#And it quickly becomes a whole thing. That he is now trying so hard to hide | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

hyoer · 26 days ago

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Project: Get Over Bob (2)

pairing. Bob Reynolds x reader

synopsis. Bob likes someone that’s not you and now its up to you to carry on Project Get Over Bob.

warnings. Mentions of suicide (vagueish), mentions of child abuse and forms of non-physical self-harm, mentions of drugs :( Bob just struggling a lot with life but reader and the team are there to make it better even if it’s just a bit. Lots of angst and no comfort… Yet. Also, a bit of kissing. I may have made reader english unintentionally :) expansion of readers relationship with the team!! The Void and a little?bit of the Sentry make an appearance.

word count. 6.5k

Notes at the end of this chapter

part 1.

Phase: Bob?

Robert Reynolds grew up like a dog, held taught at the neck, beaten into submission for the hell of it. He'd spent 29 years running from the cage he grew up in.

From backwater towns to unkind cities, across borders and oceans, he was always searching for his next high.

And every time he found it and crashed, he crashed harder.

All of his misfortune had led him to Kuala Lumpur. What better place, he thought, for cheap meth and good food?

Not that he could afford either once he landed. His so-called "working holiday" quickly devolved into sleepless nights and cheap motel rooms.

The lab was a nightmare, and the splitting of his mind it hurt, it hurt so much. But none of that pain could compare to the guilt.

The sickening knowledge that he'd hurt people.

That he'd become the thing he feared.

His father had always told him: Violence is in your blood. One day, you'll understand it's not cruelty—it’s survival. Bob had spent his life trying to prove him wrong, only to fail.

Waking up in the vault was terrifying. But that fear was eclipsed by the feeling of something stronger, the opportunity of a real life.

A final chance.

He regarded it as the single most important moment of his life. Sure, getting the sentry serum was life-changing. But he’d give it up in a heartbeat if it meant keeping what he had now.

And you were there the day it all started.

You weren’t a child assassin like Yelena, or a phasing shadow like Ava, or a walking weapon like Alexei, Bucky, or Walker. But you moved with purpose. Precision. That quiet intensity set you apart. You weren’t the strongest in the vault. But took twice as many hits as you dealt and got up three times as fast.

Now, in the tower, most of Bob’s nights were spent with you. He’d perch himself on your sofa, fingers picking at the frayed threads along the armrest, eyes blurred but never closed. You’d talk about everything. The strange weather patterns, Alexei’s obsession with marketing, the new taco shop opening downstairs—mundane things, your voice soft and steady, trying to anchor him.

The room always felt smaller when you were there. Your presence was a warmth that filled every corner, something he could almost reach out and hold if he wasn’t so afraid of breaking it somehow.

But even you couldn’t keep the thoughts out.

The silence between your words gave them space. The darkness of the room fed them. And the safety you offered made them bolder.

“I wish I’d died in Sarasota.” he said one night.

Your head snapped toward him, eyes wide with a fear he hadn’t expect.

“Hey—no, no. Please don’t say that, Robert.” you moved closer “Please just- just look at me.”

Your hand cupped his face, fingertips grazing the edge of his jaw, soft and trembling.

It wasn’t romantic.

It wasn’t sexual.

It was a safe feeling touch, he’d always wanted that.

You always gave it to him.

“Look, I won’t tell you that you can’t feel like this, it wouldn’t be right for me to say that. But you’ve been working so hard to unpack your issues and work at them, please, please just give yourself the credit you deserve.”

He blinked up at you, fighting the urge to look away.

“Most people go their whole lives never even trying to unpack their pain,” you continued, voice low but unwavering. “But you—you’re facing it. That’s brave.”

And for a moment.

The void inside him seemed to shrink that bit smaller.

Being at the tower felt freer than the life of a nomad he’d adopted for the past 7 years. There were still plenty of rules, curfews, schedules and therapy sessions—but the structure gave him purpose. It kept his mind and body active.

Every morning, Yelena would bang on his door like a madman.

“Make sure you grab your coffee ~” she’d call through the door, already bounding halfway down the hall by the time he’d have opened his eyes.

There, he’d find you with your back turned, shuffling through the music on your phone, tapping your foot lightly to the beat. He’d reach over and grab two cups for you both before heading out for a run in Central Park with Yelena, well, he’d be attempting to run, but that was besides the point.

He’d run beside Lena, wheezing through half-finished stories about old jobs or nights he barely remembered. She’d hit back with tales from the Red Room. They were always darker, sometimes sad, but she was a master of comedy so he’d be barking out laughs between gasps for air the whole way.

Once she was finished torturing him he’d head back to the tower to meet Ava in the lab.

She was helping him work toward his GED—something he’d started years ago, then abandoned when life got too loud. Now, with all the time and resources in the world, he thought it would be a good time to start again.

Ava was the best teacher he could ask for.

She never rolled her eyes when he forgot how to do something, never laughed when he misread something aloud.

Her teaching was patient and kind.

She wasn’t much of a talker, which was a given with her solitary upbringing, but that was fine with him. They’d spend time in comfortable silence, with Bob occasionally breaking it to ask a question. Both of them used to the quiet, neither of them quite understood what normal looked like but their quiet friendship fulfilled them both.

After finishing up with his work, Bucky would usually steal him away for sparring.

“You keep dropping your guard.” he’d grunt, tossing Bob onto the mat for the fifth time in the past ten minutes.

“I don’t have a guard.” Bob would mutter, staring up at the ceiling begging someone, anyone for a break.

He hated physical exercise.

The sentry serum had made Bob invincible and while he didn’t feel any pain, his frustration was with his lack of ability.

His strength was absolute, his body impenetrable, but, he wanted to be able to move around with the same grace and stealth that the others did.

Bucky pushed him harder than anyone else.

But it never felt cruel.

It was focused and encouraging.

Like he was his older brother who believed in him enough to never go easy.

You’d sometimes be there too, just out of sight in the adjacent room. You’d be reviewing mission footage or deep in a debrief.

Bob liked it better when you weren’t watching. Not because he didn’t want you there, he just preferred to keep his exploits or lack thereof between the senator and himself instead.

Dinner was one of the best parts of his day.

Sitting at the dinner table didn’t involve endless lectures or threats of harm. Alexei and John would always be the first ones at the table, seated across from him like some sort of strange uncle-nephew trio. They weren’t constantly at each others throats but when they were it was way more entertaining for him.

John always had a dumb joke ready but Alexei managed to always have a weirder one. Half the time, they would argue about whether Kramer vs Kramer was a Christmas movie or if John had browned the butter well enough for the banana bread.

“Why do you even eat potatoes like this?” Alexei would say, stabbing one with his fork “It is so dry, no soul.”

“You’re literally Russian dude?!!” John would shoot back his voice raising an octave.

“Russia has great food, you know my father-”

Bob was definitely not listening to the rest of that. But he would smile and finish his meal with a warmth in his heart and that’s all that mattered.

You and Bob would take your daily walks after dinner.

The city was quieter at night.

Well, New York never really was, but it was quieter in the way Bob liked. Just a low rumble of traffic in the distance and the occasional click of footsteps as you both aimlessly wandered.

Bob chuckled at your retelling of your siblings meeting Ava for the first time. His smile lingered even after you’d finished talking, it was a strange one. It felt like he was half-sincere and half-lost in thought. His steps slowed and he turned to you, “You’re one of my best friends, y’know, just thought I’d tell you.” said more like a question than a statement.

You smiled. “That’s why you’ve been looking constipated this entire walk?”

He huffed a laugh, but his face still has a serious look “I mean it. It’s not just because we have to live together or mission stuff. You’re always there for me even when I’ve been hard to be around.”

“Bob, you’ve never been hard to be around, ever.”

He didn’t respond right away. His jaw flexed and eyes fixed somewhere past your shoulder.

“I guess I-I just keep thinking” voice low “That I’m this ticking time bomb. Like the more time you guys spend with me, the quicker I’ll blow up a fuse and hurt you all.”

You were quiet for a second. Then you said, “You ever think that maybe we don’t need protecting from you? That having you around is so good that we’d be willing to keep the Void at bay forever? I would go through hundreds of rooms for you Robert, every damn day if I had to, I’m sure the others would too.”

You didn’t say anything else, and he stared at you for a moment before sputtering out that it was late and you both should head back. He really hoped you hadn’t noticed how red his ears were.

Bob thought that maybe you liked him the way he liked you.

But he decided to push silly thoughts like that away. You would have said that to everyone.

It wasn’t that Bob himself didn’t like you; he just felt as though pursuing you would be another Malaysia. He would somehow grip your light so tightly that it would burn only you, leaving him at the centre of yet another massacre. And Bob was far too kind, he cared for you far too much to doom you to a life of walking on eggshells.

He would get over you. And he knew just what to have to start his journey.

A sweet treat.

Bob didn’t plan on finding the bookstore.

He was walking to find a new dessert place, the serum left him with a serious sweet tooth.

Bob liked walking on Main Street. Sure, there was always a major risk of him literally destroying everyone in the city if the transdimensional being in him escaped but, the feeling off blending in and being normal was worth the risk.

He walked for another ten minutes before he saw it.

The bookstore that you were always raving about. You had begged the whole team to come with you, rambling on about the idea of a book club in preparation for the new Christopher Nolan film, but your pleading had been interrupted by Mel informing them all they had press to finish up.

He decided he’d go in and find you something, that should cheer you up.

Bob wandered into the store, trailing his fingers along the many books, stopping only when he'd collected too much dust for his nose to handle. It reminded him of a place he’d hidden out in once, years ago.

Different city.

Different Bob.

“You looking for anything specific?” came a voice.

He turned and saw her.

A short woman with long loose waves nestled into a bun, a pencil sticking out of her pocket and reading glasses hanging around her neck. She looked at him cheekily and something about the intensity of her gaze flustered him.

“I’m-I’m not really sure, I’m looking for a friend but I have no idea what she would want.” he replied honestly, scratching the back of his neck.

She smiled, “Those are the best kinds of searches.”

Their first conversation was short. She’d recommended some kind of fantasy novel.

He’d bought it and you were so happy that you spent the next two weeks singing Bob's praises to anyone and everyone.

That included Lily.

Bob came back the next week to pick something else out. And the week after that.

And each time, Lily was there with a new recommendation. With questions about what he liked, how he was doing, how you were doing.

Sometimes they talked for a minute.

Sometimes ten.

Bob never told her who he really was, nothing about the Thunderbolts stuff, though he was sure she knew.

Just said his name was Bob and that he was working on “getting his life together”.

She never pried. Never asked why his hands sometimes shook, or why his eyes would occasionally glow. She always spoke to him gently and laughed at his shitty attempts at jokes in a way that made him feel like maybe he was just a guy in a bookstore.

Someone normal.

One day, he decided to be brave, “You ever uh free for a coffee?” he'd asked, the words almost catching in his throat.

“As in to drink it? Or are you asking me out?” she looked surprised.

Shit, she looked like she was freaked out, he almost backed off right then, but he decided to push through. He nodded “Yeah yeah uh the second one.”

She studied his face - not judgmental, just thoughtful - “Okay, yeah sure, but be warned I’m coming in hot off the back of an awful relationship. Like the guy was Loki levels of out of his mind, I may go crawling back.” she joked.

Bob smiled.

“Here. Take my number.”

Once outside with her number tucked safely into his breast pocket, he took a moment to take in a breath.

He thought about you for a second, your smile, your voice and he felt guilty, but you didn’t like him. It was ok for him to move on and he was sure you’d support him putting himself out there.

Right?

Phase 3

Phase 3 was not feeling as easy as you’d predicted it would be.

Not thinking of Bob was difficult. He engulfed your every thought, every second of the day seemed to stretch out further than you thought possible when you worked on any task that didn’t include Bob.

Even sleep didn’t offer a break.

In your dream, Bob appeared doe-eyed, curls falling over his face and his skin glowing. Your hands were roaming his body and his breath was hot against the shell of your ear. He was calm and collected, his movements slow as he cradled you tightly to his chest.

His head turned to you, his lips inching closer to your face and then all at once pressed against yours. His head angled to the right to swipe his tongue against your bottom lip, the action causing you to gasp and heat to bloom in your chest.

As your hands began to reach for his face, they fell through, jolting you awake. Your bed cushioning your movements didn’t stop your face from hitting the side of the bed frame.

You’d never made out with anyone before, so how the hell did the kiss feel so real.

“What the hell?”

Huffing you drag yourself to the bathroom, you find Bucky there brushing his teeth. You say nothing to greet him and the strangeness of your silence isn’t lost on him.

He offers a smile as he makes his way out of your shared space, he’ll bother you later once he brings back a red velvet from the store near his and Steve’s old place in Brooklyn.

Remind yourself to get an electric toothbrush, this one is struggling to withstand the force of your anger as you scrape each tooth with all of your strength.

You were doing so well to not fall back into thinking of Bob.

So why did this dream have to screw everything up?

By the time you’re done damaging your enamel it’s time for another hellish sparring session with John.

Good Lord, you were not in the mood.

You unwillingly tread down to the gym, smelling the clinical bleach mats before you round the corner.

The gym always smelled like sweat, chemical cleaner, and testosterone — basically John's cologne. You pushed the door open hard, making it slam against the frame making John jump from the noise and trip over the weight in front of him. Wait did that weight say 2000kg holy shit-

“What crawled up your ass?” he barked, startled but recovering quickly.

“Nothing. Just thought I’d get a bit of payback. You ready?” He smirked.

The mat is thick beneath your bare feet, cold and spongy. Walker stands a few feet away, stretching out his legs, the muscles in his arms rolling under his shirt. For someone so impossibly strong he sure was wirey looking.

Captain America, my ass. You reminded yourself he had limits — he had to.

You both began circling each other, and a quick step to each side had you both falling into a familiar rhythm.

“You know he came by asking for you, right?”

You rolled your eyes. “It doesn’t mean anything.” you swing your fist, miming a punch, daring him to act.

Walker was always too trigger happy for his own good.

He would always bite.

“Y’know its pretty obvious to everyone include Bob that you’re distancing yourself from just him,” he said, launching at you with flurry of jabs. You dodged most, but he caught your shoulder and stomach hard.

Jesus that hurt, you deserved an extra matcha latte for lunch as a reward.

“Yeah? Well, he’s the one glued to his girlfriend’s side every hour of the day.” you step back with your arms up “I don’t see how that’s my problem.”

