty years his senior, dropping to his knees next to the girl his hands replace her on the bullet wound to the side of her neck; she topples towards his chest, her breathing wet and wrong, her dark eyes hazy.

“No, no no no—” He mumbles, clutching her to his chest. “No, Ellie, please—”

your most humorous: i think loudmouth is the closest i got to writing a rom-com and i just love they main character's voice so much? she's funny and witty, idk if there's one specific part that i would say is the most humorous but just rather the entire vibe of that fic.

“Would you ever fuck me?”

Tommy stumbled at Flora’s words, looking back at her with wide brown eyes. He had been awfully quiet that particular morning, even though it wasn’t how he usually did their patrols; Tommy was charming and talkative, and always had some lame joke that made her giggle or an interesting fact about the Before Times when Flora was too young to remember anything.

“Kid— What? Listen, you’re— I mean, you’re a real nice girl but— I mean, I— I’m old.”

“So you can’t get it up? I think Old Man Earl can trade you some pills for that.” She shrugged, adjusting her backpack. “You’re what, late forties? Early fifties at most? I thought erectile dysfunction didn’t hit until your sixties. Did your dick go limp early because of stress?”

The grunt he made was enough for Flora to know she’d said the wrong thing; it had meant to be just a little teasing, something to get him laughing and to bring the teasing spark back to his eyes like he often did before the breakup with his wife, but the moment his face soured at her comment it was clear that he was quite aware of the comments being made around town. 

“That’s what y’all sayin’, huh? That Maria left me ‘cause of a limp dick?”

Flora had never heard him sound so bitter before, his lips twisted into a self-depricating smirk. She wanted nothing more than to wipe it away from his face. 

“I mean, yeah, but I don’t believe it.” Flora was quick to answer. “And I didn’t tell anyone, by the way. Quite the opposite, really. The walls are super thin, you know. I can totally hear you jacking off in the shower every morning.” 

Tommy paused his steady walk so abruptly that Flora walked into his back, her hands grasping his red flannel to steady herself. He stared at her with wide, panicked eyes. 

“What’you mean, ‘quite the opposite’? You been tellin’ people I jack off in the shower?”

“Uhm, no?” Flora wrung her hands over her stomach, hating how much it sounded like a lie even if it wasn’t. “Christ, of course not, Tommy. I’d never do that.” 

It had been her first choice, though. She could’ve told Jenny that she knew he didn’t have a limp dick because he got morning wood way too often for a man his age, but she figured he might stop jerking off if he knew she could hear it and, well, Flora found the grunt he made when he came quite cute. 

your sexiest: this one was the hardest bc i don't think any of my writing is sexy lmao i ended up going with this scene from just a hand because i think clint tellling someone to shut up is the hottest thing on the fucking planet but i gotta be honest, it's mainly so i wouldn't double dip because there's a scene in the last feral of feral where joel's all sweaty building the bunny pen that also does something for me lol

Clint pauses by the front door, one hand holding his leather jacket, the other still on the doorknob. There is a brief, heavy silence as he looks at the screen. You hit the eject button a second too late, kneeling on the floor too far away from the VCR, having to stretch yourself to reach it. 

“You forgot to rewind it.” You say, mostly because you’re not certain what to do when getting caught watching the hardcore Eastern European porn your boyfriend had been watching in his living room TV. “I wasn’t sure what it was, so I just hit play and… Uh… I can go back to the part where you stopped if you want.” 

“I was doing research.” Clint tells you. He closes the door behind him, but makes no move to leave the entryway. “Heard you on the phone the other night, gossiping with your friend. Naughty girl, telling someone else all about our business.”

His words send a thrill down your spine. “I’m sorry.” You say, but you’re anything but. “I know how private you are. I didn’t mean to—”

“I didn’t say you could talk.” 

Your Angst-iest writing: Smack my b*tch up (Joel x reader x Tommy x raiders)

“So we have a new pussy to fuck,” he said once you were in his bedroom, and you hadn’t anticipated the pang of jealousy that painfully shot through your heart. You hated him for what they were about to do to her. You hated him for instilling this jealousy in you. You hated that part of him, and you hated yourself for being unable to hate all of him, not only his cruel side. “I'm so sick of your mood swings and manipulation!” You didn’t think before you slapped him, only the noise made you realize what you just did. He grabbed your wrist and held it against his face. His eyebrows were furrowed, but he was more surprised than angry.  “Sometimes I wish I was dead, you know? You’re playing your little games, fucking with my brain. You enjoy it? You never… I don’t know… can't you stop being a fucking asshole?” You saw in his eyes the pain he felt when he heard you, as if the idea of ​​you being dead was unbearable to him. He sighed and released your wrist then went to the window. He brushed one of the butterflies and said “her name was Sarah, and I lost her on outbreak day.” “Stop it. Please. Don't tell me about… before. Don't give me pieces of you, just to tear them apart later. I can't stand the way you're manipulating me anymore.” “I don't… fuck, I'm trying to explain. I care about you. But I shouldn't, I can't run this place like that.” “Stop it. Joel, please.” “Listen to me. Since the outbreak day, I haven't cared about anyone else, except Tommy and Tess. I don't know how to act with you. I don't know what's normal.” “Well, that's easy, Joel. All this… the camp, the way you run it, is not normal. You care about me, I heard it. And so what? You're gonna punish me harder than the other women as a reward?” He frowned and you stared at him. He was tired, for the first time you noticed the dark circles under his eyes.

Your most humorous: playgirl (dbf!Javi x reader)

The cool air hit your face when you stepped out of the bar, and you followed Javi to his car as best you could, given his pace. He opened a door for you and told you curtly to get in, then he sat behind the wheel. “Seat belt,” he ordered. “What?”  “Jesus, are you always so fucking dumb when you're drunk?” he asked sharply, leaning over you to grab the seat belt and pull it in front of you before fastening it. “You smell good, Javi.” “Seriously? How many drinks did you have? Just… stop talking, ok? You're gonna give me a headache with your drunk high pitched voice.” “Ok, you fucking stink, then,” you giggled.

Your sexiest: The date (Joel x reader ; Frankie x reader)

You had agreed online that he could touch you at the bar, if the attraction between you was there. After the three of you drank your first shot, he brushed your back with his large hand, before resting it on your lower back. His caress was light but firm, and you felt shivers run down your spine.  His eyes landed on Frankie, to check if he was still okay with it. He nodded. Seeing you being seduced by that man was already turning him on and he was getting hard. Joel placed his hand on your bare knee, your skirt hiked up your thighs, just after Frankie said something funny that made you laugh. “I love that little laugh, it’s really cute. It’s one of the things that is gonna get you fucked tonight. That and these hips that are just begging to be grabbed, sweetheart.” You held your breath when you heard him. Your panties were soaked even though he had barely touched you. His hand slipped between your thighs, and glided to your panties which he delicately pushed aside. His middle finger ran over your wet folds and you couldn’t stop a moan from escaping your lips. “Quiet. Don’t want a sound here, keep your moans for the bedroom,” he said firmly as his middle finger found its way between your walls. Your pussy clenched on his finger as you squirmed on your stool, and he smirked. “Curling your toes already? Oh, sweetheart… you’re never gonna forget this night.”

Ben approaches Frankie leisurely, dissolving the gap between them before Frankie has time to state anything else. A couple of steps are enough for Ben to stand in front of Frankie, bewitching him. 

He takes the glass from Frankie's hands, not breaking eye contact as he puts it down. Stealing Frankie’s breath with the intensity in his gaze. Ben holds his hand out, palm facing upwards- hesitant, almost shy, unusual for him and his confidence, and murmurs, “Dance with me.”

His words land on Frankie’s chest. They reverberate against his ribs as he feels his blush bloom, turn scarlet. Any thought of teasing Ben evaporates. Ben’s question, his beseech, feels too meaningful to taint it with a silly joke. 

Frankie goes to him and slips his hand into Ben’s, feeling Ben's warm spread to his palm- an action they have done a million times before, and still remains as electrifying as the first time. Reverent. 

Ben pulls Frankie, guiding him to the living room, tugging Frankie closer to his chest once they settle in the middle of the room.

Slotting their bodies is easy, instinctual. They stand, chest to chest, fitting perfectly. As if they had learned each other's geography long ago, naturally knowing where to push, where to guide, and hold. Frankie's hand goes to Ben's nape, caressing the hinge of his jaw with his thumb, while Ben's lands on his lower back, grounding Frankie.

They move slowly, uncaring of the music’s tempo. Swaying more than anything else. Wrapped around each other, aching, sinking into each other's scent, masculine and familiar, of home. Sinking into everything they have yet to say out loud.

Frankie’s thumb settles behind Ben's ear, drawing him closer, burying his fingers in Ben’s hair, to kiss him. It’s just a press of lips tasting of beer and want. Certain. Firm. Unhurried. Unhesitating. Simple yet mighty. A kiss that says mine and yours. A kiss bestowed with the quiet certainty of someone who knows what he craves, the sureness that will be met in the middle, reciprocated with the same intent, the same devotion. A kiss that makes Frankie's heart yearn in the best way. Ben hums into the kiss, surprised but happy to oblige, melting into it, deepening it, licking Frankie's lips as his fingers toy with the hem of Frankie’s shirt, craving his skin.

They stop gradually, having no rush to nurture the passion shimmering between them. Abhorring the idea of any space between them, Frankie noses Ben's cheek, thieving a smile from Ben’s lips before pressing his forehead to Ben's.

"Marry me." 

Your Angst-iest writing: The Mirage of a Goodbye (Din Djarin x fem!able bodied reader)

“What have you done?” She demands. The pain of his betrayal stabs her, slicing her heart, and making her recoil in disbelief and rage.

“It’s yours.”

“Mine?” 

“It’s my gift to legitimise your reign," he offers, raising his palm, trying to hold hers. But she moves backward, using the table as a barrier, swatting his attempts, her pain blinding her to the damage her rejection provokes.

“It’s not. This is a curse. Tradition…”

“You’re breaking tradition. I thought…”

“You thought? How could you? The only way to yield it is by winning it in combat. You know it.  Everyone knows the legend. What have I done to deserve this?”

“I only wanted to help,” he implores, failing, interrupted by her reproaches.

“Help? How? By leaving when I needed you the most?" Her finger points at him accusingly, being both judge and executioner. "The only reason the Lords accept me as their Queen is because I’m the only option. And you go and bring this? No one would believe I’d best you. They are going to declare it’s a favor from the Gods.”

“I…”

“Is this your attempt to get the crown without bloodshed? You would have more than enough shore. The Armorer and his cohort still think the crown should have gone to your father, not mine.”

“I’d never do that.”

“Color me surprised," she scoffs, "your actions are speaking quite loudly. Perhaps I should do that, give you the crown, and be free from everything."

Your most humorous: Maple (Pero Tovar x fem!able bodied reader)

“Hi, Baby!” Maple the Fox, with red fur as vibrant as fire, black socks, and a belly as white as snow, is one of the center stars. “Did you have fun on your hike?” 

His greetings never lack enthusiasm, overflowing with joy and endless requests to be petted, making you forgetful of the small metal box he has brought.

The day you meet him, he was barely a few weeks old, an orphan hurt almost beyond survival. A spunky little thing that surprised everyone with his will to live, to grow as large and strong as he is now, with scars anointing him as unreleasable, but perfect to become a wildlife ambassador, one of the protectors of this woodland reserve.

But your moment is interrupted by another presence, by a man arriving from the same spot Maple came less than a minute earlier.

“You little shit! ¡Cuándo te coja te voy a despellejar vivo! (When I get my hands on you I’m going to skin you alive!)” His growls reverberate in the clearing you're sitting in as he walks towards you. He's big, with broad shoulders accentuated by a red plaid shirt, a warrior of the past with jeans and hiking boots instead of a chainmail and cape. His face is scowling, full of anger, an intimidating presence hardened by the scar crossing his left eye and the rifle he's holding. 

You rise unconsciously, carefully tracking his movements, embracing Maple in your arms, determined to protect him, no backing out despite the dread expanding in you as he comes closer. Only stopping once he's standing in front of you -slightly panting after his run- close enough to notice his dark eyes study your face and cast accusations with no knowledge. Biting at you with his words, acting more like an animal than a man.

“Is he yours?!” Your body answers with a jolt, nodding at his question, afraid of what he could do.

He is, sort of. As much as he can be. You’re his primary caregiver, his handler out of the center, and the one who takes him out so he can taste some of the freedom he deserves to live in.

“He stole my compass.” He points a finger at Maple, staring at him with a calculating look, measuring what he would need to do to swipe him from your arms. Instilling more than just fear. Pissing you off, extinguishing your want to hide, inciting your protective instincts, turning you blind to the threat he could be, to the rifle now resting against his side thanks to a leather strap that he could aim at you at any beat.

“Hey!” You shield Maple with your torso, yelling at him and his glare. “How about you calm down!”

“Listen señorita (miss)…”

“This is a reserve," you say, almost shouting at him, interrupting him before he can say anything else. "Hunters are not allowed in here! You cannot appear and start barking orders.”

“What?” He gapes at you, slapped by your attitude, lowering his gaze to his side for a second, glancing back at you with his cheeks and neck colored, darkened by the blood accumulating below the surface. “I… Shit… I’m not…”

You stare at him expectantly, raising an eyebrow, chasing an explanation. Straining to keep your expression blank, cling to your exasperation and hide your interest at his reaction, at how this gruff man seems so out of words, at how your lips want to curl upwards in delight at his discomfort, and how adorable he looks.

“It’s just a tranquilizer rifle.” 

“So…” 

“I’m one of the forest rangers.” 

“Oh!” And suddenly, he's not a complete stranger. 

Your sexiest: Touch of Love (Harry Castillo x fem!able bodied reader)

It’s torture; sweet, sublime, addictive torture. 