He raised an eyebrow, eyes narrowing “If you don’t like him, then why would it—”

“Oh my God, John,” you cut him off, voice tight “Everyone knows. I know Bob knows I like him. I don’t understand what people want from me! I’ve been kind. I talk to her, I talk to him. I haven’t said anything mean or snarky, I’m not making a scene. If they’re in the room, I don’t disappear... I’m trying.”

Your breathing was heavy and you could feel the pressure rising behind your eyes. You weren't prone to emotional outbursts and John felt like he’d provoked you without reason.

“What else am I supposed to do?” you whispered.

John looked like he was going to say something — probably a joke, probably one of his usual offhand lines to break the tension.

But he didn’t.

“I see him with her and it really hurts.” your arms dropped and you began to take the next few of his punches half-heartedly. You weren’t fighting back anymore.

Just standing there, letting the blows land and getting back up like clockwork.

“I-I can’t do this. I’m sorry”

You turn away, walking over to the wall pressing your forehead gently against the cool panelling. It’s the only thing that you could think to do to ground you. John comes up behind you, placing his hand on the top of your back, patting it like he would do to his son when he was helping him drift off to sleep.

John spoke, his tone gentler than usual.

“How do you always eat my hits like that?” he asks “You sure you’re not a mutant or something?”

You half-laughed, half-sighed, “If I was, I wouldn’t be a B-grade superhero like Variety said.”

He snorted behind you “And you believe the opinion of the magazine that made me ride my shield like a horse?”

You both laugh. John stands there with you until you calm down.

He tells you to clean up and head back upstairs, he says he doesn’t need you so stressed out so close to you guys’ next mission.

As you make your way up to the kitchen to fill up your water bottle you pass the library, freezing when you see two familiar figures sitting side by side on the floor.

Their arms are fitted so tightly next to one another, they look like their melting into each other. Lily reaches out and nudges a stray curl back behind Bob’s ear.

You feel sick.

Bob’s cheeks flush a little, and he gives her a sheepish grin and you make the mistake of scuffing your slippers across the floor in an attempt to walk away. They both look at you wide eyed, like they’d been caught doing something wrong.

“Hey guys” your voice gentle “Looks like a tornado flew through here, what you up to?” you’re hoping the fake texan twang is enough for them to not see the obvious awkwardness on your face.

Bob giggles and she explains their plan to find the ultimate saag paneer recipe, both finishing the others thoughts and animatedly nudging each other when they think the other ones wrong.

You decide that the scene is too intimate and too domestic and you need to run away.

Bidding them goodbye with a wide smile you all but run past the kitchen to go to your room and stew in your jealousy.

While Lily continues to argue the importance of the four forms of taste Bob swallows hard, his gaze distracted and brows slowly knotting together.

Something seriously doesn’t make sense with you.

You sit with your knees up on your bed, the soft glow from your bedside lamp casts shadows across the room. You make shapes with your hands and play with the shadows, your headphones are playing something by Lorde that makes you feel worse somehow.

That’s a first.

The door to the bathroom slowly cracks open, Ava’s brown curls visible as she inches her way in as quietly as possible.

“I’m awake y’know.” you grin at her, she was so cute when she was trying to be sneaky.

She guffaws “Yeah I k-knew.”

You stare at her accusingly with your brow raised.

“Ok so I thought you were asleep, so what? You can tell me off later once you tell me why you flooded your room on purpose.”

“I plead the fifth.” your expression completely deadpan.

“We’re both English! That doesn’t work.” she laughs out, not angrily but with the same tone a mother would with her child.

“Technically-“

She stops you “It wouldn’t have anything to do with the flying boy that you’ve been pining over?”

“That’s a low blow c’mon.” your pout is unintentional, you love Ava but you do not need to think about him even more after the day you’ve had, it would ruin the plan even more than it already had.

“Can we just drop the topic of Bob and just hang out? Since you’ve already snuck your way into my room”, she stills for a moment and without warning jumps onto your bed and grabs your waist. With her head in your lap you begin to thread your fingers through her scalp.

She mumbles something, half of her mouth buried in the plush fabric of your pyjamas. You’re sure it’s something about the way you keep the room way too cold for comfort.

This is nice you think.

Maybe you don’t need just Bob after all.

Phase 4

Never mind maybe you do.

Bob seems to struggle less and less with the concept of never seeing you around, he fills his time with Lily and her life. You think he seems to fit in fine with her spin classes and zoo dates. Not that there’s anything wrong with exercise and animals.

It isn’t your life, Bob isn’t your boyfriend and he would never want to be.

Ouch.

Maybe you really were on the cusp of really becoming invisible to him.

Just like you wanted?

Whatever, you didn’t have time to think about Project Get Over Bob anyway, Valentina had scheduled a gala to honour the ‘ex- Avengers’ as she called them. None of you were happy with the phrasing and you were sure Sam would talk you, Buck, and Joaqins ear off when you met up later tonight.

Your dress had been fitted a month or two before and Mel had scheduled a glam team for everyone so you go through the first half of the day abnormally relaxed.

You, Yelena, John and Alexei make your way downstairs first. You hear someone mumble about there not being enough space for everyone in the car but the air is so cold and bitter they’re lucky your ears haven’t frozen off by the time you’re off to the venue.

Once there, you struggle to get the train of your dress to stop sticking to the bottom of your heel, you curse loud enough for Alexei to notice and carry you out like a doll.

“Your dress ok my little firecracker?”

“Yeah thanks Lexei. You guys go ahead, I wanna go to the bathroom before heading in”

He nods and turns around, walking towards the others and wrapping his arms around them, binding them to himself as he rushes them in.

As you finally look up at the scene in front of you, your breath stutters.

The building in front of you was immense.

The lights perched about the balcony and grounds are blinding, and you grip the train of your dress in an attempt to calm your nerves. You focus on the sound of constant chatter and the feeling of the pebbled walkway under your heels.

Before your time with the team, you’d worked as a paralegal with the Govenor of New York. It was thankless but looked great on your Linkedin. You hadn’t figured out how to write Avenger in the current jobs section without seeming like an idiot yet. Galas were a common part of your job so you weren’t worried about having to network.

No what you were nervous about was keeping your cool around Bob. You’re sure that seeing him in a suit would kill you.

Now, back from the bathroom you feel a lot lighter and not just physically.

“You’re looking very foxy tonight lady.” without hesitation you reach out behind you to hit Joaqin.

“Why’d you say the same thing to me at every event dumbass.” the man gives you a bone crushing hug and another pair of arms snake around you while he squeezes.

“Buck been training you too hard or something? You look tired.” Sam and Joaqin really were tied at the hip recently, maybe Bob’s comment about them reminding him of Tina and Tina was right.

Wait, get yourself together, no more Bob!

You talk to the both of them for around twenty minutes before you're all ushered into the main room. You move effortlessly between the hoards of investors, senators and random people that you really don’t know, spitting out jokes and making conversation that the others on your team definitely don’t understand. You forget they didn't have to go full corporate for their previous day jobs.

God bless your internship at EY.

As you make your way over to the buffet, a voice calls out your name, you turn and see your friend Finley. He’d worked on a campaign with you a few years back.

You missed being less busy, even the stress of a political campaign was quieter than the constant press and training that had taken over your life. His sudden appearance was a welcome distraction.

“Look at you,” he said, pulling back to take you in “Avenger, huh? Still can’t believe you went from filing out my paperwork to fighting eldritch horrors.”

“Hey it’s not my fault you were so bad at your job.”

You both laughed and decided to find a nook to reminise about your awful pay and long nights together.

Your conversation was cut short when your phone buzzed in your clutch. A quick glance at the screen showed Bob was calling you.

You swipe the notification without a second thought.

You tell youself to remember the plan.

But you feel it suddenly, like someone is burning the side of your head with a lighter. What the hell?

When you look to your left, you see him.

Bob stands a few feet away, his expression unreadable.

His suit is black, tailored so precisely it looks painted onto him. The jacket hugs the top of his shoulders so deliciously, when he moves the fabric pulls just enough to remind you that he actually does have muscles and it isn't just rainbows/kittens under there. His shirt was crisp white, the contrast against his tan skin made your throat dry.

But it’s his face that really leaves you breathless.

His heavy brow bone, sharp and prominent, is even more pronounced under the chandelier lights. Shadows pooled in the hollows of his brow, making his already intense features twice as alluring. And his eyes—

God, his eyes.

Wait he looks really pissed.

His usually kind blue eyes looked unsettling, flashing wisps of black and gold. Did Bob always look like he was wearing eyeshadow or was it just today?

His gaze flicks from your face to your phone, then back.

He’d seen you ignore the call.

For a second, you brace waiting for him to say something, to call you out right there and then. But instead, Bob just… turns away but not before you see something raw flicker across his face, you just cant figure out what.

You text him a few times, a flurry of messages explaining you were in the middle of something important and were going to call him back, you promise.

Bob just replies with a thumbs up and tells you not to worry about it.

That somehow makes you feel worse than if he'd told you off.

The rest of the evening is fine, you have fun stuffing your face with courgette tarts but are worried about what to do when you get home. You’re leaving for Ulaanbaatar tomorrow morning and really don’t want to leave on a bad note.

The team was beat by the time the night was over, you all piled into your cabs and single-filed your way up to your rooms.

You’re two steps into yours when Bob lightly pushes his way in before the door closes.

“Hey”

His voice soft.

You turn, and there he is, still in that damn suit, his sleeves rolled up to his forearms. Was he trying to make you pass out on purpose? His eyes are tired, not angry. It makes you feel guilty, you’d have prefered him to be angry.

“You’ve been avoiding me.” he states.

Not an accusation.

Just a fact.

You swallow. “I’ve been busy. The mission prep—”

“Don’t.” He exhales sharply, running a hand through his hair. “Don’t do that. Not with me.”

You want to look away, but his gaze is so strong it feels like the room is falling away and all you can see is him.

“You haven’t hung out with me in weeks.” he says “You stopped eating breakfast with me, you did a U-turn in the hallway when you saw me last week and I know that you hate pottery so whats going on?” a pause, he looks nervous “Did I do something?”

Your chest aches “No. It’s not you.”

“Then what is it?”

You open your mouth, but nothing comes out. How could you explain? That every time you saw him with Lily, laughing at some joke you weren’t part of, it felt like he was ripping your heart out with his bare hands. That you were supposed to be over him, but you weren’t, and it was eating you alive?

Before you can force out another lie, Bob’s breath hitches. He can see the cogs turning in your head, attempting to lie to him again.

Wait, was the air in the room becoming thicker or was it the stress of the situation settling into your body?

His hands clenches. His pupils dilate—too wide, too gold.

Gold? Shit.

“Bob—” You step forward, but he staggers back, not wanting to touch you, bracing himself against the wall. His knuckles turning white where they grip the plaster, cracks begin to form under his palm.

That was not good.

“I don’t understand what the fuck your problem is! You go f-from telling me you aren’t avoiding me and that we’re such great friends to complete silence. I just, I don’t know what I did to make you upset with me.” his voice tapers off as he lowers his hands from the wall, the anger and frustration leaving his body only to be replaced with the sinking feeling of dread that maybe you really didn’t care for him.

“Hey, sweetheart I think we should both just calm down I’ll-“

“NO, no I won’t, I refuse to be ignored. We’ve devoted ourselves to you, don’t you see that!!” his voice is hoarse and it sounds as if all three of them, Void, Sentry and, Bob are shouting at you.

His body begins shaking and before you can even think you and Bob are completely gripped by the inky black tendrils of the Void.

The Void swallows you whole.

You land on your knees in a familiar place.

“No, no, not here, not again” you whine.

Maria Hill stands to your left, frozen in time.

You missed her, you missed her more than anything.

But you refused to live through it again, you worked so hard to come to terms with that day and it was a low blow for him to show you the room that you’d already worked so hard to leave a year before.

The scene changes and she’s there, right in front of you, bleeding out on the concrete.

Again.

And again.

“You like pulling cheap shots every time you force me to come here?” you scoff, sure the place scares you, but you calm yourself when you remember that Bob is stronger than whatever torture the Void is willing to put you through.

He’ll be here, you know he will.

“It worked on you last time, what’s the harm with trying twice?” a static-like voice whispers out from behind you.

The dark figure steps out in front of you, gripping your arm so tightly you can feel your muscle and bone press grind together. Despite the pain, you can feel him.

Feel Bob.

His presence calms you enough to stop struggling with the vice like force on your body.

You reach out, holding his face. The action angers him. You can’t see him but feel his features curl into a snarl.

“You think that a pathetic fucking human being like you can touch me or calm him? You think he dreams of you or thinks of you even a fraction of the amount you do.” his grip tightens even futher.

“Even the team, they think you’re dead weight, they tolerate you. Nothing more”

Suddenly Bob appears and he’s not alone.

He’s got an arm around Lily, whispering something in her ear and kissing her so deeply it feels innapropriate to observe.

You try to look away but his hand, Bob’s hand, grips your jaw leaving you unable to turn your head.

The Void purrs, his tone amused "He pities you and wants your attention because he’s bored, once he has her do you think he’ll care? He’s too kind to tell you to fuck off"

The Void senses your sudden hurt and latches on.

Digging deeper, he flashes every humiliating memory of yours—failed training sessions, missions where you froze and fucked up, anything that would make you hurt. "You’re a placeholder," he hisses, "a charity case. And the worst part? You know it."

The shame burns so deep you can’t breathe, can’t think, and as you begin to find your voice to tell him that you didn’t care and he’d had misjudged your reaction, the Void delivers a final blow.

His face flickers to resemble Bob "You really thought I could ever want you?" It’s so cruel and something within you is so caught off guard at the sight of Bob that you believe him.

The Void’s glee is palpable.

And then a voice cuts through the dark.

“Enough”

Bob.

Your Bob.

He stands at the edge of the nightmare, his eyes are blown open and wild, his hands clenched like he’s holding up the weight of the world

The midnight world suddenly splinters.

You wake up and the room is shaking, no wait, the room isnt shaking its you.

Bob’s crouched in front of you, his face concerned and he cradles your head in his arms “I didn’t—I didn’t mean for that to happen. I’m sorry. I’m so sorry.”

Your pain and fear is so strong you feel like you could collapse. You want to run away and scream, call out to everyone to take you away and lock you up somewhere that it couldn’t find you.

But you don’t dwell on those feelings, you know Bob, he must be devestated that he pulled you into the Void.

Your tone is soft as you push youself up “Hey, hey look at me. It wasn’t your fault, how were you supposed to know the big guy would come out so quickly.”