"Yeah, Harry... Stay still…" her moan pairs his, pure bliss, shattered as he is, but somehow still alert enough to be coherent. It pierces the dense haze of lust governing his brain, demanding his attention as Harry's thick shaft fills her to the brim, almost threatening to split her as the head of his cock presses her cervix.  

“I need to… fuck, baby, I need to move," he unashamedly pleads, nuzzling her sternum, before licking the mole darkening the skin between her breasts, drunk in their scent, the reek of arousal and sweat.

“No... no… not yet... Harry, just a little bit more.” Her left palm travels upwards, while the right claws his shoulder, burying her fingers in his curls to scratch his scalp, making him groan and forfeit his resolve to stay still as he leans on her touch.

The shift is small, a slight rock of his hips forward, but enough to cause a ripple. A fresh drool of her arousal spills, coating his groin as her core tightens her hold on his shaft, almost smothering him, stoking the fire between them, thieving a growl from his chest as his hands squeeze her hips harder.

“Baby,” he shudders, ready to burst, to fill her with his seed, claim her. 

“I know…” She kisses his forehead, slowly, with her mouth half-open, and exhales, sighing. She cups Harry's jaw, curling her fingers as she toys with his scruff, coaxing him to look at her. “You’re being so good to me.”

Your Angst-iest writing: Take Me Home Tonight - Frankie Morales x f!reader (I'm sorry about it, the whole story is very angsty, but there is hope!) Context: Reader sees Frankie for the first time after their breakup

"I... did therapy, still do, I've been sober for 6 months now–" You want to scream hearing this. "Great! You're better, you went to therapy, you're clean. So you just had to leave me to get better, is that what you are saying?" It hurts too much to hear this. How dare he do better now, alone, after everything you went through, together? "No, I got better for you." He takes a few steps, stops again when he sees you take one step backward. You need that gap to be large enough that it can't be crossed. "That's not enough." "I know... I know it's not. But I was hoping..." Another step forward. You don't move. "What? What were you hoping? That I would run into your open arms? That I would forget everything after you hurt me, lied to me." The distance so vast as you both look into each other's eyes. His pleading, like always, yours... You don't know. "No. I was hoping that maybe... I could try to make amends? Talk, maybe become friends, maybe..." He lets his head fall down, a slight deprecative laugh, "Maybe win you back." The laugh you let out is ugly. "You thought wrong." "Clearly." He comes closer, if you extend your arm, you'll be able to graze his chest. You don't move backward. "Listen... I will leave you alone, I promise. But know that I mean it when I say I did this for you. When I left, you asked me to do it for the next one. But I never wanted someone else. It was always you, even when I didn't know you. It took me time to understand, time to figure it out as I was alone and scared in my darkness. I still had nightmares, and sleeping alone made it worse. I hate sleeping alone, sleeping without you. You were my life, you ARE my life, my breath. You kept me warm when my mind surrounded me with cold." When did he get so close? So close you feel his arms around you, gentle arms holding you as you cry. Sobbing at his words, the ones you didn't want to hear but desperately needed to. His comforting arms, that you missed so much, holding you, while he whispers his regrets, his sorrow, over and over, calming you down. "I hate you." "I know." "I was never supposed to cry again because of you."

Your most humorous: Over the Andes - Frankie Morales x ofc wirtten as a reader insert (I don't think I'm the best at writing something funny, but I think this part isn't bad on the humour side) Context: Santi and Frankie are talking over the phone

"Holà mamabicho. [Hi cocksucker]" Santi's laugh is so loud he knows he was right to step outside. "¡Hijueputa! [Son of a bitch] How's life? How do you feel about having a roommate for, let's say, a month or two?" "¡Coño! ¡Eres rico, ve a un hotel! [Fuck! You're rich, go to a hotel!]" "But what fun would it be? Plus, I want to hang out with my best friend, and my niece when she's home. I need her to love me more than all her other uncles, and I fear she has forgotten me." "She most certainly has, and I want to keep it that way." Frankie knows Pope can read between the lines, he'll actually be happy to have him in the house. "Think of it this way. I can babysit! That way you can go out, find a girl and be less mopey and grumpy." "Bicho [Dick], I'm neither." "Well, I heard you had a new employee, sorry, 'colleague', a smart and pretty one, right your type." "How did you–" But he doesn't finish his sentence, knowing he walked right into that trap. "Ha ha! You are not denying it!" The triumph in his voice makes Frankie want to hang up. "Fuck you, Pope," He says, defeated, his hand wiping his face. "Don't worry, Will told me you mentioned someone new at work, and that he noticed a subtle body language that made him suspicious. And I just wanted to test my theory." "Yeah, well, nothing's happened, and nothing is going to happen. I didn't make a good first impression, and I doubt she's into stupid single dads." "Damn, Fish, you aren't the best at flirting, but that might be the worst first impression ever," Pope murmurs after hearing all about it. "Yeah, I know." "Don't worry, I'll be here to give you dating tips." "I don't need your tips. Let me remind you of your dating history: the STD, the angry husband, the time you almost got arrested for–"

Your sexiest: Just Another One, Baby - Dieter Bravo x f!reader (listen, this was my first unbashful smut, and I'm still proud of it, even if I've written way dirtier since)

Context: None, this is pure pwp

"Shhhh, you're doing good, so good baby. You can give me another one" You’re whimpering, a puddle in his hands and mouth. "I can't... I, I can't..." you can barely talk as your hands grip the pillow under your head, just like he asked you, because you need to be good for him.  You can feel the slight break in him, "You just have to say the word baby and I'll stop." But you can't, you won’t, his sultry voice, his touch, him, he’s driving you crazy. And he knows you, there is no real concern here, he knows you won't ask him to stop. Because just the fact that he tells you this, it reminds you that you are in total control and it helps you. So you don't say anything, you just moan his name, the d, i and e rolling on your tongue, the second syllable almost absent, cut off by a gasp as he slowly strokes your clit with his nose. "That's what I thought," and you can hear the smirk in his voice, before his mouth goes back to work on you again. The little reprieve he gave you helping, as he drags his tongue in and out of you, unrelenting. You don't see him, the headscarf blinding you. But you can sense him. Everything feels brighter, louder. His touch, his mouth, light and heavy all at once, feel like anchors. His voice so low alternating between commanding and soft words, so full of desire and love. You can guess every expression on his face. You can hear the noise his mouth is making, filthy sounds that deepens your need for him, his low moans almost growls, coming out of his throat, vibrating on your core.

NPT: @imaswellkid @petalsinblood @sawymredfox @baronessvonglitter @oonajaeadira @maggiemayhemnj @sizzlingcloudmentality @savedyounine @littlemisspascal @missadangel @kokoluwie @mcthsman @penvisions @capuccinodoll @the-blind-assassin-12 @quinnnfabrgay-main @half-moon16 @myownwholewildworld @sin-djarin @kedsandtubesocks @604to647

Your lashes fluttered open slowly and there he was, leaning over you beneath the pale morning light spilling through the floor-to-ceiling windows of his bedroom. His hair was slightly messy from sleep, dark curls falling carelessly onto his forehead, his jaw still rough with the beginnings of stubble. Bare. Warm. One arm braced beside your head while the other stayed wrapped around your waist beneath the sheets, like even in sleep he hadn’t risked letting you drift too far away.

His mouth brushed yours again, warm and slow, carrying traces of whiskey from last night mixed with his cologne and yours still lingering faintly on his skin. Beneath it all was the unmistakable scent of sex still clinging to both of you — slept-in sheets, bare skin, sweat, tangled limbs, and hours spent wrapped around each other instead of sleeping.

Your breath caught softly against his lips, somewhere between a laugh and disbelief.

“Mm… good morning to you too, handsome,” you murmured sleepily, stretching slightly beneath him.

Harry’s eyes softened instantly at the sound of your voice. “Marry me,” he repeated, lower this time, his lips leaving yours to press slow kisses along your jaw and down the side of your neck.

You let out a quiet breath at the sensation, fingers sliding lazily into his hair. “You’re very persistent this morning, Mr. Castillo.”

“Consistent,” he corrected smugly against your skin.

His mouth drifted lower, brushing over your collarbone now, lingering there just long enough to make your breathing deepen. You felt his smile against your skin when a small sigh escaped you.

You laughed softly under your breath. “Consistently trying to manipulate me while I’m half asleep, apparently.”

Harry hummed thoughtfully. “Worth trying.” His hand slid slowly along your bare thigh, his warm palm smoothing over soft skin as he pulled you closer against his naked body beneath the sheets, like there hadn’t been a single moment during the night where he hadn’t needed to touch you somehow. The lingering warmth between your thighs made you shift slightly, still sticky and oversensitive from hours earlier, the feeling clinging to your skin with every small movement beneath the blankets. Sleep still fogged your mind, but the faint reminder of him left against your body made your cheeks warm as you tucked yourself closer into his chest.

“Manipulation before breakfast. Impressive.”

“I prefer strategic persistence.”

Your stomach tightened instantly. “Harry,” you murmured, finally opening your eyes properly now.

Your hand pressed lightly against his chest, trying to push him back enough to look at him, but the moment his hand settled higher against your thigh, your breath caught again.

“Not wearing the ring yet is not the same thing as rejecting you.”

A slow smile pulled at his mouth. “Still sounded suspiciously close to rejection.”

You rolled your eyes lightly, fingers brushing through his curls before your gaze flicked toward the digital clock sitting on the nightstand beside the bed. “You proposed less than ten hours ago.”

“And I’m already prepared to ask again,” he murmured against your jaw. A kiss. “Repeatedly.” Another. “Until you say…” Then another, on the lips. “…yes.”

You laughed softly into the kiss this time, your arms slipping around his neck as you finally gave up trying to resist him entirely, letting yourself melt back into the sheets beneath him.

Eight hours earlier…

The Vestry— 8:17 p.m.

The Vestry had never looked like this before.

The restaurant still breathed with its usual elegance—low golden lighting, dark polished wood, the distant clink of crystal and silver somewhere far from the private section hidden deeper inside—but tonight, everything near your table had been transformed into something quieter. More intimate.

Every surrounding table had been cleared for the evening. Reserved. Untouched.

Deep red peonies bloomed across the room in low arrangements surrounded by candlelight, their petals scattered carefully along the dark floor leading toward the center table like someone had spent hours making sure every detail felt intentional.

And someone had.

Harry stood near the table in a black suit he very clearly had not worn all day. Everything about him looked deliberate tonight.

The sharp lines of the tailored jacket. The crisp black shirt beneath. The silver watch at his wrist. Even his curls had been styled back more carefully than usual, though a few strands had already fallen loose again from how many times he’d dragged his hand through them in the last twenty minutes alone.

Because Harry Castillo— was nervous. Actually nervous.

The small velvet ring box rested in his hand while he stared at it for what was probably the hundredth time tonight.

That ring.

Fresh from Harry Winston after being professionally restored only days ago, the diamond caught the candlelight in violent flashes every time he moved it.

Harry turned the ring slowly between his fingers, quiet for a moment as he imagined it where it belonged.

Back on your hand.

A faint smile pulled at his mouth before he could stop it.

Around him, the staff moved carefully, attentively, adjusting candles, straightening glasses, checking the flowers for what was probably the tenth time tonight. The Vestry had always treated the two of you differently. It was where you first met, where your first dinner turned into something neither of you had managed to walk away from afterward. Everyone here knew that.

And everyone in Manhattan knew Harry Castillo.

Some of the staff had watched your first marriage unfold in real time from these very tables. Some remembered the nights Harry used to come here alone after the divorce, sitting at the same table for hours with a whiskey in front of him he barely touched.

So the second the private reservations came in tonight, whispers had spread through the restaurant almost instantly.

Mr. Castillo is proposing again.

Which explained why every single detail tonight had been handled with almost ridiculous care. The red peonies. The candles. The completely cleared section of the restaurant surrounding your table. Even the musicians near the bar had been quietly instructed to hold At Last until the exact moment you arrived.

A few lingering guests near the main dining area had started noticing the atmosphere, especially the women openly watching Harry with varying levels of envy and emotional investment.

Because unfortunately for everyone involved— he looked devastating tonight.

One of the managers approached carefully.

“Mr. Castillo, the wine pairing has been prepared and the kitchen is ready whenever you are.”

Harry nodded once. “Thanks.”

“The flowers were refreshed twenty minutes ago as requested.”

Another nod.

“And the musicians have your timing.”

“Perfect.”

The manager smiled knowingly before stepping away again.

Harry exhaled slowly and pulled out his phone. Ron picked up almost immediately.

“Well?” Harry asked.

“She just left,” Ron said proudly. “Dana confirmed it herself.”

Harry’s stomach tightened instantly. “She’s on her way?”

“She’s on her way.”

Ron paused. Then—

“You okay?”

Harry looked down at the ring again. “…no.”

“Boss, relax. She’s going to say yes.”

“You sound very confident about that.”

“You’re wearing that suit. At this point saying no would qualify as a felony in at least three states.”

Harry laughed at that, then, before he could answer, one of the servers approached him quickly.

“Mr. Castillo,” he said softly, unable to hide his smile, “Ms. Queen just arrived.”

Everything inside Harry seemed to stop.

Then immediately start all over again twice as hard. His pulse slammed against his ribs. He swallowed. Adjusted his cuff. Straightened his jacket unnecessarily.

The server discreetly disappeared again while Harry reached for one of the untouched glasses of water on the table, taking a slow sip just to give his hands something to do besides shake.

Then— he turned toward the entrance.

And there you were.

The moment you stepped inside, the entire room seemed to narrow around you automatically.

The hostess greeted you softly while another employee carefully took your coat, but your attention had already drifted past them into the restaurant itself.

At first, all you noticed were the empty tables. The flowers. The candlelight. The scattered crimson petals across the floor.

Then your eyes lifted further.

And found him.

Harry stood waiting near the center table, one hand resting loosely near his pocket, the black suit fitting him so perfectly it almost knocked the breath from your lungs entirely.

No. Not almost. It did.

For one suspended second, you genuinely forgot how to breathe.

He looked— more handsome than you remembered. More handsome than your wedding day somehow.

And nervous.

That part hit you hardest.

His smile widened the second your eyes met, something vulnerable flickering behind all that composure so briefly most people would’ve missed it completely.

But you never missed things when it came to him.

Soft jazz drifted through the room around you.

At Last.

Without thinking, you started walking toward him. Drawn. Like your body already knew where it belonged.

Harry didn’t move either.

He just watched you approach him slowly, his gaze locked onto yours with an intensity that made the entire room disappear piece by piece until it felt like only the two of you still existed inside it.

You stopped inches away from him. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to smell the faint cedar and amber of his cologne.

Your lips parted slightly, but your thoughts had stopped functioning somewhere halfway across the restaurant.

“Harry…”

Your eyes flicked around the room once more before returning to him helplessly.

Harry smiled crookedly.

God. That smile.

“Welcome, baby.”

His voice gave him away immediately. Harry tilted his head slightly, wetting his lips once before extending one hand toward you.

“I’ve been waiting for you.”

You automatically placed your hand in his.

His fingers closed around yours instantly before he lifted your hand and pressed a soft kiss against your knuckles.

And suddenly— you understood.

Really understood.

All of it.

The flowers. The empty room. The music. The way he looked at you.

Your heart climbed straight into your throat. Your eyes burned almost immediately, emotion crashing into you so fast it nearly made you dizzy. A small part of you—the part that still hated losing control, hated surprises, hated not being emotionally prepared—tried to panic for half a second.

But Harry’s thumb brushed slowly over your hand. And the panic disappeared beneath something louder. Something warmer.

Harry took one slow breath. Then another. Like he was steadying himself.

Finally— without letting go of your hand— he lowered himself onto one knee.

Your breath caught completely.

This felt nothing like the first proposal.

That one had been impulsive. Reckless. Like the two of you had collided into something inevitable too fast to stop yourselves from falling into it.

But this— this had been chosen. Thought about. Planned carefully. Earned through every mistake, every heartbreak, every impossible road that somehow led you back to each other anyway. Built carefully piece by piece by someone who knew exactly what this moment meant.

And because you knew him so well, you could see every emotion fighting behind his eyes all at once.

Hope. Fear. Love.

And something unbearably vulnerable underneath all of it.

Harry lifted your hand again, pressing another kiss against your skin before finally speaking.

“My love…”

Your tears spilled instantly at the way he said it.

“I wanted to do this here,” he said softly, glancing briefly around the restaurant. “At the place where I first held your hand. Where we had our very first dinner.” His gaze returned to yours. “It didn’t feel right anywhere else.”

Your lips trembled.

Harry smiled gently when you nodded through your tears.

Then he inhaled deeply and reached into his jacket pocket.

The moment you saw the black velvet box— your heart stopped.

Harry opened it carefully.

And there it was.

The same ring. The same one he had proposed with seven years ago. The same ring you wore for two years. The same ring you placed back into his hand on the courthouse steps the day your marriage ended.

The same ring he had apparently kept through every year apart.

Every what if. Every almost. Every version of losing you.

But now— it somehow looked different.

Not because the diamond had been restored.

Because you had.

Your vision blurred completely.

“Harry you--” you whispered shakily.

“Wait,” he said softly, smiling through his own emotion now. “Please let me ask properly.”

You nodded immediately despite the tears slipping endlessly down your cheeks.

Because suddenly you realized— he had probably spent all night thinking about this moment.

Harry looked at you for a long second before speaking again.

“Do you remember what I said the first time I asked you?”

You didn’t even have to think.

“‘I feel like I found something everyone spends their whole life looking for.’”

Your voice broke halfway through repeating the words.

The memory hit both of you instantly.

Harry smiled softly.

“When we... lost each other…” he admitted quietly, “I thought I lost that too.”

Your face crumpled immediately.

“Harry…”

He shook his head gently before you could stop him.

“But somehow…” His eyes held yours completely now. “Years later, you still chose me again.”

A tear slipped down his cheek this time too.

“You have no idea how lucky that makes me feel.”

Your hand covered your mouth as another sob escaped you.

Harry looked down briefly at the ring before lifting his gaze back to yours one final time. Completely open. Completely in love.

He held the ring toward you carefully.

“Will you marry me again, baby?”

Your hand covered your mouth as another shaky breath left you. Tears blurred your vision so badly you could barely see him anymore.

Harry stayed there in front of you, still holding the ring carefully between his fingers, his eyes locked on yours with so much hope it almost hurt to look at him.

For a second— you couldn’t speak.

Your heart was screaming yes.

God.

Every part of you wanted to say yes. Right now. Immediately.

But another feeling crashed into it just as hard.

Fear.

Not of him. Never him.

Of everything else.

Your lips parted, but no sound came out at first.

Harry’s smile faltered only slightly. Just enough for you to notice.

“Baby…” he said softly after a moment, his voice careful now. “Talk to me.”

You shook your head quickly, tears slipping down your cheeks.

“Harry…” You pressed a hand against your chest helplessly. “This is… this is everything.”

The tension in his face loosened a fraction.

But only a fraction.

“I...” you whispered instantly. “I love you. Harry, I love you so much.”

“Then say yes.”

You let out another uneven breath, looking down briefly as you tried to steady your thoughts enough to speak.

Harry waited.

Silent now.

Watching you carefully.

Still kneeling.

Still holding the ring.

Like he would’ve stayed there all night if that’s what you needed.

And slowly— the hope in his expression began to shift into something quieter.

“…is it the ring?”

You blinked. “What?”

A faint, almost teasing smile pulled weakly at the corner of his mouth despite the hurt still sitting underneath it.

“Did I make a mistake not getting a new one?”

“Harry, no,” you sighed. “Of course not.”

His thumb brushed slowly against your hand.

“Then what is it?” he asked gently.

“Because I don’t want this to happen in the middle of chaos,” you whispered.

Harry’s mouth twitched faintly despite the disappointment still lingering there.

“Baby,” he murmured softly, “our entire relationship has been chaos.”

“Exactly,” you sniffled. “And look how that turned out for us the first time.”

Somewhere behind you, a tray of untouched champagne glasses shifted softly.

The staff had still been waiting. Watching carefully from a respectful distance near the back of the private room, all clearly expecting the moment the ring slipped onto your finger.

A few of the younger servers had started leaning forward slightly, curiosity getting the better of them the longer the two of you stayed there talking quietly instead of celebrating.

The manager immediately shot them a look.

The staff scattered subtly after that, pretending very hard not to be emotionally invested while absolutely being emotionally invested.

You bent down, your hands finding his jaw gently as you pressed a soft kiss against his cheek. Then another against his lips.

Harry closed his eyes briefly at the contact.

“Don’t do that,” you murmured softly against his mouth. “Don’t look so heartbroken.”

A quiet laugh escaped him despite himself, eyes glassy now too.

“How exactly am I supposed to look right now, baby?”

Your chest tightened painfully.

You brushed your thumb gently beneath his eye before kissing him once more.

Then softer—

“Come here,” you whispered softly. “Let’s sit down and eat something while we talk, okay? I’m sttarving.”

A tiny smile pulled at your mouth through the tears.

“Apparently I’m eating for three now.”

That finally made Harry smile properly.

You took his hand carefully, helping him back to his feet.

The second he stood fully again, he pressed his lips together briefly, the faintest pout pulling at the corner of his mouth despite himself.

It was subtle. Small.

But devastatingly obvious to you anyway.

Your chest ached instantly.

“Harry…”

“I’m okay.”

Which unfortunately sounded very much like he was not okay at all.

You let out the smallest laugh through your tears and reached for his hand again before he could retreat further into himself.

“Harry, listen to me.”

He looked up quietly.

“Okay, look…” You glanced around the room helplessly. The candles. The flowers. The music still playing softly somewhere behind you. “This is beautiful.”

Your voice softened immediately.

“No, actually, it’s more than beautiful. I swear, I couldn’t have imagined something this perfect.”

Harry stayed quiet.

You squeezed his hand gently.

“And thank you,” you whispered honestly. “For all of this.”

Some of the tension in his shoulders eased slightly at that.

“But…” You exhaled shakily. “You deserve an explanation.”

Harry’s eyes stayed locked on yours.

“And if I say yes… if we get engaged again…” You shook your head slightly. “I need it to feel right this time.”

A quiet silence settled between you before you continued.

“Our lives are already constantly in front of cameras, Harry. Every relationship headline turns into a business headline too.”

You swallowed softly.

“And now with the company barely stabilizing after the scandal…”

Harry’s jaw tightened slightly.

“The board’s watching every move I make right now,” you continued quietly. “I just became executive chair. Investors are nervous. The press practically lives outside my building.”

You let out a weak breath.

“If we announce another engagement now, it becomes another spectacle. Another distraction. Another thing people use against us.”

“Baby,” Harry said softly, “the company is not more important than us.”

“I know it’s not.” Your voice caught slightly. “That’s not what I’m saying.”

You stepped closer again.

“I’m saying this matters too much for me to let it become part of all that noise.”

That landed.

You saw it immediately in his face.

Not anger. Not frustration.

Just hurt.

Quiet hurt.

“And now we’re having twins,” you whispered shakily. “Everything in my life changed overnight again.”

A weak laugh escaped you through the emotion.

“Which apparently is very on brand for us.”

That finally pulled the faintest breath of amusement from him.

But your eyes filled again almost immediately.

“I just got you back, Harry.” Your fingers tightened around his hand. “And I’m terrified of something ruining this again before we even get the chance to really live it.”

Harry swallowed once before speaking quietly.

“You think marrying me ruins this?”

“No,” you answered instantly, stepping closer again. “God, no.”

Your free hand moved gently against his chest.

“I’m saying this matters too much.”

The honesty in your voice softened something in his expression immediately.

“I’m happy,” you admitted shakily. “Too happy, actually.”

A weak laugh escaped you.

“That’s what scares me.”

Silence settled softly between you again.

Jazz music drifted through the restaurant quietly behind you while candlelight flickered against the empty tables around you.

Harry looked down briefly at the ring still sitting in his hand before lifting his eyes back to yours.

“You’re not saying no,” he said softly.

Your answer came immediately.

“No.”

Relief flickered across his face so fast it almost hurt to look at.

You stepped even closer then, your voice gentler now.

“I want you to ask me again.”

Harry’s brows lifted slightly.

“When all of this settles down a little,” you whispered. “When I can actually breathe long enough to enjoy it properly.”

Your eyes dropped briefly toward the ring.

“Because when I wear that ring again…” Your throat tightened softly. “I don’t want it to feel tied to scandals or headlines or board meetings.”

You looked back up at him.

“I just want it to mean you and me.”

Harry stared at you quietly.

So you smiled through your tears and squeezed his hand again.

“So…” Your voice softened almost shyly now. “Give me a little more time.”

A tiny smile pulled weakly at your mouth.

“Then ask me again.”

Back to now.

Honestly, you still weren’t entirely sure how you had ended up back in his bed after not saying yes the night before.

Not that you regretted it.

Because, in your defense— Harry had looked unfairly good last night.

By the end of dinner, every time he glanced at you with those dark brown eyes and that heartbreakingly soft expression, heat had curled lower and lower in your stomach until simply sitting across from him had started feeling impossible.

And the worst part?

The sad puppy look had somehow made him even more attractive.

Which felt deeply unfair to your hormonal state.

So maybe— maybe that was why, the second you got into the limousine, you had looked over at him and quietly told him how devastatingly handsome he looked tonight.

Harry had blinked at you at first. Surprised.

Then slowly smiled.

And once your hand slid across his thigh beneath the dim lights of the car— everything after that had completely unraveled.

Because Harry had touched you back immediately.

And the second your mouths found each other— logic disappeared.

After that there had only been heat. Need. Hunger.

One kiss turned into another. Then hands. Then desperate grabbing and breathless laughter somewhere between kisses while the driver very professionally pretended not to notice anything happening in the backseat.

By the time you’d stumbled into Harry’s apartment, you were already pulling at the buttons of his shirt impatiently while he kissed down your neck hard enough to make you gasp.

Clothes disappeared somewhere between the hallway and the bedroom.

And sometime later— after being pulled apart and put back together by his hands and mouth more times than you could count— you found yourself completely naked beneath him, his tongue roaming all over your skin, his hips snapping against yours as you both moaned in pleasure over and over. The sound of skin slapping against skin filled the room, along with your cries of his name echoing shamelessly through the penthouse, while Harry whispered against your skin like he planned to spend the rest of his life memorizing every sound you made.

The night blurred beautifully out of focus.

Until eventually—it became morning.

Again.

“Be my wife again,” Harry murmured, trailing kisses down your body, stopping to suck your nipples and dip his tongue into your belly button. He parted your thighs wider as he settled between your legs, his eyes staring intently at your pussy.

“Harry…” you breathed weakly.

His lips brushed the inside of your thigh, his mustache grazing your skin so deliciously.

“I want this every morning. Waking up with you.” Another kiss. “Starting my day exactly like this.”

A shaky breath escaped you.

“You do realize marriage isn’t technically required for that,” you managed, trying and failing to sound unaffected.

Harry lifted his head slightly to look up at you.

His curls were completely ruined now, his jaw rough with stubble, his mouth swollen from kissing you for most of the night.

And somehow— that only made him hotter.

“Is that so?” he asked, licking his thumb. “Then move in.”

His damp thumb grazed your folds, drawing a sharp breath from you.

Your thighs trembled as his thumbs spread your folds, revealing glistening pink flesh, and he didn’t hesitate—he dragged his tongue through your slit in one long, filthy stroke, savoring the tang of your arousal. You gasped, your fingers knotting in his hair as your back arched off the bed.