“But I let him hurt you-”

You stop him “Don’t, don’t say anything. Look we need to take you to the med bay now j-just don’t say anything please, just don’t.”

Bob stares at you—hurt, guilty, devastated—but he doesn’t protest.

You both hobble down to the med bay in silence and you cant help but wonder if he remembered what you both had been speaking about before or your hidden shame.

You really hope he hadn’t.

You’d called Yelena down on your way, telling her the other guy had come out to play for a bit and Bob was shaken up. She’d raced down as quickly as she could to relieve you of your babysitting duty.

Outside of the med bay, you speak to her in hushed tones while balancing the entire weight of your body on her, exhaustion setting in.

“You ok?” she strokes your hair as you tremble.

“Yeah I just, I need sleep.” she doesn’t press you for answers and you’re grateful. One small kiss to her head and you decide you’re ready to leave.

You glance back at Bob through the door, he’s already looking at you, pensive. You smile reassuringly and can visibly see his shoulders slump down in relief.

You leave but not after throwing another gummy smile and a thumbs up at the man.

The morning comes too soon, you’re still upset from the events of the night, but that doesn’t mean you can just shirk your responsibilities.

You’re packed and out the door before the sun fully rises, meeting John and Alexei downstairs. They don’t ask why your hands won’t stop shaking or why your eyes are so bloodshot.

As the engines hum to life, you glance back at the Tower one last time.

Project Get Over Bob was a complete bust.

Hey guys, hope that this chapter has you guy’s as excited as I am to continue on to the final part of this fic! Sorry for not adding a taglist to this fic but there were a lot of replies and I didn’t think I could get through them!

If you have any tips for fic writing pls follow me I’m always looking to improve.

I hope the writing style isn’t too different, I’m still trying to find my style and footing when it comes to this stuff!

The next chapter will be filled with plenty of comfort and maybe something a bit cheekier if you catch my drift!

#bob reynolds x reader #bob thunderbolts #bob reynolds #robert reynolds x reader #robert reynolds angst #robert reynolds #thunderbolts #bob x reader #yelena belova #bucky barnes #ava starr #john walker #alexei shostakov #marvel x reader #sentry x reader #void x reader

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kjhbsies · 3 months ago

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Multo

navigation | main masterlist | rules

James Potter x reader

synopsis: After weeks of silence and emotional distance, Y/N is forced to confront the feelings she’s tried so hard to bury— feelings for her best friend, James Potter. But when James shows up drunk at her doorstep, broken and desperate for answers, the truth finally comes to light.

wordcount: 2, 876

note: Part II of Cool About It. Angst to fluff.

Y/n had been avoiding James for three weeks now. At first, it wasn't obvious. The kind of thing that barely scratches the surface and could be brushed off as coincidence. Too subtle to raise alarms.

Like how she'd swiftly turn the opposite way the moment she caught a glimpse of his messy dark curls in the distance, or how she suddenly always had something to do— like an essay to finish, a meeting to attend— whenever James was near her. Her once-predictable presence at group hangouts had become a rarity, and somehow, every time James showed up, she just happened to be unavailable.

And maybe James didn't notice it at first. Maybe he was too caught up with Lily— her sudden shift of attitude towards him was too hard to ignore. He was in bliss— floating in a dream he had been chasing for years, too up high to see the way Y/n had started falling from his orbit.

But everyone in his friend group did. Remus, Sirius, and even Peter, who never picked up on these things, had made an offhand comment. "Have you lot seen Y/n lately?"

Still, James didn't piece it together. Or maybe he didn't want to. Maybe he was scared of what it could mean if he did.

Because once you notice someone pulling away from you, it's impossible not to wonder why.

The library was quiet during the late hours. It was almost empty, dim, and, somehow, Y/n found this place comfortable. This area has given her a small amount of peace, offering her some sort of sanity as she can busy herself with the books stacked in there, not really reading it— but just... hiding.

It had become a routine lately. Ducking into corners, finding solitude, telling herself she wasn't avoiding James. She was just... protecting herself. But, of course, the universe won't let her have her peace.

"Y/n!" James called her from behind, panting slightly as if he had run— because he had. His tie was slightly askew, his hair more of a mess than usual, and his eyes were blown wide with something she couldn't really place. Worry? Relief?

She opened her mouth to say something, but no words came out.

"I've been trying to catch you for weeks." James tried to laugh it off, stepping forward like he didn't know how to stop. "You— you've been ghosting me."

"I've just been busy," She answered, too quickly. Too quietly.

James gave a short, breathy laugh. "Right. Of course. Busiest girl in the whole world. Too busy for after-school meetups, for Hogsmeade strolls, for movie nights, for me."

Y/n's heart stung, but she didn't let it show.

"I was just about to head out," She insisted, gripping the strap of her bag tightly. "Long night."

"I'll drive you home," James said quickly. Already walking towards the exit like the decision has been made. "It's late."

"James, it's fine—"

"I insist." James smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "You seriously think I'd let you go home alone, especially at this hour?"

And she knew, even though her heart was screaming for her to just keep the distance she had so carefully built, arguing would make things worse. So she just nodded and followed him to his car.

The car ride was quiet— at least on her end. James, true to his form, filled the space between them with his usual charm.

"So, what are you even working in there?" He asked, glancing at her. "Don't tell me you've been burying your face in Calculus. That's just sick."

Y/n just chuckled. "No, no. It's a different subject."

James smiled. "Of course. Classic."

And then he went on to tell the latest happenings that had happened when she wasn't around. Sirius had managed to get in trouble again for the third time this month. Remus has been tutoring a freshman who mistook him for a professor. And Lily— Lily made a cheesecake, and James had declared her a goddess.

Y/n nodded and hummed, casually commenting a few sentences from time to time. Her face was polite, yet it felt robotic. And James noticed it.

From time to time, he subtly glanced at her through the rearview mirror. He wasn't the most emotionally intuitive guy, but he could tell something was wrong. Her laughter didn't come as easily. Her eyes didn't linger on him like before.

She wasn't really there— not in a way she used to be.

He gripped the steering wheel tighter, his knuckles turning pale. His words kept coming, but his mind was somewhere else. Because no matter how hard he tried to act normal, no matter how casual he played it— this wasn't normal.

Y/n was slipping away. And he doesn't know why.

When they pulled up in front of Y/n's house, the car slowed to a soft halt. The engine hummed between them, the only real sound in the heavy silence. James tapped his fingers against the steering wheel, his nerves betraying him.

"Thanks for the ride," She murmured.

James bit the insides of his cheek, then turned to look at her with a forced smile. "Hey— are you free tomorrow? Thought we could grab a coffee or something. Just us."

Y/n hesitated. "I got a study date with Remus."

His smile faltered for a second. "Remus?"

She nodded, pulling her bag over her shoulder. "Yeah. He was supposed to help me with my essay."

James scoffed lightly, shaking his head. "Since when do you study with Remus and not me?"

Y/n blinked at him, slightly thrown. "I— I don't know. It just... happened."

A pause stretched between them. James looked away, his jaw clenching slightly. "Right. Cool. I guess he's your go-to now."

There was something laced in his voice, something uncharacteristically sharp. Possessiveness wasn't a shade James often wore— he didn't need to. He had it all. The money, the talent, the looks. People gravitated towards him. That's just how it always been.

He didn't do jealousy. Especially with Remus.

"James..." Y/n said softly, not wanting to stir this into a fight.

"Well, tell Moony not to melt your brain too much. He goes on full professor when he's serious."

Y/n's gaze lingered on him for a bit, weighing him. But she didn't say anything else. She just smiled politely and slipped from the car.

And James watched her walk up to the front door, a small ache in his chest growing heavier with each step he took away from him.

The next day, the diner was buzzing with warmth and chatter; the golden afternoon sun was streaming through the windows and casting a perfect light across the table Lily and James shared.

She looked beautiful— like she always did— effortless in the way she talked, sit, and laughed. Everything he had ever wanted.

But he wasn't really looking at her. He was looking past her— toward the back booth, where Y/n and Remus were seated. And she was laughing. Like, really laughing.

The kind of laugh he hadn't seen from her in the past month. The kind that lit up her face, tipped her head back, made her eyes crinkle at the corners. She slapped her thigh as Remus finished his story like he was the most hilarious person in the world.

James scowled. He didn't even register what Lily was saying. Didn't even pay attention to the food in front of him. His eyes were just trained on them.

The way she leaned in when Remus talked, the way she rested her chin on her hand and looked at him like he was the most interesting person. Like she used to look at him.

And now— now he was noticing everything. The way her eyes sparkled when she smiled. The softness in her voice. He saw it. All of it.

"You okay?" Lily asked, suddenly pulling him out of his thoughts.

James blinked at her. "What?"

"You've been zoning out."

He gave a weak laugh. "Yeah. Sorry, just tired."

Lily raised a brow but let it go.

James looked back at the booth, his heart thudding uncomfortably. Y/n was laughing again, and Remus was now awfully sitting close beside her.

James wasn't used to doing this. The second guessing. The silence. The way his jokes no longer earned a laugh, how his texts were left on read, or worse— replied to nothing, but a cold, distant, courtesy.

It was his fifth attempt this week.

"Hey, there's a new art exhibit in town," He said casually, acting as if his heart wasn't pounding against his chest. "Thought you'd like the surrealist stuff. You know, the one with melting clocks and faceless people? I figured we could check it out together."

"I wish I could, but I got this paper due... and my cat's appointment with the vet later. I'm sorry, James." She smiled apologetically.

She always said sorry. Always with that small, polite smile. The kind of smile you give to a stranger.

And James felt he was slowly becoming one.

The truth was, it was never the art exhibit, or the cafe he invited her over to the day before that, or the time he showed up at her house with her favorite bubble tea and that novel she mentioned in passing months ago. He just missed her.

He missed the way she used to greet him with a smile that warmed his heart. The way she'd bump shoulders with him as he walked her to her class, the little inside jokes they used to whisper under their breaths, the sound of her laugh— God, her laugh.

He missed being her person.

And with each failed attempt, with every gentle excuse, his confidence chipped away. The great James Potter— charmer, golden boy, team captain— was suddenly unsure. Awkward. Tongue tied.

Because he realized that he was losing something he didn't even realize he had been holding on so tightly. Maybe it had always been her.

So right now, he was slouched in one of the couches in a loud club. The lights were too bright, everyone was chaotic, and the air was thick with sweat, perfume, and alcohol. But he didn't care.

His third drink sat in front of him, and he was already slowly getting drunk. Sirius lounged beside him, watching him with a silent concern as he did not see his best friend spiral like this— not even from Lily.

"You alright, mate?" Peter asked.

James didn't answer at first. He kept staring ahead, eyes unfocused, mouth pressed into a thin line. Then, finally, answered a bitter, "Peachy."

Peter frowned, but Sirius placed a hand on his shoulder and subtly shook his head— don't push it.

Remus, however, didn't bite his tongue.

"Is this about Y/n?"

The second her name left his mouth, James immediately glared at him, eyes bloodshot and glassy.

"What, d'you know something I don't?" James snapped, voice rising above the music. "Since you're always with her now?"

"She's my friend, James."

"Oh, friend, right. You two study together, hang out alone, laugh like idiots— hell, you even know everything about her, don't you?" James slammed his glass down, the drink sloshing to his sleeve. "She doesn't look at me the way she used to. Doesn't see me. She makes excuses to avoid me. Says she's busy. Tired. Got plans. But then I see her with you."

"Prongs—" Sirius interjected, but James wasn't finished.

He laughed, but it was hollow. Broken. "What did I even do, huh? Why the hell won't she just talk to me?"

"Alright, Prongs. Let's take a breath, yeah?" Sirius place a firm hand on James's shoulder.

But James shrugged it off. Instead, he ran his fingers through his hair. "I don't get it. She was my best friend. Mine." His shoulders slumped as the tears came rolling in. "I just— I just want her back. I miss her."

He sank into the couch, wiping his face the back off his hand like a child. "Call her." He whispered. Then louder, more desperate. "Please. Just call her. Ask her to come. I don't care if she's mad at me or if she hates me. I need to talk to her. Please. Please, please, please." He begged.

Sirius exchanged a look with Remus.

"Alright, I'll call her."

"Hello?" Y/n answered from the other line. The background was filled with a mix of loud music, clinking glasses, and chaos— but none of it made her go still. James. He wasn't speaking coherently. Just broken words, cries, and soft pitiful pleas. "Is that—"

Remus sighed softly. "Yeah. He's... not doing well."

She could hear James's voice in the background— his voice was wrecked and cracking as he said her name over and over.

"What's going on?"

"He's begging for you, actually."

Y/n's heart clenched. "Tell him... I'm glad he's surrounded by people who care about him tonight. But I— I can't come."

Remus didn't respond immediately. "Y/n, he's not himself." He said softly, not to pressure her— never that— but to simply let her know the truth.

"I know," She whispered. "But I can't do it, Remus. For the sake of my sanity, I can't. It's not that I don't care about him. God, I do. But if I go there, I'm scared it'll hurt us even more."

Remus exhaled softly on the other end of the line. "Okay, I understand."

"Please just... make sure he gets home safe?"

"We will. You did the right thing."

Y/n ended the call, and she couldn't help but sit as her legs buckled. The night was dead silent, save for the faint hum of the air conditioner at the corner of Y/n's room.

She had been staring at nowhere. Thinking. Pondering. She wondered if she even made the right decision of ignoring James. Of falling in love with him.

She hadn't noticed the clock had already struck midnight. Hadn't noticed that it had been an hour since she declined James's request. The guilt was eating her alive, and she couldn't do anything about it.

But then, the doorbell rang.

She didn't move for a moment. Praying it was just the neighbor or maybe a delivery to the wrong address. But somehow, deep down, she knew. Her stomach twisted painfully as she stood up, making her way through the door.

And when she swung the door open, her breath caught in her throat. James stood there. His hair was a damp mess, with sweat clinging on his forehead, and his chest rising and falling as if he had run all the way to here. His cheeks were flushed from the alcohol, and his eyes— oh, his eyes— were bloodshot and glassy, rimmed with tears that hadn't yet fallen.

"James," She whispered softly.

"You didn't care about me at all, did you?" He asked, voice hoarse and quiet. "You just let me spiral."

"What? No! James, I—"

"You ignored me." He stepped inside the house without waiting for her permission. His eyes never left hers. "You stopped talking to me. Pretend I didn't exist. You— you just cut me off like I'm nothing."