“Harr—rrgghhh...”

“What was that, baby? Couldn’t hear you,” Harry asked playfully, lifting his head to look up at your face from between your legs.

You pushed his head.

“That’s not fair and you know it.”

“Maybe,” he said huskily, his eyes darkening, “I need to be more convincing.”

Your pulse jumped violently.

Harry’s gaze stayed locked on yours as his fingers slid inside you, curving to caress the front of your mound, increasing the pressure as your loud moans turned into screams.

Suddenly— your phone started ringing loudly against the nightstand.

The pressure of his suction continued as he moved his tongue, trailing it along your lips. You groaned in both frustration and pleasure.

“Oh my God.”

Harry barely reacted.

In fact, if anything, the faint amusement at the corner of his mouth only deepened.

You grabbed your phone quickly and glanced at the screen.

Gerard.

“Harry, wait,” you whispered immediately. “I actually need to answer this.”

Harry hummed against your folds without looking up.

“Answer it.”

Your eyes widened.

“But... ugh... you are unbelievable. Please. Behave,” you warned weakly.

That only earned you a completely unapologetic smirk against your skin.

You swallowed hard before finally answering the call, forcing your voice into something resembling professionalism.

“Good morning,” you said carefully, looking at Harry’s head between your thighs, making your heart jump. “Yes, I’m awake.”

Eventually releasing you from his mouth, you thought he would behave, but instead he raised his hand to part your labia, licking across your slit and pausing to pay special attention to your clit. Another slow hum vibrated against your skin and you nearly lost your train of thought completely.

Your eyes flew shut instantly.

“Oh—”

You caught yourself at the last second, pressing your lips together hard.

On the other end, Gerard continued talking casually, thankfully oblivious.

You glared downward immediately.

Harry looked entirely unbothered.

“Such a good girl,” he murmured softly. “Still talking business while I’m trying to ruin your morning.”

“Yes,” you managed shakily into the phone, Harry’s praise made your head spin, only arousing you even more. “I’ll probably come in a little later today.” A sigh and pause. “Mmhm.”

Your free hand flew over your mouth suddenly as Harry’s arm wrapped around your waist, stilling your hips and holding you in place. He increased the pressure of the hand inside you, rubbing intently against your walls as he sucked harder on your clit.

“Oh,” you breathed out automatically before quickly correcting yourself.

Your eyes flew to Harry, silently mouthing ‘Fuck, oh my fucking God’ at him, lips moving without a sound as you fought to keep your composure. Gerard kept talking about business, and you had no IQ left to understand what he was saying. Thanks to Harry’s amazing mouth and what it was doing to you, your brain was completely gone; all you wanted now was to cum, hard.

“Oh—yes. Perfect. That’s fine.”

The slight stubble on his chin rubbed against your clit when he pushed his tongue inside you deeper. Worse, you felt his nose nestle into the curve of ass next and you bit down hard on your finger immediately to stop the sound threatening to escape.

“I’m listening,” you lied shakily.

Gerard asked if you were okay because you probably sounded like you were in pain.

“Sorry,” you said quickly, pressing your fingers against your forehead as heat flooded your entire face. “Morning brain.”

You felt Harry chuckle against your wet pussy lips.

“Easy, baby,” he hummed. “Breathe. Answer him properly.”

You shot him a warning look instantly.

He only looked entertained.

“Actually,” you said quickly, your voice shaky and thinner now. You felt your orgasm approaching, legs shaking, and there was no way you could stay silent from now on. “We can discuss the board updates after lunch… Yes.” Too fast. You swallowed quickly. “Yes. I just—” your breath caught again before you forced the sentence out, “I need coffee before I can think properly.”

That, at least, sounded believable.

“Perfect,” you whispered desperately. “Thank you.”

The second the call disconnected, you tossed your phone somewhere across the bed before collapsing back against the pillows with a shaky exhale.

Harry barely gave you a second to recover.

“Mm, good girl,” he murmured against your inner thigh, his voice low with satisfaction. “Knew I could make you forget all about that call.”

“Ungh— Harry—”

Your back arched instantly as his tongue slid through your folds again, slow at first, like he was savoring every sound you made for him. The wet sounds of his mouth filled the room alongside your breathless cries, and the realization of how quickly he unraveled you only made you wetter.

One hand slid up your body, squeezing your breast while the other kept you steady against the mattress as he worked you apart with devastating patience. Every flick of his tongue dragged another broken sound from your lips until you were squirming beneath him, thighs trembling around his shoulders.

He held your thighs firmly, completely unbothered by the way you kept squirming against him.

“Stay still for me, baby,” he murmured before diving back into your pussy, twisting his tongue around your tight, wet hole.

You groaned and grinded your hips on his face, riding his tongue. Your fingers tangled in his hair as your hips rolled helplessly against his mouth while he groaned softly like he enjoyed this just as much as you did.

Harry loved taking care of you. Loved watching you fall apart. Loved pulling every trembling sound from your throat until you couldn’t think about anything except him.

For five years, he’d tried to force himself to want someone else. Tried to lose himself in different faces, different touches, different women. But every time, something felt missing—like his body refused to forget you even when his mind begged it to.

Now he finally understood.

It had never been about them. It had always been about your absence.

And now that you were here, beneath his hands and in his arms, everything in him felt terrifyingly, perfectly right.

“Oh my God—”

“That’s it, my queen,” he said smoothly, one hand sliding up your stomach before curling around your breast. “There you go.”

The pressure building inside you snapped tight so fast it almost made you dizzy. You buried your face against the pillow, trying and failing to muffle your moan as your thighs shook around him.

Harry didn’t stop.

He kept licking into you through every tremor, dragging out the aftershocks until you were breathless and oversensitive beneath him.

Only then did he finally pull back.

His lips were swollen, his expression smug, and the sight alone nearly made you groan again.

He leaned down and kissed you deeply, letting you taste yourself on his tongue.

You melted into it immediately, kissing him back harder, your fingers sliding into his hair.

When he finally pulled away, you stared at him for a second before letting out a disbelieving laugh.

“Harry Castillo,” you breathed, still dazed, “you are an actual menace.”

“Menace?” he repeated softly, raising an eyebrow. “Baby, I was simply being supportive.”

You rolled your hips against his cock, your hand slides between your bodies and covers his erection, squeezing and stroking, your voice dripping with teasing impatience.

“If you really wanna support me, you can start by fucking me with this perfect CEO cock of yours.”

Harry groaned as you both felt his cock twitch inside your palm.

“That’s not CEO cock, baby.”

He pushed your hand aside and grabbed your ass with both hands.

“That’s your future husband’s cock.”

A loud moan escaped you as he slid deep inside you in one smooth thrust.

“Ohhhh!?” you teased softly between moans and breaths. “Sounds like someone’s trying to get a confession out of me under pressure.”

“Baby, this cock got you pregnant with twins.” Harry smirked against your skin. “Don’t you think it deserves to be worshipped?”

Harry chuckled quietly when your response dissolved into another broken moan.

“Use your words, baby. Tell me you love it.”

“I—” you gasped helplessly, nails digging into his shoulders. “Fuck, Harry—I love your cock.”

The sound that left him was somewhere between a groan and a smug laugh.

“Yeah...” he murmured. “I know you do.”

After that, you could barely say anything at all, completely overstimulated by everything he was doing to you. He kissed and bit at your neck, sucking marks into your skin while his hands gripped your hips tightly as he fucked you.

Even then, he forced himself to stay gentle, constantly reminding himself that you were pregnant with his babies now.

His babies.

That thought alone made him shudder, arousal curling even tighter in his stomach, his thrusts growing deeper, more desperate despite his restraint.

His breathing turned ragged against your neck, and you knew he wasn’t going to last much longer either.

You clutched at his shoulders, burning at the feeling of being fucked by him first thing in the morning. Deep down, you realized you wanted to wake up like this every day for the rest of your life.

A soft cry slipped from your lips as he moved inside you, filling you so perfectly it almost hurt.

Your thoughts scattered helplessly—Harry, your twins, everything the two of you had survived together—until pleasure drowned all coherent thought completely.

Your body suddenly shuddered hard beneath him as your orgasm crashed through you fast and overwhelming. You cried out his name over and over, hips bucking against his thrusts as wave after wave of pleasure tore through your exhausted body.

Harry came with you, your walls tightening around him and dragging the orgasm out of him with a rough groan.

Breathless, trembling, he finally collapsed beside you, careful not to put too much weight on you as he pulled you against his chest.

“So,” he murmured, voice rough with amusement and exhaustion, “after all those orgasms…”

He tilted his head just enough to look at you with a smug little smile.

“Any chance you’re finally thinking about marrying me?”

Before you could answer, another shaky breath left your lips, your body still trembling faintly beneath his.

“Hey.”

His entire expression changed as he pushed himself up, one hand cupping your face while the other slid protectively over your stomach.

“Baby, look at me.”

“I’m okay,” you whispered breathlessly, trying to steady your breathing.

His brows stayed furrowed anyway, concern written all over his face.

“You sure?”

You nodded softly, smiling lazily at him.

“Well, this is what happens when you overstimulate your pregnant girlfriend before breakfast.”

Harry exhaled quietly, still not fully convinced.

He brushed your hair away from your damp forehead before pressing a lingering kiss there.

“Come here,” he murmured gently, climbing out of bed first before reaching for your hand.

You blinked up at him.

“Harry—”

“Nope.” His tone turned softly stubborn. “You’re carrying my babies. I’m allowed to worry about you.”

A weak laugh escaped you as he carefully helped you sit up.

“Come on,” he said quietly, keeping one arm securely around your waist once you were standing. “Let’s get you into the shower.”

You stepped out of the shower wrapped in steam and warmth, toweling your hair dry as you wandered back into Harry’s bedroom.

That was when you noticed your clothes scattered across the hallway floor.

Wrinkled. Ruined.

And absolutely impossible to wear to work twice in a row—especially not as the executive chair of a company currently surviving off public image and fragile investor confidence.

You let out a long sigh. “Fantastic.”

After staring at the disaster for another second, you finally gave up and crossed toward Harry’s closet instead. Your fingers brushed over rows of dark fabrics before you pulled out one of his black t-shirts and slipped it over your bare skin.

It swallowed you whole.

And somehow smelled exactly like him.

By the time you reached the kitchen, the smell of breakfast had already wrapped around the penthouse. Butter, coffee, maple syrup, something warm and savory all at once.

Your stomach growled instantly, hunger hitting you so hard it almost made you dizzy.

Pregnancy was brutal.

Harry stood by the island pouring orange juice into a glass when he looked up—and immediately froze.

His eyes dragged slowly over you in his shirt. A slow grin spread across his face. “Well,” he murmured approvingly, “that looks dangerously good on you.”

You rolled your eyes automatically, but heat still crept up your neck.

Mostly because you knew exactly why he looked so pleased.

Harry loved seeing you like this.

Barefoot in his kitchen. Wearing his clothes. Looking like you belonged there.

Like old times.

Like the first few months after your engagement, when you used to steal his shirts and he’d act personally victimized every single time you tried giving them back.

You slid into one of the chairs at the island before finally looking down at the table properly—

—and blinked.

“Harry.”

The table was covered.

Fluffy scrambled eggs with herbs. Pancakes stacked high with fresh berries. Buttered toast. Avocado slices. Greek yogurt bowls. Fruit. Fresh juice. Coffee. Tea.

And sitting beside Harry’s plate was a folded piece of paper absolutely covered in notes.

Your brows lifted slowly. “…is that my pregnancy diet list?”

Harry glanced down casually. “Doctor’s recommendations,” he corrected while checking something off with complete seriousness. “Very different.”

You stared at him in disbelief. “You made all of this?”

“Yeah,” he said simply.

You looked over the table again before narrowing your eyes slightly. “No bacon?” you mumbled in disappointment.

Harry sat beside you, already reaching for the paper again. “No,” he said firmly after rereading a line. “Too risky.”

“But the doctor said I can eat it if it’s cooked properly.”

“Mm.” He didn’t even look guilty. “We’re still choosing the zero-risk option.”

You pouted immediately. “But I want bacon.”

Without missing a beat, Harry cut off a piece of omelet with his fork and held it toward your mouth instead. “But look at this,” he coaxed smoothly. “Way better. C’mon, open up.”

You stared at him. “…are you seriously airplane-feeding me right now?”

“Yes.”

The confidence in his answer made you snort softly.

Not wanting to hurt his feelings after all this effort, you finally sighed dramatically and opened your mouth. “…fine.”

Harry looked unbearably satisfied as he fed you the bite.

And annoyingly enough? It was delicious.

Every single thing on the table was.

You watched in disbelief as he kept trying to pile more food onto your plate afterward, stopping you from reaching for the jam just to hand it to you himself a second later.

It was ridiculous. Completely over the top. And if you were being honest, the intensity of his care was starting to overwhelm you a little.

Still…

After everything that had happened, maybe it made sense.

Maybe this was temporary.

Maybe in a few days Harry would calm down.

…right?

After finishing your plate, you glanced toward the clock and sighed.

“Harry, I need to go home.”

You wiped your mouth carefully before standing.

“I don’t have anything to wear here, and I still need to get my hair done.”

Harry stood immediately after you, catching your waist before you could fully walk away.

“Well…” he started carefully.

You narrowed your eyes instantly.

“Wait—did you handle that too? What’s next? You bought me a dress? Scheduled my glam team?”

Harry smiled faintly.

But the look in his eyes stayed strangely serious.

“Come here. There’s something I wanna show you.”

Curiosity flickered through you as he guided you through the quieter side of the penthouse until he stopped in front of a closed door you’d never paid much attention to before.

Harry rested his hand on the handle but didn’t open it immediately.

Instead, he looked at you. “If you’d said yes to me last night…” He exhaled slowly, tried again. “You would’ve woken up this morning as my fiancée.”

You raised your eyebrows. Harry swallowed once before continuing. “And this would’ve been your present.”

Then finally, he opened the door.

You stopped completely.

Because the room—

God.

The room was unmistakably yours.

Soft cream tones mixed with dark wood accents. Floor-to-ceiling mirrors. Warm lighting. A marble vanity already covered with your skincare products arranged exactly the way you liked them. A closet section filled with clothes in your exact style.

Not random designer pieces.

You.

Elegant silhouettes. Cashmere sets. Soft silk dresses. Structured coats. Evening gowns in shades you always gravitated toward. Casual pieces for mornings at home. Sleek heels lined beneath custom shelves. Jewelry trays. Satin robes.

Even your favorite perfume sat beside the mirror.

And tucked farther inside—

Your favorite candle from Paris. The one you thought had sold out years ago.

Your chest tightened painfully.

Because this wasn’t some extravagant billionaire gesture.

It was personal.

It looked painfully similar to the dressing room in your old house together—the one where you used to start your mornings and end your nights while Harry sat nearby pretending not to watch you get ready.

This version was smaller yet warmer.

More intimate.

A soft place carved into the middle of his minimalist penthouse solely for you.

Like the space you still occupied in his heart.

Your fingers drifted slowly across the vanity before your gaze caught something else.

Your initials.

Pressed subtly into the leather jewelry case near the mirror.

You blinked once. Then again.

“…you built me a dressing room?”

“I figured if life’s finally decided to give us something back instead of taking from us…” He said. “You probably missed your dressing room too.”

Then leaned casually against the doorway, watching you instead of the room itself.

“Well? Do you like it?”

Your vision blurred before you even realized tears had filled your eyes.

One slipped down your cheek, making you laugh softly in disbelief as you turned toward him.

“Harry…” Your voice cracked slightly. “I love it.”

You looked around again, overwhelmed by how perfectly everything reflected you.

“There are things here I would’ve picked myself,” you whispered. “You remembered everything.”

Harry’s mouth twitched slightly.

“I may have asked Mikey to send me photos of your room.”

You turned toward him immediately.

“You what?”

“In my defense,” Harry said calmly, “your brother took the assignment very seriously.”

A laugh escaped you before you could stop it.

“That idiot.”

Harry actually looked mildly traumatized for a second.

“He sent me a lot of voice notes,” he admitted carefully.

Your smile widened instantly.

“Of course he did.”

“I know more about your preferred closet lighting than any man ever should.”

“Ugh, Mikey talks too much. And when it comes to illegally sneaking into my room, apparently he sees it as a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity.”

“Mm.” Harry stepped closer slowly. “But he was right about one thing.”

Your breath caught slightly.

“What?”

His gaze moved around the room once before settling back on you, softer now.

“You deserve to have a place that feels like you in this house.”

The words hit somewhere deep in your chest.

Harry reached for your hand gently, lifting it to his lips without breaking eye contact as he pressed a slow kiss against your knuckles. Then his arms slid around your waist, pulling you closer until the front of your body rested against his. One hand moving up to smooth your still-damp hair back from your face, your eyes lifted to his instantly.

It wasn’t even the room.

It was the fact that he remembered.

Remembered the tiny rituals of your old life together. The mornings spent in front of the vanity while he sat nearby drinking coffee. The nights you’d end there together after galas and charity dinners, exhausted and still tangled up in each other.

Harry had remembered all of it.

Your throat tightened painfully.

“Thank you, Harry,” you murmured and kissed him softly. “Really.”

Harry smiled against your lips, his hands settling naturally on your waist.

“You know,” he murmured casually, “if you wanted to call yourself my fiancée after this, I probably wouldn’t stop you.”

“Shut up.”

“That’s not a no.”

You tried to hide your smile.

“Maybe yes.”

“Wait.” Harry tilted his head slightly. “Was that a yes yes?”

You turned away before he could fully see your smile, pretending to inspect the dresses instead.

“Mhmm.”

“Hold on. What kind of mhmm was that?”

You looked back at him innocently.

“Harry. No pressure, remember?”

“Right, right.” He nodded seriously, walking closer. “I’m just saying the option still exists.”

He held up one finger.

“Option A: yes.”

Then another.

“Option B…” His mouth curved slowly. “Also yes.”

You laughed and smacked his shoulder lightly.

“Oh my God, go get dressed already, Castillo. We’re gonna be late for work.”

Castillo Capital… 09:34 a.m.

Harry stepped out of the elevator looking too happy. Not subtle happy either. Actually happy.

The kind that made people immediately suspicious.

Ron looked up from the tablet in his hands the second Harry walked onto the executive floor and nearly dropped the damn thing.

“…good morning, boss,” he said, already grinning.

Harry barely glanced at him as he walked past.

“Morning.”

Ron’s grin widened instantly.

Oh, something definitely happened.

He followed Harry straight into the office.

“I prepared all the reports and presentation files for the meeting,” Ron said, falling into step behind him. “Also—good news from London.”

Harry loosened his scarf slightly as he moved toward his desk.

“The investors liked the revised presentation package. Looks like you won’t need to fly back anytime soon.”

Harry paused halfway through removing his coat.

“…really?”

“Mhm.” Ron watched him carefully. “Apparently John handled it.”

That got Harry’s attention immediately.

He looked over.

“John’s back?”

“He landed this morning.”

Harry leaned briefly against the desk, processing that quietly.

Things with John had changed recently.

Not perfectly.

But better.

Ever since you turned John down and he moved back to London to work as CFO at Castillo Capital’s European headquarters, something between the two men had slowly started repairing itself.

Carefully. Awkwardly.

A few weeks ago, they could barely get through a conversation without tension creeping in somewhere.

Now there were occasional phone calls. Business discussions that didn’t immediately turn hostile.

Tiny improvements.

But for Harry, even that felt like progress.

And handling the London situation without being asked— that meant something.

Harry exhaled quietly. “I’ll call him later.”

Ron nodded once before slowly approaching the desk with very obvious curiosity written all over his face.

Then—

“So…”

Harry looked up already annoyed. “What.”

Ron clasped his hands dramatically. “When exactly are we celebrating?”

Harry blinked once. “…celebrating what?”

Ron stared at him in disbelief. “The engagement?”

Silence.

Harry rubbed a hand across his jaw. “…there is no engagement, Ron.”

Ron froze. Completely.

“I’m sorry,” he said carefully. “I think perhaps I misheard that because it sounded incredibly odd.”

Harry opened his laptop. “She didn’t say yes.”

Ron’s mouth fell open. “YOU GOT REJECTED?”

“I did not get rejected.”

“Harry—”

“She said she needs time.”

Ron paused. Then grimaced slightly. “…that somehow feels emotionally worse.”

Harry leaned back in the chair, exhaling through his nose while rubbing tiredly at his forehead. “It’s not like that.”

Ron’s expression softened a little.

“Well…” he admitted carefully, “to be fair, her entire life exploded in less than a month.”

Harry’s eyes lifted back toward him immediately. “I know. I’m giving her time.” Then his mouth curved slightly. “But I’m changing her mind.”

Ron blinked. “…How?”

“She’s going to say yes eventually.”

Ron leaned against the edge of the desk, folding his arms. “Okay but—respectfully—she already did not say yes. So what exactly changes now?”

Harry smiled faintly. “First of all,” he said calmly, “I’m going to become an extremely good husband candidate.”

Ron stared at him. “…you already are one.”

Harry raised an eyebrow.

“I’m serious. You’re rich, attractive, emotionally obsessed with her which women weirdly love, and somehow still polite. Frankly, if I looked like you I’d be unbearable.”

Harry huffed.

“Thanks, I guess. Well...That’s not-.”

“Every other woman in Manhattan would’ve said yes before you even opened the ring box.”

“She’s not every other woman, Ron.”

“Well, obviously,” he said. “She’s Queen.”

Harry leaned back in his chair again, quieter this time. “I just need to remove the things she’s scared about.”

Ron narrowed his eyes immediately. “And how exactly are you planning to do that?”

A smug look slowly appeared on Harry’s face. “Already started this morning.”

Ron looked concerned instantly. “…should I be worried?”

“I made breakfast,” Harry said simply.

Not even slightly humble about it. “A very good breakfast.”

Ron blinked once. “…okay…”

Harry ignored the reaction entirely.

“I got the full dietary list from her doctor,” he continued casually. “Adjusted the temperature in the penthouse. Replaced half the kitchen. Checked every ingredient expiration date myself.”

Ron stared.

Harry kept going. “Less caffeine. Less stress. More sleep. More water. More iron.” He shrugged once like this was all perfectly normal billionaire behavior. “From now on she gets the most thoughtful version of me possible.”

Silence.

Ron slowly lowered the tablet in his hands. “…boss?”

Harry glanced up.

“That strategy feels…” Ron searched carefully for the right wording. “…a little dangerous for Ms. Queen.”

Harry frowned slightly. “Dangerous?”

“Pressure,” Ron corrected carefully. “Like… emotional pressure.”

Harry immediately looked offended. “I’m not pressuring her.”

Ron gave him a long look. “Would you like me to pull up the dictionary definition of pressure?”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

Ron pointed dramatically.

“See? That right there? That’s the face of a man one scented candle away from becoming somebody’s husband again.”

Harry looked entirely unimpressed. “She likes me because I’m reliable.”

“No,” Ron corrected. “She likes you because you’re emotionally constipated in a very expensive way.”

Harry stared at him. Ron gestured vaguely with the tablet. “If you suddenly become aggressively attentive twenty-four hours a day, she might flee the country.”

Harry rolled his eyes again. “That’s ridiculous.”

Ron studied him for another second. Then— “…you know,” he said cautiously, “I could probably schedule an emergency therapy session for you.”

Harry looked up slowly.

Ron shrugged. “I’m just saying. This is exactly how it starts, by the way. First breakfast. Then matching pajamas. Then suddenly you own decorative hand towels.”

“Get out.”

“I’m leaving. I’m leaving.”

3 days earlier. Le Bernardin — Private Dining Room 9:21 p.m.

Warm amber lighting reflected softly against crystal glasses and polished silver while the muted sounds of the restaurant drifted faintly through the private room doors.

Harry sat beside you at the curved velvet booth, one arm stretched comfortably along the back of your seat behind you, his fingers occasionally brushing your shoulder absentmindedly whenever he spoke.

Across from you, Ron looked one bite away from a spiritual experience.

He pointed dramatically at his steak with his fork.

“Okay,” he declared after another bite, “this is genuinely the best steak I’ve ever had in my life.”

Dana nudged him immediately beneath the table.

“Ron,” she whispered sharply, “could you maybe try sounding slightly more sophisticated? Our bosses are sitting right there.”

You and Harry exchanged amused looks instantly.

Ron looked deeply offended.

“But, honey…” He gestured vaguely with the knife. “We’re off the clock.”

Dana gave Harry an apologetic smile.

Harry just shrugged calmly.

“He’s right,” he said. “Tonight we’re here as friends.”

Ron grinned triumphantly.

“Mmph—double date,” he mumbled proudly through another bite.

You giggled as Dana immediately kicked him under the table.

“Ow—Jesus Christ.”

Harry rolled his eyes.

“Ah yes,” he drawled dryly. “Double date.”

Then he looked over at you, his gaze immediately softening.

“You should eat a little more, baby.”

You sighed quietly, already knowing exactly where this was going.

“Harry,” you murmured, leaning back slightly against the booth. “I’m full.”

And honestly?

You were.

The fitted black dress you wore tonight wasn’t maternity wear—couldn’t be, not yet. Not when half of Manhattan was still watching Queen Financial like vultures circling a wounded animal. The soft fabric still hid the slight curve of your stomach for now, but after an entire dinner, you could already feel the tightness around your waist becoming uncomfortable.

Harry’s eyes flicked downward instantly anyway, concern already forming on his face.

“You barely ate.”

“I ate plenty.”

“Then at least drink your juice. Vitamin C.”

You narrowed your eyes immediately.

“Yes, because what I really need tonight is a vitamin C overdose.”

Ron leaned back with a grin.

“You two genuinely sound like somebody’s married aunt and uncle.”

Dana laughed softly into her wine.

“No,” Ron corrected immediately. “Actually worse. You sound like a couple that owns matching vitamins.”

“Yeah, well…” You glanced briefly toward Harry before swirling your juice lightly. “I don’t think Manhattan’s emotionally prepared for us to start acting married again.”

A softer pause.

“Especially considering the pregnancy.”

Harry looked like he was about to say something—

—but Dana cut in first.

“You have no idea how many interview requests I declined today,” she muttered while reaching for her wine. “Forbes Women. Vanity Fair. The Financial Times. One podcast literally called you ‘the face of modern feminine capitalism.’”

You buried your face briefly in your hand.

“God.”

Ron looked genuinely impressed.

“…okay wow.”

Dana pointed at him immediately.

“One magazine referred to her as ‘the unattainable queen of Wall Street.’”

Ron blinked.

“…okay wait, that one’s actually kinda cool.”

You sighed dramatically.

“Until they find out I’m pregnant with twins from my ex-husband.”

Harry’s thumb brushed quietly against your knee beneath the table.

“Well,” he murmured smoothly, “technically I could solve the ex-husband part.”

You looked over at him instantly.

“We still need to stabilize the company first,” you said more quietly, taking another sip of your juice. “And considering this whole ‘powerful independent woman’ image is apparently helping the company and the market right now… maybe the word marriage shouldn’t be floating around Manhattan just yet.”

Harry’s expression barely changed.

But something calmer settled into his eyes.

“Sweetheart,” he murmured, reaching for your hand beneath the table before lifting it slowly to his mouth, “you’re not staying away from me because of a few investors and gossip columns.”