"That's not true." She stepped forward, reaching at his hand, but he stepped back, shaking his head.

"I waited. Every day, I waited for you to call back. And you didn't. You just... let me go."

Y/n's throat burned, her hands trembling by her sides.

"I had to." She choked. "James, I had to—"

"Why?" He asked, stepping closer now. His anger melted into confusion and pain. "What did I do so wrong, Y/n?"

"Because I like you." She said, barely a whisper. "I liked you so much it hurts, James. And I couldn't take it anymore. Watching you love someone else while I stand in the corner, pretending it doesn't rip me apart."

James stared at her. Stunned and silent.

She laughed bitterly through the tears. "I was doing it for me. I had to distance myself."

James opened his mouth, but no words came out.

"I didn't mean to fall for you. It just happened. And by the time I realized it, it was too late." She wiped at her face and stepped back, motioning at the door. "You should go. Please. Just go."

She turned around, ready to walk away, when James grabbed her wrist gently. And before she could react, his lips were on hers in a deep, desperate, and passionate kiss that stole the breath from her lungs.

When they finally pulled away, breathless, James cupped her face with trembling hands.

"I was stubborn," He whispered, forehead pressing against hers. "I kept telling myself I didn't feel anything for you. That Lily was all I wanted. And God, I was so wrong."

"James..."

"I love you. And I'm sorry it took me so long to see it. For being blind. But please— let me start over. Let me fix things between us." He kissed her again, almost reverent. "Don't give up on me yet."

"Just don't break me again, James."

And in the silence that followed, he held her like a promise he never planned to let go of.

©kjhbsies

taglist: @lotsostrawberrybear @sweetstrawberrianne

#james potter x reader #james potter x fem!reader #james potter x you #james potter fanfiction #james potter angst #marauders #james potter

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pucksandpower · 6 months ago

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Nothing to Prove

Charles Leclerc x Vettel!Reader

Summary: it’s a tale as old as time — every female sports fan has been told to “prove” her fandom at least once in her life — but the man quizzing you quickly learns the error of his ways

The Miami sun beats down relentlessly as you make your way through the bustling paddock, your destination the familiar red and white of the Ferrari motorhome. The air buzzes with pre-race excitement, mechanics and team personnel darting about like worker bees in a particularly colorful hive.

You’re so focused on navigating the crowd that you almost don’t notice the young man who steps directly into your path, phone held aloft. His grin is a touch too smug for comfort.

“Excuse me, miss,” he says, voice dripping with false politeness. “Mind if I ask you a few questions for my TikTok?”

You hesitate, torn between ingrained courtesy and a gnawing sense of unease. “I’m actually in a bit of a hurry-”

“It’ll only take a minute,” he insists, already hitting record. “So, tell me, what’s your favorite thing about Formula 1?”

The question seems innocent enough, but there’s something in his tone that sets your teeth on edge. Still, you decide to play along for now. “Well, I love the strategy, the technology, the way the whole sport pushes the boundaries of what’s possible-”

He cuts you off with a laugh. “Come on, be honest. It’s the hot drivers, right? That’s why most girls watch.”

You blink, momentarily stunned by his blatant misogyny. “Excuse me?”

“No judgment!” He says, holding up his hands in mock surrender. “I get it, they’re all rich and fit. But let’s see how much you really know. Who won the 1976 World Championship?”

You open your mouth to answer, but he barrels on.

“What’s the difference between understeer and oversteer? How many points do you get for fastest lap? Come on, if you’re a real fan, this should be easy!”

Your initial discomfort has morphed into full-blown anger. “Look, I don’t have to prove anything to you. My knowledge of the sport isn’t-”

“Ah, so you can’t answer,” he says, triumphant. “Just as I thought. Another pretty face here for the-”

“Is there a problem here?”

The smooth voice comes from just behind you, followed by the warmth of a familiar body pressing against your back. Strong arms wrap around your waist, and you instinctively lean into the embrace.

The TikToker’s eyes go wide as saucers as he takes in the newcomer. “You’re ... you’re ...”

“Charles Leclerc,” your boyfriend finishes for him, voice deceptively mild. “And you are ...”

The young man sputters, clearly thrown off his game. “I’m ... I mean... I was just asking your girl here some questions about F1.”

Charles’ arms tighten fractionally around you. “Is that so? Because from where I was standing, it sounded more like an interrogation.”

You turn your head slightly, meeting Charles’ gaze. His green eyes are blazing with a protective fury that makes your heart skip a beat.

“It’s fine,” you murmur. “He was just leaving.”

Charles raises an eyebrow at the TikToker, who’s looking increasingly desperate to be anywhere else. “You heard the lady.”

But the young man, perhaps realizing his video is about to become internet gold, rallies. “Wait! I mean, no offense, but how do we know she’s not just with you for the fame? Can she even name your teammate?”

You feel Charles tense behind you, but before he can speak, you’ve had enough. You step out of his embrace, squaring up to the TikToker.

“Carlos Sainz Jr.,” you say, voice hard. “Currently P4 in the championship. And since you’re so keen on quizzing people, James Hunt won in ‘76, understeer is when the front of the car doesn’t turn enough while oversteer is when the rear steps out too much, and you get one point for fastest lap if you finish in the top ten. Any other burning questions?”

The TikToker gapes at you, clearly unprepared for this turn of events. Charles, for his part, looks like he’s trying very hard not to laugh.

“I ... but ...” the young man stammers.

You press on, building up a head of steam. “Oh, and fun fact — my brother has four World Championships. But I’m sure you knew that, being such an expert and all.”

The TikToker’s face drains of color as realization dawns. “Your brother? You’re Sebastian Vettel’s sister?”

Charles can’t contain his amusement any longer. He laughs, the sound rich and warm. “I tried to warn you. You’ve awakened the beast.”

You shoot him a mock glare. “You’re not helping.”

He holds up his hands in surrender, still grinning. “Far be it from me to interfere with your righteous fury. Please, continue.”

The TikToker looks like he wants the ground to swallow him whole. “I ... I’m so sorry. I didn’t realize-”

“That women can be genuine fans?” You interrupt. “That we might actually understand and love the sport for its own sake? Or just that you shouldn’t make assumptions about people based on their gender?”

He winces. “All of the above?”

Charles steps forward, placing a hand on your shoulder. The touch is gentle, but there’s steel in his voice when he speaks. “I think it’s time for you to go. And delete that video while you’re at it.”

The young man nods frantically, fumbling with his phone. In his haste to retreat, he trips over his own feet, sprawling ungracefully on the ground. Charles moves to help him up, ever the gentleman, but you put a restraining hand on his arm.

“Let him sort himself out,” you mutter. “A little humiliation might do him some good.”

Charles chuckles, pulling you close. “Remind me never to get on your bad side.”

As the TikToker scrambles away, face burning with embarrassment, you allow yourself to relax into Charles’ embrace. The adrenaline of the confrontation leaves you feeling a bit shaky.

“You okay?” Charles asks softly, pressing a kiss to your temple.

You nod, letting out a long breath. “Yeah. Just ... frustrated. Why do people still think like that?”

He sighs, running a hand through his hair. “I wish I knew. It’s not fair, the assumptions people make.”

“It’s not just about me,” you say, turning to face him fully. “It’s about all the female fans out there who get treated like this. Who get quizzed and belittled and have their passion questioned at every turn.”

Charles nods, his expression serious. “You’re right. It’s a bigger problem than just one idiot with a TikTok account.”

“Sometimes I wonder if it will ever change,” you admit, feeling a wave of exhaustion wash over you.

Charles cups your face in his hands, his touch impossibly gentle. “It will,” he says with conviction. “Because of people like you who stand up and call it out. Who refuse to let ignorance go unchallenged.”

You lean into his touch, allowing yourself a small smile. “When did you get so wise?”

He grins, some of his usual playfulness returning. “I have my moments. Don’t tell anyone though, it’ll ruin my reputation.”

You laugh, the tension finally starting to dissipate. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

Charles leans in, resting his forehead against yours. “I’m proud of you, you know,” he murmurs. “The way you handled that ... it was impressive.”

“Yeah?” You ask, a hint of vulnerability creeping into your voice.

“Absolutely,” he says firmly. “You were brilliant. Fierce. Passionate.” His voice drops lower, a mischievous glint in his eye. “Incredibly sexy.”

You swat his arm playfully. “Behave yourself, Leclerc. We’re in public.”

He affects an innocent expression that doesn’t fool you for a second. “I’m always on my best behavior.”

You snort. “That’s what worries me.”

Charles laughs, the sound bright and carefree. It never fails to make your heart soar. He takes your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “Come on, let’s get to the motorhome. I think we both could use a moment of peace before the craziness really begins.”

As you walk hand in hand through the paddock, you can’t help but reflect on the incident. It leaves a sour taste in your mouth, but there’s also a spark of hope. Because for every misogynistic TikToker, there are countless fans — of all backgrounds — who love the sport for what it is. Who appreciate the skill, the strategy, the sheer spectacle of it all.

And maybe, just maybe, standing up to ignorance one interaction at a time is how change really happens.

Charles squeezes your hand, pulling you from your thoughts. “What’s going on in that beautiful mind of yours?”

You smile, leaning into him slightly as you walk. “Just thinking about how lucky I am. To be here, doing what I love. To have people in my life who support me and believe in me.”

He brings your joined hands to his lips, pressing a soft kiss to your knuckles. “The luck goes both ways, mon cœur. You make me better, on and off the track.”

As you approach the Ferrari motorhome, its bright red a beacon in the sea of team colors, you feel a renewed sense of purpose. There will always be challenges, always be those who try to tear others down. But with love, determination, and a refusal to back down from what’s right, anything is possible.

Even changing the world of Formula 1, one small interaction at a time.

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fallenbratfiction · 3 months ago

Text

his assistant ~ harry castillo x f! reader

A/N: I had this idea about him and it completely stopped all my uni reading so I put away the pdfs and got to writing this beauty. I was kicking at my feet giggling and screeching aaaaaaaaa

warnings: age gap (early twenties reader, mid forties older boss harry), workplace relationship / power dynamics (boss × assistant), alcohol, smut, fingering, oral sex (f! receiver), unprotected sex. Let me know if I've forgotten any warnings so I can add them.

minors dni ~ minors do not interact with this fic or my blog. I am not responsible for your consumption.

do not copy, translate or claim this story as your own.

Your day consisted of running after Harry. He was a busy man—and by extension, you were a busy assistant.

You’d landed this job thanks to a mentor’s referral letter, and you were forever grateful. It had changed your life: no more night shifts while trying to finish your bachelor's degree.

Harry was a reserved man, at first he didn’t talk much, but he had a sharp sense of humor. Over time, you’d learned how to read him, and together, you'd become a solid team.

He thought your work was exceptional. You were dedicated—sometimes too dedicated. If he stayed at the office all night, you stayed too, just in case he needed something. He told you more than once to go home, but you rarely listened.

Lately, he'd started dating again. That meant working out a lot. Sometimes you'd catch him right after a run, sweatshirt soaked through. It was hard to focus on your notes when he looked like that.

He didn’t need to work out. He was already unfairly attractive—but of course, you didn’t say that. Not your place.

You tossed a towel at him, which he caught midair. He peeled off the drenched sweatshirt, revealing the results of his dedication. Either he was too comfortable with you now, or he'd forgotten you were still in the room.

“Fucking hell.”

He turned toward you, raising an eyebrow.

You quickly held up your phone. “This thing just froze. Fucking hell.”

He nodded, and you prayed the earth would swallow you whole.

But he knew what you meant.

__________________________

It was late at the office. The only two people left were you and Harry. He sat at his large desk, fingers flying across the keyboard, though he kept glancing your way.

You were focused on your phone, scheduling appointments, replying to emails. He liked watching you when you were focused—your scrunched nose, the way you bit your lip when you made a mistake. How you always tucked your hair behind your ear like it helped you concentrate. To him, it just gave him a perfect view of your neck—like a subtle invitation to that sweet spot close to your ear.

“Have you eaten anything?” he asked.

You looked up, caught off guard. “Uhm... no? I had an oatmeal bar a few hours ago.”

He frowned. He hated how often you skipped meals because of work—because of him.

“Don’t worry,” you added. “Go home. I’ll grab a salad or something later.”

“I was thinking,” he interrupted, “we could get dinner. Together.”

You blinked. “You want to have dinner... with me?”

“We spend the whole day together. Don’t see the issue with having dinner, too.”

You hesitated. “Wouldn’t that get me into trouble? I mean... HR?”

“I’m the boss,” he said. “You won’t get into any trouble. It’s a friendly invitation.”

You considered it. Honestly, you were starving—and if you waited any longer, your stomach would probably start growling audibly.

“Sure. Why not,” you shrugged, grabbing your jacket and slinging your purse over your shoulder.

You followed him into a fancy restaurant. The kind with low lights, gold accents, and a wine list thicker than a Bible. You resisted the urge to take out your phone for a picture.

A waitress led you to your table before disappearing. Harry pulled out your chair for you. You murmured a shy thank-you to which he hummed.

He sat across from you and you observed how he got comfortable taking off his jacket.

Harry handed you the menu, but you were too aware of everything—the ambient jazz, the soft clinking of cutlery, still trying to process this entire situation—being out with him, in public, like this. It’s not like you hadn’t been in public with him before, you were constantly in public but the dynamic was different. you weren’t there holding his jacket while he had dinner with someone else, or sitting at the bar or a different table to keep an eye if needed. No, you were sitting with him at the fancy restaurant.

Moments later, a tall brunette waitress appeared. Thin smile. Sharp eyes.

"Can I get you something to drink while you decide?" she asked, not once looking in your direction. She flipped her hair as she awaited his response.

Your brows lifted slightly. Harry noticed.

He didn’t blink. “We’ll take the house Cabernet. Two glasses.”

That’s when she looked at you—finally. One long, assessing glance. Then a bright smile aimed only at him.

“Oh,” she said innocently. “Is she even of legal drinking age?”

You stiffened. Your hand tightened around the edge of the table.

You were ready to correct her. “Actually, I’m his—”

But Harry’s tone cut through first. Calm. Controlled. No smile.

“She’s my partner, actually.”

The waitress blinked. Her face held a flicker of something before she masked it with another sweet smile.

“Right,” she said slowly, lingering a second too long. “I just—thought she was your daughter at first. That’s all.” She gave him a wink like it was a private joke.