His lips brushed gently against your knuckles.

“We’ll survive all of it together. Like we always do.”

The heat that rushed to your face was immediate.

Across the table, Ron sighed dramatically.

“See?” he muttered. “Marriage is beautiful. Love is real. I support this completely.”

Dana turned toward him slowly.

“Oh?” she asked pleasantly.

Ron immediately sensed danger.

Dana tilted her head slightly.

“I didn’t realize your thoughts on marriage had suddenly become so positive,” she said sweetly. “Especially considering how creatively you’ve been avoiding dinner with my parents for three weeks.”

Harry quietly leaned closer to your ear.

“…oops,” he murmured.

You bit your lower lip trying not to grin.

Dana set her wine glass down carefully without looking away from Ron.

“Good to know,” she continued sweetly. “Very enlightening, actually.”

“Dana, baby—”

“No, no,” she interrupted calmly while standing from the table. “Please continue your passionate pro-marriage speech.”

Ron looked horrified. “Wait—I didn’t mean—”

“Excuse me, Mr. Castillo. Ms. Queen.”

Dana smiled politely before walking toward the restroom.

Ron watched her leave in genuine panic. “…how did this become about me?”

You gave him a look over the rim of your glass. “Women don’t usually enjoy being kept waiting, Ron.”

Beside you, Harry nodded in agreement without hesitation.

Ron looked betrayed. “Oh God.”

You laughed softly before standing. “I should probably go save you.”

“Please do,” Ron whispered desperately. “Thank you.”

As you followed Dana toward the hallway, Harry watched you disappear around the corner before slowly leaning back in his chair.

Ron rubbed a hand over his face. “I’m fucked... Sorry, boss.”

Harry smirked faintly into his whiskey. “No,” he said calmly. “You’re right. You’re fucked.”

Ron groaned quietly while Harry’s gaze drifted toward the hallway again, the ghost of your words still lingering in his head.

Women don’t usually enjoy being kept waiting.

Harry was almost completely certain you hadn’t meant him at all.

Back to now…

You and Dana looked at each other simultaneously across the office.

Realization hit both of you at the exact same time. “…oh my God,” Dana muttered first.

Your eyes widened slightly.

“That’s why he proposed last night.”

“And Ron immediately started defending marriage which immediately backfired on him.”

You both stared at each other for one long second—

—before bursting into laughter.

Dana shook her head slowly, still laughing under her breath.

“Men.”

You sighed deeply, leaning back in your chair.

“It’s amazing they’ve survived this long.”

Chez Akiko… 1:14 p.m.

“I’m telling you, Emily, Harry’s being absurdly attentive right now,” you complained, leaning back dramatically in your chair. “Like… concerningly attentive. How am I supposed to survive nine months of this?”

Your voice came out slightly louder than intended.

Emily only smiled knowingly as she slid the warm cup of sakura tea toward you before sitting down across from you.

“Well,” she said carefully, “to be fair… Harry is trying very hard right now.” You stared at her. “I’m serious,” you complained, taking the tea. “He monitors everything now. What I eat, what I drink, how long I sleep.” You narrowed your eyes. “This morning he adjusted the temperature in his apartment because apparently my feet were cold.”

Emily placed a hand dramatically over her heart. “That’s actually adorable.”

“He turned my office into Poison Ivy’s apartment.”

Emily immediately burst out laughing. “Okay, first of all,” she said between laughs, “she’s my favorite DC character, so that sounds cute.”

You groaned quietly, resting your forehead briefly against your hand.

“And my mother keeps calling every two hours. I swear she’s tracking my breathing remotely somehow.” You lifted your head again. “This was her fifth call today.”

Emily laughed softly before reaching across the table to squeeze your hand.

“Hon… all of them went through a huge loss with you two. I genuinely don’t think they expected to ever see this again.”

Your expression softened slightly.

Emily smiled gently.

“They’re excited. Probably too excited. But they’ll calm down eventually.” A beat. “Harry included.”

You narrowed your eyes suspiciously. “You really think so?”

“No,” Emily admitted honestly. “But I think he’ll become easier to manage once you marry him.”

You blinked once. “…excuse me?”

Emily gave you an incredulous look. “Oh please. Why did you even reject him?”

“I did not reject him.”

“You emotionally delayed him. Same thing.”

You stared at her in betrayal. “Em.”

“What?” She shrugged unapologetically. “You’ve literally been waiting for that man to propose to you again.”

You opened your mouth. Closed it. “…that is not the point.”

Emily sipped her drink calmly. “Then explain the point.”

You exhaled slowly, fingers tracing around the edge of your cup.

“I’m not the same person I was back then.” Your voice quieted slightly. “Everything’s different now. The company, the board, the scandal…”

You shook your head.

“I became executive chair less than a week ago. I can’t just immediately announce I’m engaged to Harry Castillo on top of all that.”

Emily sighed dramatically. “You people genuinely never rest, huh?”

You laughed softly despite yourself.

“No seriously.” She leaned back in the booth. “When exactly are you two planning to experience love like normal people?”

You snorted.

“We are normal people.”

Emily stared at you flatly. “You own private jets.”

“Okay fair.”

Emily pointed at you. “Everything with you two sounds emotionally expensive.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Sometimes being completely ordinary sounds amazing.”

“You could never survive being ordinary.”

“Rude.”

“You cried once because a hotel suite in Milan had bad lighting.”

“That happened one time.”

“Twice.”

You narrowed your eyes.

Emily grinned proudly.

Before you could answer, the entrance door opened, the small bell above it ringing softly through the restaurant.

Emily glanced up first.

“Oh—wait, isn’t that…”

You turned slightly in your seat.

And immediately froze.

John.

Your eyes widened in surprise.

He spotted you almost instantly too, that familiar crooked smile appearing on his face as he started walking toward the table.

You stood automatically.

“Hey,” he said warmly. “How are you?”

“Good,” you laughed softly, pulling him into a quick hug. “You’re back already?”

“Landed this morning.” He stepped back, looking at you properly now. “Dana told me you were here.” His brows lifted slightly. “Thought I should come see Manhattan’s newest public executioner.”

You groaned. “Oh God.”

“No seriously,” John continued, pulling out the chair beside you. “That speech was everywhere in London. People were talking about it at breakfast.”

You smiled despite yourself. “Well… someone needed to be humbled publicly.”

John laughed under his breath. “That was one hell of a way to do it.”

You gestured toward the seat beside you. “Sit. I was about to order lunch anyway.”

John glanced toward Emily politely. “Hey.”

Emily smiled instantly. “Hi.” Then, already grabbing the menu: “So,” she asked brightly, “what are we feeding the international businessman today?”

At the same time—

The executive meeting had finally ended. Which meant half of Castillo Capital immediately flooded toward elevators, coffee carts, lunch reservations, and emotional survival mechanisms.

Harry walked beside Ron down the hallway, loosening his tie slightly while scanning through emails on his phone. “So,” he said casually, “if John landed this morning, why didn’t he come upstairs?”

Ron shrugged. “Maybe he’s sleeping.”

Harry gave him a look. “At one in the afternoon?”

“Jet lag affects people differently.”

Harry hummed absently. Still suspicious.

Before he could say anything else, Ron’s phone buzzed loudly in his hand. His entire expression softened immediately.

Harry looked over slowly. “…Dana?”

Ron smiled shamelessly while answering. “Hi, baby.”

Harry pulled out his own phone and called you while they continued toward the office.

The line rang once. No answer. His brows furrowed immediately. He tried again. Still nothing. Harry slowed his steps slightly. “…Ron.”

“Mm?”

“Ask Dana where she is.”

Ron blinked. “Who?”

Harry stared at him.

“Right. Right.” Ron quickly covered the speaker with his hand. “Baby, where’s Ms. Queen right now?” A pause. Then Ron’s expression shifted. “…oh.”

Harry narrowed his eyes instantly. “What.”

Ron slowly pulled the phone away from his ear. “She’s at lunch.”

“Where?”

Ron visibly hesitated. “…Chez Akiko.”

Silence.

Harry stopped walking entirely. Then slowly turned toward him. “Emily’s restaurant?” His brows pulled together instantly. “She can’t eat half the menu there.”

“In fairness, they also serve cooked foo—”

“Ron.” Harry was already turning around. “My coat.”

Ron sighed dramatically but grabbed it from the office chair anyway before hurrying after him.

“Protective daddy mode activated,” he muttered under his breath.

Ten minutes later—they were in the back of the limousine heading downtown.

Ron looked over cautiously. “You know…” he started carefully, “this does feel a little stalker-adjacent.”

Harry didn’t even look up from his phone, already sending you multiple texts in a row. “They’re my babies too, Ron.”

Ron opened his mouth. Closed it again. “…fair.”

The car slowed near the restaurant windows.

Then Ron suddenly leaned forward. “Oh my God.”

Harry looked up immediately. And froze.

Inside the restaurant—you were laughing. John sat beside you. Too close beside you.

Harry’s eyes narrowed slightly.

Ron stared through the window in disbelief. “Okay,” he said slowly, “Mr. Pitts returning from London and immediately ending up at lunch with your future fiancée does feel narratively suspicious.”

Harry didn’t answer. He was too busy staring at the way John leaned behind your chair casually, resting an arm along the back of the booth while talking to you.

Ron glanced sideways at Harry’s expression and immediately swallowed. “…oh boy.”

The limousine stopped. Harry stepped out first. Fast. Behind him, Ron’s phone buzzed again.

Dana.

Ron answered quickly while jogging to keep up. “Yes, baby?” A pause. “…sweetheart, I think you’re calling about this a little too late.” Another pause. Ron glanced toward Harry. “…yeah no, he saw John. I’m hanging up.” He ended the call immediately before hurrying after him. “Apparently,” Ron continued cautiously, “John stopped by the office first and asked Dana where Ms. Queen was—”

“Yes, Ron,” Harry said coolly without slowing down. “I gathered that from the part where he’s currently halfway inside her booth.”

Ron wisely stopped talking. Then looked through the restaurant windows again. “…did he change his hair?” Harry slowly turned his head. Ron immediately raised both hands. “I’m just saying—it looks annoyingly good.”

Harry stared at him blankly.

“But not as good as yours,” Ron added quickly. “Obviously.”

Ron pointed vaguely at him while still walking. “Honestly, you kinda look like Pedro Pascal if he slept eight hours a night, owned Manhattan, and had a private equity portfolio.”

Harry kept walking. “Ron.”

“No listen,” Ron insisted immediately. “Pedro Pascal never even accepted the Sexiest Man Alive title when they wanted him to do it. Which is honestly very you. Humble. Mysterious. Emotionally repressed.”

Harry looked deeply exhausted now.

“And if you ever saw his Tumblr fanbase,” Ron added seriously, “you’d understand this is an elite compliment.”

Harry pointed at him without even looking. “Stop talking.”

“Understood.” Ron dramatically zipped his lips.

The bell above the restaurant door chimed the second Harry pushed it open.

Emily looked up first. “Oh, shit,” she said slowly. “Well. This lunch just became a live-action soap opera.”

You turned at the familiar voice before she even finished.

“Baby.”

Your head snapped toward the entrance instantly. “Harry?”

Behind him, Ron gave you a tiny apologetic smile.

John looked up too before standing from his seat. “Harry,” he greeted evenly.

“John.”

The two men shook hands. And didn’t let go. At all.

You sighed immediately.

Harry smiled politely without taking his eyes off him. “Good to see you back,” he said smoothly. “Though I have to admit, I expected to see you at today’s executive meeting first. Especially considering I was waiting for the London reports.”

His grip tightened slightly.

John smiled pleasantly right back, matching the pressure instantly. “Funny,” he replied casually. “I figured the office would still be there later. Checking on her felt more important.”

“Oh?” Harry’s smile never faltered. “Immediately after landing? How thoughtful of you.”

Their smiles somehow got tighter.

Ron immediately stepped between them with corporate-level panic management instincts.

“Gentlemen,” he announced brightly while physically separating their hands, “let’s remember Castillo Capital remains deeply committed to workplace brotherhood.”

Neither of them looked at him.

Ron continued anyway. “And Mr. Pitts, we are all extremely grateful for your work handling the London investors.”

Harry finally looked away from John then. “Yes,” he said calmly.

Then stepped directly toward you.

His arm slid around your waist naturally before he pressed a kiss against your temple. “I’m especially grateful,” he added smoothly, “because it means I get more time with my girl.”

John smiled politely.

But there was tension behind it now.

You narrowed your eyes immediately. “Harry, what are you—”

“Baby,” Harry interrupted gently, glancing down at the table. “Why are you eating here?”

Emily blinked. “Uh…”

Harry pointed lightly toward the sushi menu. “The doctor literally gave us a list of things you can’t eat.”

You crossed your arms instantly. “She also said I need omega-3.”

Harry opened his mouth.

Emily beat him to it. “She’s eating grilled salmon and rice,” Emily informed him dryly. “I’m not poisoning your offspring, relax.”

Ron muttered under his breath: “Offspring is such an aggressive word.”

"Well,” she said dryly, “if you storm into my restaurant and start criticizing my menu, I’d suggest being grateful aggressive is the only word involved.”

You giggled. “Fair.”

John looked between all of you with visible confusion.

Harry noticed immediately. “Oh,” he said casually. “Right. You didn’t know.”

You closed your eyes briefly. “Harry—”

“She’s pregnant,” Harry finished proudly anyway. “We’re having twins.”

John blinked once in genuine shock.

You elbowed Harry immediately. “We are trying to keep that private.”

“Right.” Harry nodded once. “Temporarily private.”

John’s expression softened almost instantly as he looked back at you. “…wow.” A small smile appeared on his face. “That’s…” He exhaled quietly. “Honestly, I’m really happy for you both.”

Something about the sincerity in his voice made you soften too.

“You deserve another chance after everything.”