You opened your mouth, fully ready to set her on fire with words— Are you always this unprofessional, or am I just lucky tonight?

But Harry reached across the table, fingers brushing your hand lightly. Just enough to anchor you.

“She’ll have the same wine as me,” he added firmly, not breaking eye contact with the waitress. “Thank you.”

The message was clear: You can go now.

She hesitated—then turned, heels clicking sharply as she walked away.

You looked at him. “Partner?” you whispered, incredulous. “Castillo, what the fuck was that?”

“Oh, I’m sorry—would you rather I let her mock you as my child or my assistant?”

“But I am your assistant.”

“And I wasn’t about to let her reduce you to that. Not when you’re sitting here with me.”

You opened your mouth again—then closed it. Your cheeks burned.

“Just say thank you,” he added, voice low. “Or gracias.”

“…Gracias,” you muttered, still glaring at the now-empty space where the waitress stood.

A few minutes passed in silence as you both read the menu. Then you snorted.

Harry looked up. “What?”

“Sorry, just—the idea of being your partner,” you said, covering your mouth to hide your grin. Good joke. Will never happen.

“Why is that funny? Am I that bad-looking?”

“No! It’s just... me? Being with you? Me?”

“Well, you’re not bad-looking either. I don’t see the humor.”

“Thanks... I guess.”

“I mean—you’re gorgeous. Anyone would be lucky to be with you. Hell, I’d be lucky, if I wasn’t older.”

You blinked. Thought you’d misheard. But before you could ask, he was waving the waitress back to take your order.

She returned a few minutes later, two wine glasses in hand and a bottle tucked expertly in the crook of her arm. This time, she had no choice but to acknowledge you.

She set Harry’s glass down smoothly. Then yours, with a forced politeness that made you want to laugh.

"Well," you said under your breath, watching her walk away stiffly. "She doesn’t seem like quite a fan of me."

Harry smirked. “You think?”

“She looked like she wanted to throw the wine in my face.”

“I wouldn’t let her waste the good stuff.”

The wine ritual followed, soft and flirtatious. He swirled his glass and held it near your face.

"Swirl first," he said softly. "Let it breathe. Then smell. But don’t shove your nose in like a rookie.”

You chuckled. “So you’re a sommelier now?”

“No, I just have taste.”

You mirrored him. Swirled. Smelled. Sipped.

“Any notes?” he asked, lips curled in amusement.

"Yeah. Grapes," you deadpanned.

He laughed, eyes crinkling—and for a second, it felt like there were no titles between you. No roles. Just two people. Sitting across from each other. Maybe on the verge of something stupid, or something real.

The wine helped. So did the food.

The waitress returned with two beautifully plated dishes and the thinnest layer of civility. She set Harry’s plate down with practiced ease, then yours with stiff politeness. Her jaw was tight. She didn’t say a word this time.

When she walked away, you finally exhaled.

Harry raised his glass slightly toward you. “To surviving the service industry.”

You clinked his glass with yours, managing a small laugh. But your mind wasn’t really on the food. Or the wine. Or the waitress.

It was still on him.

Specifically: “Hell, I’d be lucky… if I wasn’t older.”

He said it so casually. Like it wasn’t a confession. Like it wasn’t driving you quietly insane.

You watched him from across the table as he cut into his steak—calm, focused, unbothered. How was he always like this? Controlled. Grounded. Like nothing ever rattled him.

You bit your lip and stabbed at your salad.

“You’re quiet,” he said after a moment.

“I’m eating,” you replied, a little too fast.

He raised a brow. “You’ve barely touched your food.”

You shrugged, trying not to overthink it. “Just... still running through what she said, I guess.”

He studied you for a second. “Let it go. She’s not worth that much space in your head.”

“That’s not—” You paused. “It’s not about her.”

Harry leaned back slightly, his eyes still on you. “Then what is it?”

You hesitated. Then took a sip of your wine, buying time.

“If I wasn’t older…”

That’s what it was, that damn line.

You swallowed, not just the wine, but the way your heart seemed to lurch every time you replayed it.

“It’s stupid,” you said finally. “Forget it.”

“I won’t,” he replied. “You don’t usually get this flustered.”

“I’m not flustered,” you lied.

He smirked, tilting his head. “Right.”

You poked at your food again. Then quietly you proceeded “So what did you mean?”

He looked at you, serious now. No smirk. No tease.

“I meant what I said.”

“About the age thing?”

He nodded. “I try not to think about it, but yeah. Sometimes I wonder if I’d cross a line just by wanting more than I should.”

Silence.

Then, softer: “And what happened on Monday didn’t help.”

You stared at him confused. “What happened on Monday?”

He held your gaze. “You tossed a towel at me. I took my shirt off. And you said, fucking hell.”

Your eyes widened. “I said it because—”

“I know why,” he said. Still calm. Still steady. “It’s fine. I didn’t mind.”

You stared at your plate, the flush spreading to your neck.

He added, voice barely above the hum of the restaurant

“I think about it too. You. More than I should.”

You didn’t answer.

But you didn’t need to.

Because when he reached across the table—just for a moment, just to brush your hand with his fingers again—you didn’t pull away.

_____________________________

The air outside was cooler than you expected. Or maybe it was just the heat still clinging to your skin from the conversation.

Harry walked a few steps ahead, hands in his pockets, silent. He stopped at the edge of the sidewalk near the curb. The night stretched around you both—quiet, electric.

“I’m sorry,” he said suddenly, not facing you. “If I made you uncomfortable back there.”

You blinked. “What?”

He turned, finally looking at you. “At the table. I shouldn’t have said that—about thinking about you. Or the age thing. It wasn’t appropriate.”

You stepped closer. “Harry—”

“If it put you in a weird position, I—”

You didn’t let him finish. You closed the distance, grabbed the lapel of his coat, and pressed a kiss to his lips. His mustache grazed your skin, warm and soft and just rough enough to make your breath catch.

He didn’t kiss back at first. He just froze, lips parted under yours, like his brain hadn’t caught up yet.

Then, slowly, his hand came up—fingertips grazing your waist as if to make sure you were real.

You started to pull away, panic bubbling in your chest.

Shit, shit! What did I just do?

But he caught you and kissed you back. Not rushed. Not messy. Just steady, grounded, certain. His mouth moved against yours like he’d been holding back for too long—and now, the dam had cracked.

When you finally broke apart, you stayed close, your breath still caught between you.

He looked at you like he was trying to piece together what just happened. And you looked right back. Not saying anything, just holding his gaze.

Yes.

That happened just now.

“I wasn’t sure if I’d crossed a line,” he murmured. His voice was low. Honest.

“I crossed it for you,” you said.

His lips twitched—barely. Like he wanted to smile but didn’t quite know how to yet. He stared at you like you were some puzzle he’d never expected to solve.

Then, without another word, he took a step back and held out his hand.

You didn’t hesitate.

_______________________

The silence in the car wasn’t awkward. It was heavy. Full.

You sat there, lips still tingling, eyes on the window. The city blurred past in soft golds and blues.

Neon signs flickered. A woman smoked on a balcony. A dog pulling its owner across a crosswalk. A man hailed a cab. Life was still happening—but all you could feel was him.

His presence beside you. His warmth in the space between the seats. The echo of his mouth on yours.

You tilted your head, eyes tracing the curve of the moon through the window. It followed you quietly, like it knew. Like it saw everything.

Every red light glowed too long. Every block felt like a held breath.

He gripped the wheel tighter than usual. Jaw tense. He checked his mirrors often, but it was clear he wasn’t really seeing anything. His jaw worked silently, eyes flicking between the road and the rearview, like any movement might pull him out of the moment.

You kept quiet. Let the silence stretch.

Finally, his voice broke through the quiet. Low. Controlled.

“I meant what I said.”

You turned your head slowly. “Which part?”

He glanced at you, just once.

“All of it.”

You held his gaze for a second longer than necessary. Then looked away, smiling just a little.

“Good.”

You finally made it to his building. He pulled into the underground garage, the soft hum of the engine echoing off the concrete walls.

He parked in his usual spot. You recognized it—you’d been here before. Dropped off folders, laptops, contracts he forgot in the office. Walked these exact halls with purpose, never pausing. Always professional. Always business.

But this time?

This time you didn’t have a file in your hands. You weren’t on a clock. You weren’t his assistant.

You were just you.

And that changed everything.

He turned off the engine, but neither of you moved for a second. You could feel the air shift. Not heavier—closer.

He got out of the car without another word, the door shutting quietly behind him. A few seconds later, your door opened—and there he was, standing beside you like it was nothing.

He looked at you. “You coming?”

You nodded once. “Yeah.”

You blinked.

You hadn’t moved.

You were still sitting there, fingers lightly pressed against your thigh, your body catching up to what your heart had already decided.

He didn’t rush you.

Just waited. One hand resting on the open door, the other in his coat pocket, his eyes on you like he could see the entire storm happening behind your stillness.

You exhaled slowly. Then you stood.

His gaze followed you as you stepped out of the car, close enough to feel the warmth of his body in the chill of the garage.

No words. Just the soft click of the door closing behind you.

You followed him to the elevator.

________________________

The elevator opened into the apartment directly.

You stepped in first. You’d been here before, of course—several times. Late-night contract drop-offs. Files he forgot in the office. You knew the layout by heart, knew the scent of the place, even the way the light curved in from the floor-to-ceiling windows.

But you’d never walked in like this.

Not without an agenda or a deadline.

Not as a guest.

And suddenly, the space felt different.

It wasn’t sterile or cold like you used to tell yourself. No sleek, lonely bachelor energy. No leather-and-glass cliché.

It was warm.

Low lighting. Art on the walls. A worn leather chair near the window, a record player spinning soft jazz in the corner. Shelves with actual books, not props. A thick wool throw draped over the couch. A scent like cedarwood and something expensive lingered in the air.

“Wow,” you breathed, almost instinctively.

Harry loosened his tie. “You’ve seen it before.”

You looked at him. “Yeah, but not like this.”

He held your gaze a second longer, then nodded. “Fair.”

He disappeared into the kitchen briefly, came back with a bottle of wine and two glasses. This bottle looked different—older, deeper colored.

“Private collection?” you teased.

“Something like that.” He poured carefully, then handed you a glass.

You swirled it. “Swirl, breathe, smell... sip?”

He smiled again, slower this time. “You remembered.”

You sipped. You could feel his gaze linger on your mouth.

“It’s really good,” you said, clearing your throat.

He stood in front of you, not close enough to touch—but enough that you felt it. The gravity of him. The silence stretching between you again.

He stayed standing across from you for a moment, sleeves rolled up, the top buttons of his shirt undone now. You watched him, your glass warm in your hand.

Neither of you said a word.

But everything was being said.

You stepped toward him at the same time he stepped toward you. The shared gravity was inevitable.

He reached out first, not to kiss you again, but to tuck a strand of hair behind your ear. His knuckles grazed your cheek, and it made your breath catch.

“You okay?” he asked softly.

You nodded. “Are you?”

He smiled, something half-there. “Not sure.”

You were close enough now that you could feel the heat of his chest through the thin barrier of space left between you. His hand lingered at your waist. Yours found his wrist, thumb tracing the veins beneath his skin.

You weren’t sure who moved first this time. Maybe both.

The kiss was quieter now. Slower. Less urgent, more intentional. Like you were both realizing there was no clock ticking. No one to interrupt. No need to hold back.

When he pulled back just enough to rest his forehead against yours, you kept your eyes closed. Let the silence wrap around you.

“I wasn’t planning this,” he murmured.

“I know,” you said. “Me neither.”

But neither of you moved away.

You barely noticed how close you’d gotten until your glass tilted slightly, the wine catching the rim. A splash landed on his shirt, dark red soaking into crisp white.

“Shit,” you whispered, pulling back. “I didn’t mean to—”

Harry glanced down. Then up at you, completely unfazed.

“It was coming off anyway,” he said simply, already working the buttons open with one hand.

You stood frozen for a beat too long, your wine forgotten.

He peeled off the shirt and tossed it onto the back of a nearby chair. His torso was lean, toned in a way that only comes from quiet consistency—not vanity, just discipline. His skin was warm under the golden lighting, a scattering of freckles across his shoulders.

You cleared your throat, trying to remember how to function.

He looked at you again, this time slower. “You okay?”

“I will be if you stop looking at me like that,” you murmured, a small smirk tugging at your lips.

“Like what?”

“Like you already know what’s going to happen.”

He stepped closer again. “I don’t,” he said softly. “That’s kind of the best part.”

He took your glass and set it aside—carefully—then turned back to you.

His eyes were darker now. Focused.

He wanted your full attention.

He gripped your waist and pulled you closer, his touch no longer tentative. Confident. Sure. With one movement, he shifted your weight, guiding you until your legs wrapped around him instinctively.

He walked—slow but deliberate—until your back met the wall.

The kiss broke for only a second, just long enough for you to catch your breath.

Then it came crashing back—furious now. Hungry. His mouth on yours like he’d been waiting all night to be this unrestrained.

Your hands tangled in his hair, fingers tugging just hard enough to make him groan against your lips. He pressed into you, anchoring you to the wall, one hand exploring the curve of your hip, the other trailing along your ribs, steady but searching.

He kissed like he knew you—like every inhale, every tilt of your head, was familiar already. Like he didn’t want to stop.

And neither did you.

He pulled back just long enough to catch your breath—his lips parted, his chest rising with yours in sync.

And then he moved.

He didn’t say a word, just adjusted his grip on your thighs and carried you across the room. You tightened your legs around his waist instinctively, fingers still tangled in his hair as he walked the two of you toward the bedroom.

You weren’t sure when your shirt came off. Somewhere between the hallway and the doorway, between kisses along your neck and soft, breathless gasps you couldn’t hold back.

He dropped it on the floor like it had never mattered, and by the time you reached the bed, all that was left between you and the sheets was skin and heat and a thousand quiet yeses.

He set you down gently. Like he knew this wasn’t just about desire—it was about something else. Something you both hadn’t dared name yet.

But right now?

You didn’t need a name.

You needed him.

He laid you down gently, like he didn’t want to rush—like he wanted to memorize every second of this.

And then he hovered above you, just for a breath. His eyes swept over you—bare skin, flushed cheeks, your mouth still parted from the last kiss.

You felt his fingertips brush the side of your neck, slow, reverent. His gaze followed the motion like he’d traced this path a hundred times in his head.

And then he leaned in.