You smiled faintly. “Thanks, John.”

He grabbed his coat slowly. “I should probably head out anyway.”

Your brows lifted slightly. “You don’t have to leave.”

John glanced briefly toward Harry. “No,” he said lightly. “I think I do.”

He leaned down slightly beside you. “Take care of yourself, okay?”

You nodded softly.

Then John looked toward Harry again. “I’ll see you at the office.”

Harry gave a short nod. “See you there.”

The second John walked out—Ron winced dramatically. “Ouch.”

Emily crossed her arms, looking between all of you with deep disappointment. “Oh, this is absolutely becoming a circus.” Then her eyes landed on Harry. “So,” she said dryly, “would Mr. Castillo perhaps like to retract his earlier comments about my restaurant?”

Harry blinked once before the faintest hint of amusement touched his face. “My apologies, Emily.”

Harry sat beside you briefly before looking back at her. “Maybe I can redeem myself by having lunch here after all.”

Emily narrowed her eyes. “…go on.”

Harry picked up the menu calmly. “I’ll take the grilled miso black cod. Steamed rice. And whatever soup she’s allowed to eat.” You rolled your eyes instantly. “And green tea,” he added smoothly without looking up.

Emily’s expression softened despite herself. “Okay,” she admitted. “That’s actually a respectable order.”

Ron immediately slid into the booth across from you. “Perfect,” he announced. “Because all this television-level emotional warfare made me hungry.”

Harry finally looked up from the menu. “We’ll also be leaving an extremely generous tip.”

“Okay,” she grinned. “Your orders will be out shortly. And the customer is always right.”

You turned slowly toward Harry. “…are you following me now?”

“No,” Harry said simply. “I’m caring about you aggressively.” You stared at him. He gently pushed your plate slightly closer toward you. “Eat before it gets cold,” Harry murmured, holding a bite toward your mouth. “Cold food lowers body temperature.”

With your mouth still full, you rolled your eyes. “My body temperature is currently very high, actually.”

Behind you, Emily slowly leaned toward Ron. “…okay,” she whispered. “She was not exaggerating.”

Ron nodded gravely. “You have no idea.”

Later That Night… Queen Residence. 9:41 p.m.

The kitchen was quiet except for the soft clink of your spoon against the ceramic mug in your hands. You stared down at the swirl of melted chocolate absentmindedly, barely noticing the steam curling upward anymore. Somewhere behind you— “Sweetheart?” You blinked slowly. “Hm?” You finally looked up. “What?” Lara frowned slightly as she stepped closer into the kitchen. “I asked you three times if you were alright.” Her brows softened. “Bad day at work?” You shook your head immediately. “No, everything’s fine, I just…” You exhaled quietly, leaning your hip against the marble counter. “I think I hurt Harry’s feelings.” “What happened?” You looked back down into your mug. “I told him a few days ago I was moving into his place. But tonight before we left, I told him maybe I needed to think about it again. He didn’t say anything,” you continued quickly. “Not really. But I think it hurt him.” “Why did you change your mind?” You sighed heavily. “He’s just…” You rubbed tiredly at your forehead. “He’s become so overprotective lately. About the pregnancy, about me, about everything.” You let out a frustrated breath. “I know he means well but sometimes I feel like I can’t breathe.” “That’s probably normal.” “Yeah. I just feel overwhelmed all the time lately.” Lara stepped closer, gently lifting your chin between her fingers. “Harry loves you,” she said softly. “That’s all this is.” “I know.” “And trust me,” she added warmly, “that man is not capable of staying upset with you for longer than five minutes.” A weak smile pulled at your mouth. But guilt still sat heavily in your chest. You looked back down again. “He already thinks I rejected him,” you admitted quietly. "Oh." That hurt to say out loud. You covered your face briefly with both hands. “God, I’m awful,” you groaned. “I finally get the love of my life back and somehow I’m still hurting him.” Lara looked ready to speak again—but Scarlet stopped her gently with one look; apparently, she heard your conversation. “Lara,” she said softly, “give us a minute?” Lara hesitated only briefly before nodding. As she passed, she squeezed your cheek affectionately. “Don’t upset yourself over this honey… a love like yours isn’t going to fall apart over something like this.” Then she disappeared quietly from the kitchen. Scarlet waited until the room settled again before speaking. “Come sit with me.” You blinked slightly at her tone. Soft. Almost careful. That alone surprised you enough to obey immediately. You pulled out one of the kitchen chairs and sat down slowly while Scarlet took the seat beside you. Usually when your mother said we need to talk, it meant discussions about business decisions, press appearances, wardrobe disasters, assistants quitting unexpectedly, or family reputation. Not this. Never this. Scarlet looked at you quietly for a long moment before finally speaking. “You know…” she murmured slowly, “I think I may have raised you a little too harshly.” Your brows lifted slightly. “…a little?” A small laugh escaped her despite herself. “I taught you to survive,” she admitted. “To think logically. To never let emotions cloud your judgment.” Her eyes softened as they held yours. “And you became extraordinary because of it.” Your throat tightened slightly. “I’m proud of you, baby,” she whispered. “More proud than you’ll ever understand.” “Mom…” “Wait.” She shook her head gently. “Let me finish.” You nodded slowly. Scarlet rarely talked about feelings like this. Rarely talked about old pain at all. To her, heartbreak had always been something you survived privately and learned from quietly. Weakness was corrected. Mistakes were buried.

Emotions were controlled. And she had taught you the same thing. Until Harry. Scarlet looked down briefly before continuing. “But do you know something I learned too late?” You stayed quiet. Her eyes lifted back to yours. “Logic keeps you alive.” A faint smile touched her lips. “But love…” Her voice softened. “Love is what makes life worth living.” Your chest tightened instantly. “There are people who spend their entire lives never feeling what you feel for that man,” she continued quietly. “Do you understand how lucky that makes you?” Tears burned suddenly behind your eyes. Scarlet smiled gently this time. “Although,” she added, “Harry is probably the luckier one.” A watery laugh escaped you immediately. “He is.” She reached over, brushing your hair back softly. You felt your vision blur completely now. Scarlet held out her hand toward you slowly. “Give me your hand.” You did without hesitation.

She took it carefully and lifted it toward her lips, pressing a soft kiss against your knuckles. Something about that nearly broke you entirely. “Your mother, Scarlet Queen exaggerates sometimes and she does have a tendency to dramatize things,” she murmured lightly. “But this time,” she continued softly, placing your hand gently over your own heart, “don’t listen to your logic.” Your breath caught. “Listen to this instead.” Her hand stayed over yours for a second longer. “The company will survive scandals. The board will survive gossip. The world will survive headlines.” Her eyes filled slightly now too. “But life is very short, baby. You found your way back to each other after everything.” Her thumb brushed gently over your hand. “Don’t lose it again.” You stared at her completely stunned. Because this— this version of your mother— was something you had almost never seen before. Not with you. Not about Harry. Not about love. You moved suddenly, wrapping your arms tightly around her. “Do you really think so?” you whispered shakily against her shoulder. Scarlet held you immediately, one hand smoothing slowly through your hair exactly the way she used to when you were little. “No,” she whispered softly. You pulled back slightly. A tiny smile touched her lips. “I don’t think.” She tapped lightly over your heart again. “Love does.” A quiet breath left her. “That’s love speaking. Maybe it’s time you stopped listening to your logic… and started listening to this instead.”

“Wow.” You and Scarlet turned simultaneously toward the doorway. Mikey stood there holding a bottle of water, staring at the two of you in disbelief. “Scarlet Queen giving emotional mother speeches?” he said slowly. “Somebody alert the media immediately.” Scarlet closed her eyes briefly. “Michael.” “No seriously,” he continued while walking farther into the kitchen, “I think Manhattan just experienced a seismic event.” You laughed softly despite the tears still clinging to your lashes. Mikey placed a hand dramatically over his chest. “Maybe I should start listening to my heart too. Ah yes…” he sighed dreamily toward the ceiling. “My heart is saying Sienna… Sienna…” Scarlet pointed at him coldly. “No. Your heart says ridiculous things.” “And it sounds like a seventeen-year-old frat boy,” you added. “You two can mock me all you want,” he declared confidently, “but Sienna invited me to her gallery opening.” You blinked. “…she did?” Mikey looked unbearably smug now. “Mhm.” He pointed between both of you proudly. “You’ll see. Soon enough, I’m gonna win her heart.” A dangerous silence followed that statement. Scarlet stared at him for a long second before slowly looking back at you. Then back at him. “…I cannot believe you’re both my children."

Saturday Evening Castillo Estate — Rhineback. 7:17 p.m. The entire estate felt warmer tonight. Softer somehow. Golden light spilled across the sitting room while the fireplace crackled quietly nearby, the scent of fresh espresso and vanilla lingering faintly in the air after dinner. Eloise sat between you and Harry on the large cream-colored sofa, still holding the ultrasound photos carefully in her hands like they were something sacred. The second you had shown them to her after dinner, she had burst into tears immediately. Now she kept looking down at the tiny blurry images every few seconds like she still couldn’t quite believe they were real. “Dios mío…” she whispered emotionally, pressing a hand over her chest. “Dos bebés…” Harry smiled softly beside her while one of his arms rested around your shoulders. “Twins,” he corrected gently. Eloise looked up at both of you, eyes shining. “Double blessing,” she murmured in Spanish-accented English. “Two little angels…” Her voice trembled slightly. “Ay, gracias a Dios. I have never been this happy in all my life. Seeing you together like this…” Her eyes filled again. “Now I can die peacefully.” “Eloise,” you groaned immediately. Harry sighed. “Mama…” Vivienne murmured. “What?” she defended herself innocently. “I’m old.” You laughed softly and leaned closer to squeeze her arm. “You’re literally healthier than half of Manhattan,” you told her. “Exactly,” Harry added dryly. “You yelled at a gardener for touching your roses yesterday. You’re clearly surviving another twenty years minimum.” “He deserved it.” You and Harry laughed together while she continued clutching the ultrasound photos possessively against her chest. “Besides,” she added smugly now, patting your hand, “I need to meet my great-grandbabies properly before I go anywhere.” Harry’s entire expression softened at that word. Great-grandbabies.

You felt his fingers tighten slightly around yours. — Later that evening, after dinner had settled and the house grew quieter, you stepped out onto the back veranda with your phone pressed between your shoulder and ear. “…No, Dana, if one more magazine calls me ‘the feminine face of corporate resilience,’ I’m actually going to commit crimes.” Dana laughed loudly through the speaker. “You say that now, but your approval ratings are terrifyingly high.” You rolled your eyes fondly, pacing slowly beneath the soft terrace lights. The evening air had turned cooler outside, enough to send a small shiver through you. “…okay, email me the revised board schedule tomorrow,” you murmured. “And tell Ron to stop sending me engagement ring memes.” You sighed before ending the call. The second you lowered your phone, a soft warmth settled over your shoulders. You turned slightly. Vivienne stood behind you holding the edges of a cashmere shawl gently around you.

“There, ” she murmured warmly. “Better.” “Thank you.” Vivienne smiled faintly. “Do you have a minute?” “Of course.” She nodded toward the garden seating area, and the two of you slowly sat down together beneath the soft glow of the terrace lights. For a moment, neither of you spoke. Then Vivienne smiled quietly to herself. “You made Eloise very happy tonight,” she said softly. “She fell asleep smiling.” A small laugh escaped her. “She was mumbling about twins in Spanish ten minutes ago.” You smiled down at your hands. “She deserved to know.” “She did.” Vivienne’s eyes softened. “And honestly?” She exhaled quietly. “I think all of us needed something joyful again.” A silence settled between you. Gentle. Comfortable. Then Vivienne looked over at you fully. “You bring light into this family,” she said softly. “Especially for Harry.” Your chest tightened instantly. You stayed quiet. Vivienne’s gaze drifted somewhere distant now.

“When you left…” she admitted quietly, “he thought he lost that light forever.” You blinked slowly. “He tried not to show it to me.” A sad smile touched her lips. “But mothers know.” Her eyes glistened slightly now. “I used to hear him come home and sit in silence for hours. Sometimes I’d call him and immediately know he’d been crying before he answered.” Pain twisted sharply in your chest. Vivienne reached over then, taking your hand gently into hers. “I was terrified,” she admitted honestly. “Terrified that his heart would never fully heal.” Your eyes burned immediately. “But now?” Her expression softened beautifully. “Whenever he visits me… or even when I hear his voice on the phone…” She smiled through the emotion gathering in her eyes. “I always know when he’s just been with you.” A weak smile pulled at your lips. Vivienne laughed softly. “He gets this ridiculous smile on his face.” She shook her head affectionately. “Even his voice changes.” Your throat tightened painfully. “And when you become a mother,” Vivienne continued gently, squeezing your hand, “you’ll understand exactly what I mean. How deeply you learn someone. How a single expression or change in tone can tell you everything.” You looked down briefly, trying to steady yourself. Vivienne waited patiently before speaking again. “I suppose what I’m trying to say is…” She smiled softly now. “There are things in this world money can never buy.” Her thumb brushed gently over your hand. “Love. Peace. Belonging.” Her eyes held yours carefully. “Those feelings are what make life worth living.” Your vision blurred slightly. “So don’t lose them,” she whispered. “And don’t lose each other.” A tiny breath left her afterward before she added carefully: “And I hope this doesn’t sound selfish…” You looked at her immediately. “…but I do hope you marry my son again someday. A watery laugh escaped as you wiped quickly beneath your eyes. “Vivienne,” you whispered shakily, “are you trying to make me cry? Because my pregnancy hormones are already dangerously unstable right now.” Vivienne laughed softly through her own tears before immediately pulling you into her arms. “Come here, honey.” You held onto her tightly. And for the first time in a very long time, it didn’t feel like you were being held by Harry’s mother. It felt like family. Vivienne kissed the side of your head gently. “Thank you,” she whispered emotionally. “For everything.” Your chest tightened painfully again. “You gave me my son back.” A tear slipped down your cheek. Vivienne only held you tighter. “And I hope the two of you spend the rest of your lives making each other happy.