His lips brushed just beneath your jaw first—soft, careful. Then lower. Warmer. His breath fanned over the curve where your neck met your shoulder, and your pulse jumped.

You felt it coming before it happened.

That spot.

That one spot—right behind your ear, the one he always glanced at when you’d shift your hair during long office days. The one that always felt too exposed when you wore it up.

He found it.

And kissed it.

Not quick. Not teasing.

Slow. Open-mouthed. Intentional.

Your fingers tightened against his back, your breath caught, your whole body arching slightly beneath him.

“Been wanting to do that,” he murmured against your skin.

You shivered. “Yeah?”

“Since the first time you tucked your hair back,” he whispered. “Drove me fucking crazy.”

You smiled. Then gasped—because he kissed it again, deeper this time, his hand sliding down to your hip, anchoring you to him like he couldn’t risk letting you drift too far.

And from there, he took his time.

Your moans were like music to his ears.

He’d imagined this—more times than he cared to admit. But he never let himself get too far. He’d always pulled himself back, always shut the door on the thought before it became too real, too dangerous.

But this wasn’t a dream.

This was real.

And he was here. With you.

No phones. No appointments. No schedule, no glass wall between you.

Just the two of you. Skin to skin. Breath to breath.

His mouth moved across your collarbone, your shoulder, your chest—slow, devoted, like he had all the time in the world. And for once, maybe he did.

You reached down between your bodies, fingers trailing over his torso with reverence, until you found his belt. You unbuckled it with practiced ease, metal clicking softly in the quiet room. You pushed his pants down, your breath hitching as he helped you.

“Fucking hell” you blurted as you caught the sight of his hard and heavy cock.

He stroked himself slowly, a smile tugging at the corner of his lips as he watched your reaction—your gaze locked onto his cock, pupils blown, breath hitching. A bead of precum formed at the head and you gulped. There was a fair chance that he could split you in half, not only because of his cock but his size as a whole.

Your eyes flicked up to meet his, and he crawled onto the bed, his face inches from yours. His hands slid to your sides, fingers warm and sure against your skin.

He mirrored your movements, trailing down your waist until he reached the waistband of your pencil skirt—the one he’d seen you wear so many times. The one he’d fantasized about taking off, but never dared to touch.

Until now.

He didn’t hesitate.

He slid it down slowly, eyes locked on yours the whole time. The tension between you stretched, thick and warm and crackling.

And when the skirt hit the floor along with your panties, and he saw you like that—laid out for him, flushed, eyes dark with want—he exhaled like he’d finally, finally let himself breathe.

Your hands cupped his face, guiding him back to your mouth, and he settled between your thighs like he belonged there. Like he always had. Harry removed your panties tossing them across the room.

His fingers rubbed along your folds, feeling the wet pooling in your cunt before curling inside, his lips neared your clit, kissing it softly before licking across your entire cunt, He lapped on your clit, groaning onto it. The feeling of his tongue and his mustache caused an electric shock down your spine, driving right onto his face.

“I need you so bad” His voice deep as he added another finger, his mouth still on your clit making his words vibrate against you.

You struggled to respond, breath catching in your throat—but you managed, voice low and trembling with want.

“What’s holding you back? We’re already in this.”

He looked up at you, mouth still on you, hands gripping your thighs like he needed to anchor himself to something.

Your words hit him like a match. The final green light.

And just like that, restraint vanished. Neither of you cared how this would turn out—how messy, how complicated, how reckless. Consequences could come later. Right now? You just needed each other.

Desperately.

He gripped your thighs tighter, stretching your legs wider as he pulled you closer to him. Your breath hitched at the sudden movement. He aligned himself holding his heavy cock to your entrance and using the wetness to lube himself up before entering you. Your eyes locked as he pushed into you—slow, steady, deliberate.

His gaze didn’t leave yours, not even for a second, like he wanted to see all of it—your reaction, your unraveling, the way your mouth parted with a breathless moan.

Your face contorted with pleasure, head tipping back as the stretch overtook you. One hand flew to the sheets, clutching them tight as your body arched, trying to take more, feel everything.

He slid in fully, deep, until there was nothing left between you. Just heat and breath and that dizzying sense that everything had just shifted again—and this time, there was no going back.

He finally moved—slow at first, steady, dragging his hips back just enough before pushing in again. Then he found his rhythm and hovered over you groaning against your neck, the sound low, guttural. Every thrust hit deep, every shift of his body pulled another breathless sound from your lips. Your hips rose to meet his, chasing every movement, matching his pace—desperate, shameless, hungry for more. You didn’t care how it looked or how it sounded. It was true.

There were no sharp sounds, no declarations. Just soft gasps, broken moans, fingers digging into skin like you were afraid to let go. Afraid this was a dream. Afraid you’d wake up if you did.

“Harry… fuck,” you whined, digging your nails into his hair as you got closer to the height of pleasure, your walls spasming around himpulsing in tight, desperate waves that pulled a groan from deep in his chest. He wasn’t far behind.

“Shit–“ he breathed, jaw clenched, his rhythm stuttering as your release crashed over you, coating him.

Shudders wracked your body, hips arching into him as the pleasure overtook you. You felt it—wet, warm, everywhere—coating him, slick and overwhelming.

He tensed inside of you and followed with a rough, broken sound, thrusting deep one final time as he came undone inside you. Your cry was caught in his mouth, swallowed between kisses and the sound of skin against skin.

Your nails raked down his back, your legs tightening around him as the release wracked through you, relentless and blinding.

He groaned against your lips, his rhythm faltering as he gave in too—lost to you, to the feeling, to the way you came around him like your body had been waiting for this moment, and only this.

And when it was over—when the last shuddering breath passed between you, and his lips found that spot behind your ear again—you felt something settle in your chest.

Like this hadn’t just been inevitable. It had been waiting.

Everything about him felt real—the weight of his body, the warmth of his breath, the way he moved with you like he already knew you this way. Like maybe, he always had.

Every stroke, every kiss, every whispered breath between tangled limbs felt like a quiet confession neither of you had dared speak aloud. You were wrapped in him—in his scent, his voice, the slow, grounding pressure of his body against yours.

You shivered again—even in his warmth.

This wasn’t just crossing a line. This was burning it.

Then, without a word, he shifted beside you, wrapping his arm around your waist and gently turning you onto your side. His chest pressed to your back, steady and warm.

You felt his hand settle low at your stomach, fingers curling softly against your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you go. Like he wouldn’t.

His arm was heavy—comfortably so. It grounded you, pinned you in the best way. You couldn’t have moved even if you wanted to.

You didn’t.

Just his breath at your neck. The quiet hum of the city outside. And sleep, finally pulling you under.

__________________________________

Sunlight filtered through the tall windows, painting long golden stripes across the sheets. You stirred before he did, blinking against the light, the warmth of it settling over your bare skin. The sheets were soft. His bed smelled like clean linen and cedar, something calm and clean and unmistakably him.

Turning your head, you found him beside you—still asleep. Or maybe just pretending. Either way, you took the moment. Let your gaze linger on his face, softened in sleep, free from the tension he always wore like armor. He looked younger like this. Softer. Still Harry—but not the boss version. Just him.

You didn’t move. You didn’t want to.

But your phone buzzed somewhere from the living room, and it pulled you back into reality like a hook.

He opened one eye slowly. “Don’t answer it.”

You turned back toward him. “It might be important.”

“Then let it be important later.”

You laughed, burying your face into the pillow. “You’re not helping me keep my job.”

“I am your job.”

You groaned. “You would say that.”

He reached out, tucking your hair behind your ear again, fingers trailing lightly along your jaw before settling at your shoulder. You didn’t flinch. Didn’t pull away. Just looked at him, his eyes still soft with sleep but awake in a way that said he was fully here.

“Do you always wake up this smug?” you murmured, voice low and a little rough.

“Only when I’ve earned it,” he said, smiling faintly.

You shook your head, pressing your face into the pillow to hide your own grin, even as your leg brushed against his under the blanket. The air between you was warm but stretched—hovering in that space between comfort and the edge of a conversation neither of you had dared touch yet.

A quiet beat passed.

“So… what happens now?”

He looked at you for a moment, the question lingering in the space between your bodies. Too big for right now. Too real.

He exhaled. “Let’s get coffee first.”

You let out a soft laugh. “You’re really gonna dodge the question with caffeine?”

“I’m not dodging. I’m delaying with style.” He sat up, stretching slightly. “Priorities. Coffee first, emotional unraveling later.”

You slipped out of bed a moment later, legs still a little unsteady, and padded toward the doorway, grabbing the first thing you saw—a folded Nirvana tee left on the edge of a chair. It smelled like him—clean, warm, something like cedar and sleep and skin. You tugged it on, the hem brushing the tops of your thighs as you walked barefoot into the kitchen.

Harry was already there, sleeves rolled up again, hair slightly messy, standing by the stove with a French press and two mugs on the counter. The smell of coffee wrapped around you like a second shirt.

“Hey,” he said, voice still rough with sleep. “I wasn’t sure how you take it, so... I went basic. Milk and sugar are there.”

You sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island, tucking your legs up beneath you.

He chuckled softly and slid a mug toward you. “Make yourself at home.”

You took a sip, eyes on him as he leaned back against the counter, his own mug held in both hands. It felt oddly natural—like you’d done this before, like waking up in his apartment and drinking coffee together was part of some soft, familiar routine you’d already built in your head.

Except it wasn’t. This was new. Dangerous. Beautiful.

You stared into your coffee, letting the warmth settle into your palms, your shoulders beginning to loosen in the stillness between you. The silence wasn’t uncomfortable—it was gentle, even comforting. The scene felt like it belonged. Him. You. Coffee. Morning light stretching across the floor.

It fit too well.

And then, like something small tugged loose, the comfort began to unravel. Your breath caught in your chest. Your thoughts sharpened at the edges. This wasn’t routine. This wasn’t safe. You’d slept with your boss. You’d crossed a line and blurred it so deeply there might not be a way back.

Your fingers tightened around the mug, your body going still again—not frozen, just quiet, the kind of quiet that comes when a thought hits too fast, too sharp. He noticed. His voice softened when he spoke, like he was already reading the shift in you. “You okay?”

He didn’t answer right away. Just set his mug down and stepped closer, resting one hand on the back of your chair—not quite touching, but close enough to feel. “We don’t have to name it,” he said, calm and even. “But I meant everything I said. And everything I did.”

You held his gaze, heart thudding, your breath catching somewhere between your ribs and your throat. “I meant it too,” you said quietly. “All of it.”

It wasn’t a full spiral. Not regret. Just a flicker of panic—the kind that comes after something good, something real. The kind that makes you question if maybe you dreamed the whole thing. But he caught it. And he soothed it. Not by promising anything, not by fixing it, but just by being steady. Present.

Because it wasn’t just sex. It wasn’t a mistake. And he knew that.

He nodded once. “Then we don’t panic.” His voice was calm, certain, like a soft line being drawn in the quiet. “We go to work,” he said simply. “We don’t pretend it didn’t happen. But we don’t have to define it right now either. We just—go slow. If that’s okay with you.”

You nodded. He reached out, his hand brushing lightly along your arm before resting there—warm, grounding. Not pulling you closer. Just there.

Neither of you moved after that. You sat quietly, shoulders barely touching, hands around your mugs, the sun crawling across the floor like it had all the time in the world. The coffee cooled slowly.

No pressure. No rush. Just a shared breath in the soft quiet of something beginning.

Hope you enjoyed this as much as I enjoyed writing this!!

All support is welcomed 💕✨ REBLOGS, LIKES AND COMMENTS HELP THIS STORY GROW!

#harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #harry castillo x f! reader #the materialists #pedro pascal fic #pedro pascal #harry castillo smut #harry castillo fanfiction #pedro pascal fanfiction #pedro pascal smut #pedro pascal characters #pedro pascal cinematic universe #harry castillo materialists #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #iael writes #his assistant #pedro pascal fics #pedro pascal x reader

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mingisprincxss · 9 days ago

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Cold Air- S.MG.

Pairing: Gamer bf Mingi x Needy gf reader

Summary: You’re ovulating and crave your boyfriend so bad. You want Mingi to come to bed and when he refuses, you decide to be petty to get him to.

Word count: 1,563

Warnings: MDNI 18+ established relationship, cursing, finger fucking, cock warming, unprotected sex, slow sex, reader drives Mingi crazy

“I’m gonna snipe him from up here watch my-FUCK” Mingi shouted throwing his hands in the air in anger at his game he was playing with his friends. His character was killed instantly by someone else. You huffed while sitting in the kitchen drinking your tea. It’s not that you don’t like your boyfriend gaming you don’t care, but when you’re needy and want to spend time with him before bed, five minutes becomes two hours.

You decide to text him

“Baby, it’s been two hours. I want to go to lay down with you.”

You hear a ping from the gaming room and a huff coming from him. Putting his headphones around his neck briefly while running his fingers through his hair typing

“I know, I’m sorry a new map in this game just dropped and my friends and I are really into it. I’m not tired”

After sending the text message he quickly put his phone down putting the headphones back on when he heard his friends yelling as the game reloaded.

You grew annoyed reading that message putting your arm on the counter resting your face in your hand. This week was your ovulation week and the only thing you want is your boyfriend to touch you, like any other woman ovulating. Crossing your legs together trying so hard to ignore the feeling.

You finished your tea as an idea struck in your head suddenly causing you to get up to put your cup in the sink for tomorrow’s worries and go to the thermostat in the hallway.

“Fine, be that way. Let’s see how you feel in a few minutes.” You mumble to yourself turning the temperature down low going into your shared room and flopping down on your bed curling up with the blanket letting sleep consume you before you knew it.

Moments later as Mingi was still on his computer starting to wind down after another half hour of gaming with his friends it was just him and Yunho talking when all of a sudden his hands felt strangely numb and cold as he shivered “What the hell was that?” Yunho asked over the mic “I-don’t know, the room became cold suddenly” Mingi replied rubbing his hands together like he was outside in the snow, but it was a hot summer night.