Later That Night… The bedroom was quiet except for the faint sound of rain tapping softly against the windows. Warm lamplight spilled across the room in golden shadows while Harry sat against the headboard, sleeves rolled up slightly, distracted by something on his laptop. You stood alone in the bathroom staring at yourself in the mirror one last time. Your heart wouldn’t stop pounding. The silk babydoll Harry had bought for you in London draped softly against your skin, the deep shade of violet making your flushed cheeks even warmer somehow. Delicate lace traced over your chest and thighs, the matching set beneath it expensive enough to make you nervous all over again. For a second, you almost laughed at yourself. You had negotiated billion-dollar deals without blinking. But this? This terrified you. Not because of the lingerie. Because of what you were about to say. Out in the bedroom, you heard Harry shift slightly before the sound of his laptop finally closing. “Baby? Everything okay in there?” A tiny beat passed. “You’re not getting sick again, are you?” Your chest tightened painfully at the concern in his voice. God. You loved him so much. Slowly, you opened the bathroom door. And Harry froze. Completely. His eyes lifted from the bed— then stayed there. On you. The expression on his face changed instantly, somewhere between awe and complete devastation. “…fuck,” he breathed quietly. You walked toward him slowly, pulse thundering in your ears beneath the soft fabric brushing your thighs. Harry watched every step like he physically couldn’t look away. “Do you,” he asked hoarsely, eyes dragging slowly over your body, “have any idea how dangerous you are?” A nervous smile tugged softly at your lips. Then you climbed carefully onto the bed and settled into his lap, your arms sliding around his neck while his hands instinctively found your waist. Warm. Safe. Home.

“Harry…” you whispered softly against his lips. He swallowed hard immediately. Your fingers brushed lightly against his cheek before you slowly lifted your left hand between you. The ring still sat there. His ring. Your eyes met his again. “I was thinking…” you murmured quietly. “I don’t think I ever want to take this off again.” Harry’s breath caught instantly. You smiled faintly through the emotion rising in your chest. “Pretending we were married again for Eloise, only made me realize something.” Your thumb brushed over the diamond carefully. “This was always mine anyway.” Your voice softened even more. “Whether I wore it or not.” Harry stared at you silently now, his arms tightening around your waist almost unconsciously. “And my heart…” you whispered shakily, “was always yours too.” “Baby,” Harry breathed, visibly overwhelmed now as his forehead pressed briefly against yours.

You closed your eyes for one second before continuing softly: “I think I spent so much time being afraid of losing everything again…” Your fingers curled slightly against his shoulder. “That I forgot losing you would hurt so much more.” Harry’s entire expression broke open at that. “So…” you whispered, finally meeting his eyes again, “if that offer still stands…” Harry sat up straighter so fast it almost made you laugh through your nerves. “…yeah?” he asked immediately, voice rough with hope. A watery smile touched your lips. “I’m ready to be your wife again.” Silence. For one breathtaking second, Harry just stared at you. Like he couldn’t believe this was real. Then his hands suddenly cupped your face and he kissed you hard. Desperately. Relieved. Happy. The force of it stole the breath from your lungs instantly as he pulled you closer against him, kissing you again and again like he physically couldn’t stop. “Baby,” he whispered breathlessly between kisses. “Jesus Christ—” Another kiss. Then another. His forehead rested against yours for half a second before he looked at you again, smiling so widely it almost looked boyish. “Do you have any idea what you just did to me?” You laughed softly through the emotion burning behind your eyes. Harry kissed you again before you could answer. Slow this time. Deep. Full of everything the two of you had survived to get back here. “I love you,” he whispered against your mouth. “So fucking much.” Your heart melted instantly. “I love you too, Harry.” He kissed the corner of your mouth again, smiling against your skin while his hands slid along your waist beneath the silk. “Now,” you murmured softly, brushing your nose against his, “considering we’re officially engaged again…” Harry’s eyes warmed immediately. “I think you should kiss me one more time.” “Only one?” Then he kissed you again— slowly pushing you back against the pillows while the rain continued falling softly outside the windows.

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Whatever happens they always go back to each other, it’s destiny and true love calling, which is so beautiful 🥹

Loved the proposal and the way Harry became overprotective - I know she already lost a baby and I know that’s probably why he’s acting like that but also… dude, calm down, we don’t need for you to have a stroke or something, okay? 😂

Ron is honestly the best as always, protect him at all costs, the joke about Pedro was so hilarious 🤣

Both their moms are so sweet, awww I knew Scarlet was a softie underneath and I loved to see that 🙂‍↕️

I’m so happy they’re finally so near to their happy ending, they only deserve the best and their babies too, of course! ♥️

Also loved the dressing room! So pretty 😍

And smut 🥵🥵🥵 jeez, he’s a menace, I need him so bad 🫠

A tear falls down your cheeks. You don’t answer, but your hand squeezes Joel’s hand tightly.

“Listen to me,” Joel says, leaning into your ear.

“If you marry another man and forget our past, my soul won’t rest. I will come back from my grave in the middle of the night, not to scare you but to hold you. I will be the wind that blows at your window because not even death itself can put out the fire I feel for you.”

Joel pulls you to his chest, staying in silence as the last rays of the sun hid on the horizon, and the orange color turns into a clear darkness settling around you.

Neither of you moves. The distant lights of Jackson glow faintly below, scattered over the earth as if the world had turned upside down.

Joel's thumb brushes across your knuckles, back and forth as if looking for a bit of warmth in his friction with your skin.

It is a habit he had developed with you and he had carried for years.

You are the safe place he needs to go to every time he craved it.

"Do remember that cabin?" he asks suddenly.

You laugh softly. "The one with the broken roof?"

"The one with the broken roof." He repeats.

"It collapsed while we were sleeping." You add, a sad smile appears on your face.

You turn to look at him, and the same smile lingers on his face, but it doesn't quite reach his eyes.

"We nearly froze to death that night," he says, smiling at the memory, letting out a quiet chuckle that ends up fading as quickly as it came.

For a moment, he seems lost in the memory, and you study his profile in the fading light of the moon now.

The scar near his temple, the lines beside his eyes, and the silver beginning to spread through his hair. Years ago, those things would have frightened you. They were reminders that time was moving forward.

Now, they're reminders that time had chosen to spare him.

Joel notices you staring. "What?"

"Nothing,” You shrug, smiling “just looking at you."

His gaze softens and silence follows. It feels different.

Charged.

"You know what I regret?" he asks, breaking the silence again.

You raise an eyebrow. "Only one thing?"

A quiet laugh escapes from his lips, "No. Just the one that's bothering me tonight."

The smile on your face fades. Joel rarely talks about regrets. He rarely talks about his feelings.

Most of the time he has been a reserved man that has spent years burying regrets beneath silence.

"What is it?"

He looks down at your joined hands, and for a moment, you think he won't answer.

"All the time I wasted."

You frown. "Wasted?"

"Before you."

The words catch your breath.

"I’m not talking about us meeting." Joel says when he notices your expression.

"Then what are you talking about?"

His jaw tightens. "The years after."

"The years after what?"

He doesn't answer immediately, and the darkness embraces you as you look at Jackson from afar.

A place built from second chances, a place neither of you ever expected to find and settle.

"The years I spent believing I had nothing left to lose." His voice is nothing but a whisper at this point.

You stare at him because Joel never talks about himself like this.

"You had plenty to lose."

"Yeah, I know.” The answer comes too quickly as he had thought.

His thumb continues its slow path across your knuckles. "And I didn't realize it until it was already mine."

Your chest tightens, Joel finally turns toward you, and there is something strange in his expression.

There is no sadness beneath his eyes, not even fear, but something soft that made your heart hurt.

"If I got another twenty years with you, I'd still complain it wasn't enough."

You let out a shaky laugh. "Twenty years?"

"Fifty, then."

"Now you're dreaming." You say, voice breaking.

"Maybe."

His smile appears again, it’s barely a smirk. That kind of smirk that vanishes if you look at it too closely.

You reach up and brush a strand of gray hair away from his forehead.

"Are you planning on turning into an old man?"

Joel's eyes linger on yours, longer than they should, and it makes your stomach twist.

"I wanted to."

So, you lean forward and press your forehead against his, to feel his breath on your face.

And the world continues moving around you, time continues stealing your breath.

Life goes on as if it always will.

Joel's hand finds the back of your neck, the calluses on his palm and fingers scrape gently against your skin.

A familiar touch, the same one that has followed you through years of winters and summers, in the middle of gunfire and storms, through every version of yourself that existed before and right now in this very moment.

You close your eyes.

"You know what your problem is?" you whisper, on his face.

"What?" Joel says and lets out a low hum.

"You think too much." A laugh escapes him.

And for a second, it sounds like the Joel only you know.

The one who insists he'll be fine when he is bleeding, the one who is always strong.

"I learned from the best." You shake your head.

Joel smiles, but the smile fades.

Not suddenly, slowly and it hurts.

"Are you scared?" he asks.

The question catches you off guard. His eyes remain on yours, and you stare right back at him, too close your nose still brushes, and your throat tightens.

"I am so scared.”

"Me too." He confesses.

The confession breaks you because who they are coming from.

Joel has always carried fear differently, locked behind clenched teeth and silent.

You can't remember the last time he admitted it aloud.

"What scares you?" you ask softly.

His gaze drifts toward the horizon. Toward the darkness stretching beyond Jackson.

Toward something only, he can see.

"Leaving things unfinished."

Your heart shatters.

Joel swallows, and then he looks back at you. "And leaving people behind."

You want to tell him he's being ridiculous, that neither of you is going anywhere, and that you'll both be sitting on this hill twenty years from now arguing about whose knees hurt worse.

The words reach your tongue.

But they stay there because something in his eyes stops you, and you realized there’s nothing you can do to fool death.

You take his face in your hands and you hold him as if you can anchor him in here with you.

As if love alone can keep the world from taking what it always takes.

Joel closes his eyes and leans into your touch. A sigh comes out of him when he opens them again and looks at you with such tenderness that it hurts.

"There you are," he murmurs.

You frown. "What?"

A weak smile touches his lips. "Just wanted to see you."

He reaches for your hand, bringing it to his lips and he presses a kiss on your knuckles.

And an unbearable feeling grows inside you.

Because time is slipping through your fingers and this moment is becoming a memory even as it happens.

And Joel pulls you closer, his forehead resting on your temple and his lips on your cheeks.

You close your eyes at the feeling, at the weight of him, at his scent.

At his colder skin.

And when you open your eyes, the cold bits your face.

It seems like the world around you is blurred, and the stars are suddenly gone. The sky above you is pale and colorless, carrying the first hints of dawn.

The grass beneath your cheek is damp with humidity. Your neck aches, so you sit up, and the blanket over your shoulders slides down your shoulders.

For one foolish, fleeting second, you reach beside you expecting to find warm and Joel’s sleepy sigh in the morning.

But your hand finds nothing but flat grass under your touch, and the morning greets you with silence.

A sharp breath catches in your throat, and your gaze lifts up to the stone behind you.

Joel Miller.

A loving father.

A loving brother.

Joel died.

Joel lived once. Yes, in the past tense. Everything he was, everything he did was written in carved fragments over a stone.

And yet they held an entire universe for you.

For one foolish, fleeting second, you reached beside you, expecting to find warmth and Joel's sleepy sigh greeting the morning.

But your hand found nothing except flattened grass beneath your fingertips.

The morning greeted you with silence.

A sharp breath caught in your throat, and your gaze lifted toward the stone behind you.

Joel Miller.

A loving father.

A loving brother.

Joel died.

Joel lived once.

Yes, in the past tense.

Everything he was, everything he did, had been reduced to carved fragments upon a stone.

And yet they held an entire universe for you.

Your eyes remained fixed on his name.

Joel Miller.

The letters blurred as the tears gathered in your eyes.

You remembered the first time he told you his name because now, reading it felt sacred.

A name that had once belonged to a strange man with brown eyes who looked for you when nightmares woke him in the dark.

And the stone did not tell any of those stories. It did not mention the way his eyes softened whenever he looked at the people he loved.

Your fingers brushed against the engraved letters.

Cold, Joel had never been still.

A broken laugh escaped from your lips. The sound startled you; you had forgotten what laughter sounded like after he was gone.

You still remembered the feeling of his arms around you and his beard scrapping on your face.

And you still remembered how he used to look at you, as if loving you had been the easiest thing he had ever done.

You let your forehead rest on the cold stone, letting his name press into your skin like deep cuts

“If you can hear me,” you whispered into the silent morning, “please, don't leave me alone out here.”

But there was no answer, just the sigh of the wind.

But you also knew him. You knew the fierce and stubborn soul of Joel Miller. He wouldn't just stay carved in stone. If love could cross the border of the dead, you knew his ghost would be standing right here in the shadows, arms open, refusing to ever let you go.

From the very first lines I knew this was going to hurt, but I was NOT prepared for where you took it.

"If I got another twenty years with you, I'd still complain it wasn't enough."

Yeah... I already had tears in my eyes here.

And then—

"Leaving things unfinished. And leaving people behind."

That broke my heart because it feels so Joel. He's never afraid for himself; he's afraid of leaving the people he loves.

But NOTHING prepared me for the reveal.

"For one foolish, fleeting second, you reached beside you expecting to find warmth."

That line absolutely shattered me.

I genuinely forgot we were reading a memory until the gravestone appeared. The way she instinctively reaches for him before reality crashes back... that's grief in one of its rawest forms.

And then ending it with the idea that if love could cross death, Joel would still be there, refusing to leave her...

I'm unwell.