“Well, imma hop off. Enjoy your icebox apartment.” Yunho joked ending the call as Mingi stood up to stretch feeling the cold air wrap around him even more causing him to fold his arms over his chest shuffling to the hallway where the thermostat is “what the fuck?” He whispered to himself squinting to see the temperature then he turned it up to a more reasonable number before going into your shared bedroom where you were sleeping, somehow taking up the entire bed. He quickly brushed his teeth, then taking his shirt off and tossing it somewhere in the room leaving him in his sweats making his way over to you “Baby, can you scooch over you’re taking up the whole bed how does a short girl like you do that?” nudging you while doing so you groaned in your sleep taking all of the blanket as he sat on the bed “Did you do something to the air? It’s freezing” he shivered “Maybe I did” you replied facing him awake and annoyed with your boyfriend. “That’s not fair I’m so cold baby” he whined trying to tug some of the blanket from you. “what’s not fair is you promising me that you would come to bed with me— now three hours ago and you didn’t.” You snapped popping your head up checking the time. “Why is it a big deal tonight y/n?” He questioned still trying to fight you for the blanket to let him under.

“Do you know what week it is?” You sat up crossing your arms Mingi gave you a confused look trying to remember “it’s not our anniversary.” He said still puzzled thinking that he missed something important that only you remembered. Which he did. “Of course it’s not.” Your breath was shaky growing irritable from the frustration of your boyfriend not getting the hint. He furrowed his brows confused and concerned with your sudden irritability.

After a few minutes of silence you finally broke “I’m ovulating Ming. I wanted you to come to bed because I need you.” You finally allowed him to come under the sheets with you. “So you decided to turn down the temperature to get me off my game?” He laughed. You inched away from him your back facing him.

“Oh come on, you’re not sleeping on the other side of the bed after you tried to turn me into a popsicle you little brat.” Looping an arm around your waist sliding you back against him as he started leaving kisses on your cheeks and arms. You didn’t budge still annoyed “i’m sooorryyy my love” he leaned over pulling you to face him as he kissed all over your face begging for forgiveness. You’re trying to ignore him and the pooling of wetness in between your legs from him simply just kissing you. He quickly snaked his hand down to your underwear surprising you with his cold hand.

“Sorry, I’m still cold” Mingi said playfully as he traced your folds with his large fingers then pushed into you causing you to gasp and moan “N-No fair, I’m still m-ah-mad at you.” He thrusted his fingers into you curling them inside you. “I know but you made me cold so this is what happens, You’re so warm around my fingers, I couldn’t help it” he smiled innocent but dominance in his voice. He quickened his pace with his fingers fucking you with just them earning a loud moan from you “Aren’t I giving you what you want though? You have my full undivided attention now and suddenly you don’t want it?” He taunted at you. You couldn’t even think of a response as you were seeing stars with the way he was fucking you violently with his fingers. The sound of you being extremely wet filled the room. Mingi groaned “Listen to how wet you are baby” you came undone all over his fingers as your body convulsed while you whimpered unexpected of your boyfriend to finger fuck you like that.

As he pulled his fingers away licking your juices you were trying to catch your breath. “We’re not done yet!” He took his pants off and motioned for you to lay on top of him you also discarded your clothes doing so. You pushed him inside of you as you both groaned. As soon as he was about to start thrusting you stopped him. “You said you were cold, so I’m going to warm you up” you kissed him slowly as he wrapped his arms around you. You stuck your tongue in his mouth earning a groan from him making him move his hips desperately for some friction. Pulling away from the kiss both your lips swollen from making out so much “I’m still mad at you” you breathed clenching around him as he moaned “Let me make it up to you” he said flipping you both over so that you’re on your back instinctively hold hands as he pushes back into you.

“Slow.” You said as he thrusted listening to you. While doing so he kissed all over you your face, neck, collarbone, the top of your breasts and even flicking your nipples with his tongue gently taking his time with you worshiping your body with his mouth. “I’m sorry for ignoring you baby” he said softly as his hips rolled into yours earning more moans from you. “You will be.” You challenged

All you can hear is how disgustingly wet you were because of him. The sounds making him squeeze his eyes shut as he steadied himself breathing sharply wanting to be harder and rougher like you usually like it. You can tell he’s losing his mind without saying it “let me be back on top” you said suddenly as he opened his eyes and nodded pulling out and laying back down. You straddled his waist grinding against his needy throbbing cock as he groaned “You’re tormenting me” he sighed as you rubbed him against your clit and folds sinking back down on him. Gripping your hips tightly as you started to slowly move up and slam him back into you. Causing him to throw his head back against the pillows moaning loudly trying to not explode inside of you as you continued this rhythm watching him completely lose his mind “O-Okay point proven I’m gonna—fuck please baby” he begged for you to milk him. You bounced and rolled your hips on him leaning down to kiss him tenderly as he grabbed your hips and thrusted up desperately into you “Come with me then” his pace quickened as you came undone on his dick as he followed shortly after spilling inside you. His chest rising and falling as you laid on his chest hearing his heart beating rapidly. “Are you still cold?” You asked sitting up with him still inside you as his body jerked overstimulated “Nope” he replied out of breath you hummed in response getting off of him cuddling him his breathing steadied as you both drifted off to sleep.

#ateez fanfic #ateez smut #mingi smut #mingi x reader #ateez mingi #Yunho #mingi fanfic #song mingi #mingi #san #seonghwa #yeosang #wooyoung #jongho #hongjoong

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4mrplumi · 15 days ago

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crow choir: seven minutes

min. one - the egg (batfam x neglected!reader)

ms. 01 / 02 / 03 / 04 / 05 / 06 / 07 / 08

the world’s become buttery and thick, only bits of your vision slipping through drooping eyes, the otherwise strong smell of wet cement and bad paint strangely muted, and somebody crying weakly near your legs.

you hate this bathtub. been meaning to get it checked for weeks, there must be a crack or something, letting mold grow through the bits. but rent’s so hard already… and you guys don’t even use this for anything. the shower works just fine.

your side starts to hurt, it’s difficult to put a hand on it, the action taking too, too much effort. you want to say something, tell whoever’s crying to shut up, but your words die in your throat, coming out like a whimper. the person starts crying louder. gosh… what’s wrong with her?

on the dirty, tub base, your phone pings, the screen lighting up to a picture too bright for your eyes to register it. you stare at it, hoping it’ll dull out, let you catch a sneak of what’s showed up so suddenly. the girl near your legs hiccups, picking up your phone to check. you don’t feel uneasy. she’s done this before, you can tell. you wait patiently, for her to talk, talk for you and to you.

she stifled a sob, voice dry from crying. “it’s your brother,” she mewled, tapping on the message, “he’s sent a voice mail. do i play it?” you can’t say yes. and your eyes are so, so heavy. you wait for her to understand. so she understands, a long, painted nail tapping at the screen.

geez. this phone’s audio’s terrible. you can barely hear a thing through the buzzing. the guy’s voice is terrible too, airy but squeaky, long drawling words that he says too quick. or is that your ears?

“hey (name)! it’s tim,” it’s tim, “it’s been… a while, since we talked-” a while, “any of us talked, um, with you, actually,” with you, in particular, “me and the others were wondering, y’know, with dick coming to visit this weekend, do you want to-” the audio buzzes out for a second, and comes back quickly,

“-hang out?”

your mouth, that’s been a little open this whole time, for breathing, closes quietly. you can’t answer, to him, or the way the girl near your legs seems to let out a pitiful whine of a noise, seemingly sadder about this than you.

tim… your brother… brothers? want to hang out. you look at your hand, now motionless at your side, and try to flex fingers that won’t move. they’re kind of mean aren’t they? calling you to hang out the one time you can’t. you take a breath, a wheeze, a sorry attempt by your throat to push in mucky, no-good air. you should tell them that you can’t hang out, not this weekend. you look at the girl, the edges of her image blurred, difficult to look at. but they become sharp, and clear for a fraction of a second, and she’s looking back at you, eyes pink and puffy.

your voice, your throat, so difficult to use only a second before, is a little lighter. you can say something. something, but… you have to be fast. blink once, “you’ve got to leave,” you murmur, the girl’s head jutting up sharply, “turn the tap on when you go,” her lip wobbles, you feel bad for making her cry, “none of your stuff should be in this apartment.” she nods. you consider, raising a brow with some difficulty, the muscles in your face falling asleep.

“get rid of that old hag downstairs,” the girl gasps, you hiss at her to shut up, “he doesn’t get to know you were here.” everything will be fine. you’re just a little sad you couldn’t hang out with your family, only just a little, since they were so mean and you didn’t much like them. still.

you look at your phone, the girl gets up and turns the tap on, water starts wetting your hair. you’d like to hang out, even if they were mean the whole time, just once. you thought you had more time, really, much more time. water starts pooling at your body, your back turning wet and cold. the girl, your friend, looks down at you, sad. she says something, sorry? i love you? i’ll miss you? you ruined my life? you don’t know. tim’s voice plays again in your head, as water blankets your body, still not too close to your head.

why’d he ask to hang out, the one time you couldn’t? the water’s at your chin. so mean. water covers your face, kissing your head. you’re not scared of drowning. you’ve already stopped breathing. you wish you had one more minute. the blurry colours of the girl leave the bathroom in a rush, muted sounds of clattering and wailing coming from outside the bathroom door. one more minute.

the world goes dark.

people say gotham is a city of secrets, but that’s not true at all. people know, they gossip, they sneer and giggle behind their fingers. there are no secrets in gotham, only things left undiscovered.

like that prickly pair of kids on the second floor of ms. jone’s place. people whisper that they only share the same last name, and their mother. bastard children looping their arms together and trying to make ends meet. but that’s all they know. everything else is undiscovered.

they don’t know about the older girl selling bad booze and messy powders for scrap money, using it on the little food they could afford, skipping over bills and all-that-nonsense. they don’t know how the younger kid’s almost eight, and still hasn’t started to talk, eerily quiet for most of the day, making troubled noises only in their sleep. they don’t know about (name)’s big sister wiping their tears and singing them terrible lullabies, after yelling herself hoarse and going into hysterics wild enough to call for a month at arkham. no one hears, no one discovers.

they only know that the lady living in that house got into bad trouble last year, went missing with not a single person reporting her absence. her kids didn’t have anyone come for them, but who cares? the eldest was of age, there are far more unfortunate children in gotham. they’ll manage.

they discover you in november, small hands curled around limp, cold fingers poking out of the tub. the polluted waters of gotham did good for once, you couldn’t see her glassy eyes or swelling lips, her face submerged in water. the cops had picked up your sleeping body, only one of them shaken from discovering you. “odd smell” complaints were hardly issues for the GCPD, gotham smelt like muck. isn’t it so lucky that the one time they bother, there’s something to feel bad about? the smell of flesh? of bad water?

just like they were surprised when they discovered you, you were surprised to discover you weren’t at home anymore, your fingers curled around some stranger police officer’s sleeve. you’d let go of it sharply, eyeing her suspiciously. your sister said the cops weren’t good, that they’d taken her friends and would take her too. did you do something bad? is that why you’re here? you can’t help it; your chin wobbles.

you were left a secret, discovered, but not understood. the police couldn’t get you to talk, not with candy you’d refused or gentle voices unfit for their jobs. the foster homes you’d been put in- perhaps made you quieter, more bitter. you’d snatch away toys the other children tried to take from you, and got relocated quite a lot on complaints of “violent behaviour”. they tried, your caretakers, your “siblings”, the secretariats with their uneasy and frankly irritated smiles, really did try to get you to settle. but you never really did. a poet might’ve been kinder and called you a jumble of rogue waves, with a storm in you that never really seemed to calm. everyone else thought you were a freak.

you can only imagine the desk-lady’s surprise, when she told you your father, your real father, was coming to pick you up, and all those waves suddenly ebbed away. eery, she whispered to her colleagues later, i’d expected surprise, shock, happiness or even anger, but the kid went still! yeah, you must’ve been a freak.

bruce wayne did not come to pick you up, to nearly no one’s surprise. the man was so dreadfully busy, it’d be alot to expect him to come pick up his child! no, the butler came instead, letting you eye his graying hair and polished suit with some level of blunt distaste. but still, you said nothing. you said nothing the whole car-ride, nothing when you hesitantly took the man’s hand and waddled up to the manor in uneven, uneasy steps, nothing when you entered the large, large, empty house.

everything made your head spin. from the too-high ceilings, the too-long corridors, the too-strong scent of something, and bright lights that seemed to engulf you. this was a complete one-eighty from your previous living conditions, and probably sent you into more shock than finding our about your dad.

right, your dad. you’d asked you sister about him once, assuming she’d know. she always knew just about everything, she’d know your dad too, right?

she didn’t. she’d pinched your cheeks and shoved a spoon of gray oats into your mouth, her voice a mocking sing-song; “my father doesn’t come get me because he can’t,” she’d said, “your father doesn’t get you because he doesn’t want you!”

so why’d he want you now? maybe he didn’t- that’s why he didn’t pick you up, or show his face even after you’d sat in the living room for nearly two hours, waiting. the butler, his name was “alfred” as you learnt a little later, careened you to your room, leaving you to your few things and many questions left unasked.

this was your life. would be- your life, for years to come. company served by a desk, a bed, a cupboard and a window in place of your father, your brothers, and your sister. you’re not sure what was so irredeemable, so different, so other about you, that you couldn’t ever manage to sit with them without stiffening in the tension.

they could accept assassins and circus boys, but maybe, you were just too ordinary to fit in with them. it was easier to stay in your room, easier to take up a dozen after-school responsibilities, than it was to stay at home and have to listen to conversations you weren’t privy to. this is just how it is, you’d gone without a fight, it’s just how it’s meant to be.

bruce did speak to you, quite a few times after you’d come to the manor. he’d asked how your mother was, initiating a long stare-off that ended with him nodding and leaving. the next conversations were just as awkward, miserable and weird. strained discussions about your old homes, stories about your mom you really didn’t care about, promises of events where you’d get to know your family, and maybe other children your age. you despised him, really, you did.

but this is how it’s meant to be. you assume, accept, this is your new life, this is punishment. for what? who knows. there are far more unfortunate children in gotham, you can’t complain, you accept this new life. this punishment; your brothers’ eyes turning away from your dark, gleaming ones, your sister pursing her lips and avoiding you quietly, all while you try to manage some behaviour of yours, some atmosphere around you that you don't know how to get rid of, barely even know exists. this is punishment, you have to accept it.

the first minute passes quietly.

˖ 𑣲 a/n: much has happened since i last uploaded anything on tumblr, my writing style too, definitely. i guess this marks the official discontinuation of the original crow choir series, which despite the love it got and the ideas i initially had for it, were really draining me, and going nowhere. thank you to everyone who's supported my writing, and for 600 followers ❤️ stay safe and well!

tag list: @lettucel0ver @marsmabe @alishii @1abi @c4xcocoa @bbmgirll @sirenetheblogger @privatebumblebee

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stylesispunk · 26 days ago

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"Whatever you'd like us to be" | part 2

harry castillo (materialists) x sunshine!f!reader

series masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

summary: the one where you and harry play pretend but the game comes with some rules you must follow.

w.c: 11,7k

warnings: age gap (reader 29-30, harry 47) fluff, idiots neglecting their feelings, mostly fluff and a tiny bit of angst. Remember I'm stupid and I don't proofread things.

A/N: Thank you so much for your positive reception on this fic. I literally loved reading your reactions to this. I always overthink a lot about it. I hope you enjoy this chapter and see you soon with the other one. I WANT TO READ YOUR THOUGHTS.

dividers by @/saradika-graphics

“Alright. Ground rules,” Harry said, leaning forward, resting his forearms on the table. His grin was playful, but there was a flicker of something else in his eyes.

“Rule number one: we stay friends. That’s it. No more.”

You smirked. “Oh, what a cliché thing to say.”

“I'm serious,” he pointed a finger at you, feigning sternness. “You can’t fall in love with me.”

“You're ridiculous, why would I fall in love with you? this was your idea” you said.

“I know. And I’m really embarrassed about it.” His grin widened.” And I’m already regretting how good you look across this table.”

You rolled your eyes. “Next.”

“Rule number two,” he continued, leaning closer. “No sex.”

You snorted. “That’s hard. I just want to ripped your clothes right now” you said, pouting.

“Oh my god, can't you stop?” Harry laughed, shaking his head.

“Celibate, okay.” You smiled “I have a question though.”

He nodded, gesturing for you to go on.

“What happens if we fight?”

Harry’s playful look softened. He hesitated, then shrugged.

“We won’t.”

“How are you so sure?” you asked, quietly this time.

He met your eyes, something honest flickering there. “Because I don’t think I could push you out of my life now that I know you.”

Your smile faltered for a second, heart knocking against your ribs.

He quickly cleared his throat, waving a hand. “And, rule number three: no kisses. Especially when we’re alone.”

“Oh, too bad. Because you already kissed me,” you teased, grinning.

Harry stopped mid-laugh, eyes narrowing playfully.

“That you remember, but not puking on my shoes, huh?”

You laughed, leaning back, feeling warmer than you should.

“Your loss though.”

What Harry didn’t say, what he wouldn’t admit, not even to himself, was that this wasn’t just about keeping his nosy family off his back. Sure, he wanted to make his ex-eat her heart out. But somewhere along the line, you’d become something else entirely.

Something he didn’t want to risk hurting. Like just a few days of knowing you felt like a lifetime.

Harry ran a hand down his face, letting out a breathy laugh, because damn it, you were dangerous.

You sat there across from him, eyes sparkling, a cocky little smirk tugging at your lips as you laid down your so-called rules, and he knew, knew, this was a terrible, terrible idea. The kind of thing people wrote cautionary tales about. But he couldn’t bring himself to walk away from it. From you.

He had could just get to know you and move on with you, but he didn’t want to fall in love again, he didn’t want to go through heartbreak all over again, but getting to know you had been the easier thing he had to do.

Even if it had been just a few days.

“Alright, deal,” he said, extending a hand over the table. “Friends. No falling in love. No sex. No kisses unless it’s in public and absolutely necessary to sell the whole thing.”

You bit your lip, trying to hide your grin as you shook his hand. “Absolutely necessary, huh?”

He arched a brow. “You know, for the credibility.”

You laughed, but inside, deep in some corner of your heart you didn’t want to name. Something fluttered. Because for all your bravado and teasing, you could already feel the ground shifting under your feet. You were lying to yourselves, both of you, and somewhere you both knew it.

But neither of you was about to admit it.

Not yet.

Harry didn’t want to catch feelings. He told himself he wouldn’t.

Even when your smile already felt like it was burning its way into his ribs.

Even when the way you tease him made him feel more alive than he had in months.

Even when every part of him knew. This wasn’t going to stay pretend.

The deal was struck, sealed with free ordering of coffee for him and some certain of retuning for you. You both pretended it was easy, casual, a harmless arrangement between two people who had no business getting tangled up like this. You were getting to know each other, but even as you both laid down the rules, something heavier hung between the lines neither of you dared to read out loud.

The next few days blurred by in a mess of work and texts from Harry, stupid things mostly.

Harry ☕

Tell your barista that oat milk is not a personality trait.

You ☀️

I’ll tell them after you admit you’ve ordered the same vanilla iced latte three times this week. I’ve have to order a ton of syrup.

Harry ☕

Consistency is key, darling.

It felt too easy. Too natural. Like him calling you darling didn’t knocked out the air out of your lungs.

And maybe that’s what scared you most.

You ☀️

Bye, harry. I’m working.

Harry ☕

Rude. I’m your favorite customer.

You rolled your eyes, a grin tugging at your lips despite yourself. It was stupid, how easily his messages slipped under your skin, how his voice in your head saying darling still made your stomach tighten like you were seventeen again with a reckless crush.

Your phone buzzed again in your pocket. You ignored it this time, for a solid three minutes before cursing under your breath and pulling it out.

Harry ☕

I’ll pick you up at 7. Wear something that’ll make me look good by association.

You bit your lip, trying so hard not to smile. God, he was infuriating.

You ☀️

I haven’t said yes yet, Castillo.

A pause.

Then another message.

Harry ☕

But you will.

And the worst part?

He wasn’t wrong.

Because you could already feel it happening, like a storm you saw coming from miles away, but still refused to get inside. You told yourself you were agreeing because it was harmless. A few dinners, some fake smiles, polite lies to his family. No big deal.

And if your heart beat a little faster when you thought about his crooked grin, or the way he called you darling, well… that was your problem.

You slid your phone back into your pocket and went back to work, telling yourself you weren’t falling.

You spent the rest of your day pretending you weren’t checking your phone every five minutes.

By the time the clock hit 6:45, your nerves were a tangled knot in your stomach. You stood in front of the mirror in the tiny office behind the shop, smoothing down your dress for the third time, not too fancy, not too casual, you told yourself. You weren’t dressing up for him. This was strategy. Optics. You were supposed to make him look good.

And maybe, just maybe, look good doing it.

Your phone buzzed again.

Harry ☕

Outside. Don’t keep your boyfriend waiting.

You rolled your eyes, grabbed your jacket, and stepped out the back door saying goodbye to Celine and Patrick.

The sun was low, autumn was still fighting between the cold and warm kind of weather, painting the city in soft gold, and there he was, leaning against his car, arms crossed, sunglasses perched on his nose like a damn magazine ad.

“You clean up nice,” he teased, opening the passenger door for you.

You smirked. “You act like you haven’t seen me without an apron on.”

“Yeah, but this is different.” He gestured vaguely at you. “Now you look like someone my Nan will immediately start asking about grandkids.”

You snorted, sliding into the seat. “Maybe I’ll tell her you’re terrible in bed.”

Harry shut the door and grinned down at you through the window. “Joke’s on you. She already thinks I’m a saint.”

As he climbed into the driver’s seat, you couldn’t help it. You smiled.

And he saw it. Of course, he did.

“See,” he said softly, starting the car. “Told you you’d say yes.”

You rolled your eyes again, followed by a silence that didn’t last too long.

You tucked one leg beneath you, glancing over at Harry as he drummed his fingers against the steering wheel.

“Okay,” he said, breaking the silence. “We need a plan.”

You raised a brow. “A plan?”

“Yeah. They’re going to ask questions about how we met, how long we’ve been together, what I love about you…” He glanced over with a crooked grin. “The usual.”

Your stomach flipped, but you played it cool. “Alright, Hit me.”

He tapped the steering wheel. “Okay. How did we meet?”

You thought for a second, then smirked. “You came into my coffee shop every day for two weeks straight, ordering the same vanilla iced latte, until I told you it was starting to get weird.”

Harry laughed, throwing his head back a little. “God, I wish that wasn’t almost exactly what happened.”

You grinned. “See? I’m good at this.”

“Okay. How long have we been together?”

You chewed your bottom lip, pretending to consider it. “Hmm… should we go for six months? Feels long enough to be believable but not so long they’ll start asking about rings.”

“Smart,” he agreed, nodding. “Six months it is.”

You glanced at him. “And what do you love about me, Harry?”

He shot you a look, lips twitching. “You’ll have to let me come up with something convincing. Give me a sec.”

“Oh, come on.”

“Fine.” He cleared his throat dramatically. ““I love that you’re the most real person I’ve met in a long time. Like you’re really genuine. That you call me out on my shit. And that you laugh at the dumbest things like it’s the funniest thing in the world and you make that tiny scrunch with your nose.”

Your grin wavered for a beat because it didn’t sound like a line. It sounded like he meant it.

He must’ve felt it too, because he glanced your way and softened his voice. “Too much?”

You swallowed, forcing a smirk back on. You looked down at your hands, a quiet warmth blooming in your chest. “Good answer,” you murmured.

He chuckled under his breath. “Good. Because it’s the truth.”

And you hated how your chest tightened at that.

You quickly looked out the window, pretending to be invested in a passing streetlamp. It had been a week. One week. You shouldn’t feel anything at all. And yet here you were, half-smiling like an idiot in his passenger seat.

“Alright,” you cleared your throat, trying to shake it off. “Your turn. What do I love about you?”

Harry grinned. “Obviously my incredible music taste and my charming personality.”

He reached over and nudged your knee gently. “Your turn.”

You bit your lip, stealing a glance at him. “I love that you’re an idiot and how much attentive you are. To those tiny details other people don’t really care about. ”

His laugh was soft, warm, one of those real ones that made the corners of his eyes crinkle just a little.

“Well,” he said, shaking his head, “guess I’ve been caught. You pay attention too, you know.”

You shrugged, pretending it wasn’t a big deal. “Some people deserve it.”

That hung in the air between you for a second longer than it should’ve. And it wasn’t playful this time. Not entirely.

Harry cleared his throat, his fingers drumming against the steering wheel. “Alright, new rule,” he grinned, trying to keep it light. “No getting sappy in the car. I can’t be seen crying before dinner.”

You snorted, grateful for the easy out. “Okay.”

Harry glanced at you, something a little softer in his gaze now.

You shrugged, smirking. “See? I’m good at this.”

He let out a breath of a laugh, eyes flicking back to the road. “Yeah,” he said quietly. “You really are.”

You reached for the car’s aux cable. “Okay, last question before we get there — what’s our song?”

“Crazy for you by Madonna” he replied, eyes on the road.

You blinked, caught off guard. “Crazy for You? By Madonna?”

Harry grinned at you, one hand on the wheel, “Don’t tell me you forgot our dance at Claire and Chris’s wedding”

Your mouth dropped open as the memory slammed into you. “Oh my god. Of course, I remember.”

“Yep.” He beamed, clearly enjoying himself now. “One of my favorite memories I will treasure forever.

You stared at him for a second, warmth blooming in your chest despite your best efforts to stay cool. “You’re such a sap,” you teased, your voice softer than you intended.

Harry laughed, shaking his head. “Hey, don’t act like you weren’t the one clinging to me like your life depended on it when that song came on.”

“I was starting to get tipsy,” you argued, though a grin tugged at your lips. “And you’re forgetting you were the one who dragged me to the dance floor.”

He chuckled, but his eyes softened. “You had been the best plot twist I’ve had in my life.”

Your breath caught, just for a second because he kept saying things like this, out of a such simply habit. He said it like it meant something. Like in just one messy week you had carved out a space in his life you weren’t supposed to have.

You tried to laugh it off. “God, you’re dramatic.”

Harry grinned, eyes flicking from the road back to you. “Comes with the territory.”

You shook your head, biting back the smile that threatened to give you away. Because it was getting dangerous already. The way your heart picked up when he looked at you like that, or remembered something you didn’t think he noticed. It was supposed to be fake. Easy.

And yet, sitting in his passenger seat, driving toward a dinner where you’d have to pretend to be his, you weren’t sure how much pretending would get to stop the rhythm of your heart.

The restaurant was one of those really enormous places you know you would never go inside willingly, warm lighting, exposed brick, and overpriced wine. You followed Harry inside, heart pounding a little too fast in your chest when his hand found the small of your back, guiding you through the crowd.

You really didn’t get a chance to think about why he had bother too much on paying for a place like this.

He leaned in with a teasing, “Ready to charm the ladies of my life?”

You smirked. “Lead the way, Harry.”

At the far end of the room, you spotted them. His mum, elegant and effortlessly put together, eyes sharp but kindness on his gaze. His Nan, tiny and sweet-looking, a mischievous glint in her gaze. And his sister, with Harry’s same wild grin and a streak of purple through her hair.

Harry’s mum was the first to rise. “Harry, love!” she greeted, pulling him into a tight hug before turning her attention to you. “And this must be…”

“This is my girl,” Harry said, his voice softer than you’d expected, hand settling at the small of your back. “Mum, Nan, Liz, meet my girl.”

You swallowed, smiled warmly, extending a hand. “Hi, it’s so nice to meet you.”

“Oh, none of that,” his Nan waved you in for a hug instead. “Come here, darling.”

You settled at the table between Harry and his sister, who was already grinning at you like she knew a secret.

“So,” his mum started after the drinks arrived. “Harry’s been awfully private about you. We had no idea there was someone special.”

Harry shot you a quick look, like the this is your line look.

You smiled, lifting your glass slightly. “Well, I own a coffee shop not too far from here,” you began, keeping your voice light and teasing. “And your son started spending an unreasonable amount of time there. At first, I thought he was just really obsessed with vanilla iced lattes.”

Liz snorted into her drink.

“But turns out,” you continued, glancing at Harry, “he’s a lot harder to ignore than I expected.”

His Nan chuckled. “That sounds about right. Castillo men have a way of getting under your skin.”

“Oh, he’s relentless,” you teased, nudging him with your shoulder.

“Hey!” Harry laughed. “I’m charming. There's a difference.”

Liz leaned in conspiratorially. “So, was it love at first latte or what?”

You grinned. “More like mild annoyance at first conversation. He wouldn’t stop coming”

“Because you have the best coffee in the entire New York,” Harry shot back, looking betrayed.

The table erupted in easy laughter, and the warmth in the room seemed to settle around you.

“Alright, alright,” Nan waved a hand. “I like her.”

Harry looked over at you then, not smug or teasing this time. Just soft. Like he was genuinely happy you were there. And you hated how much it made your heart skip a beat.

“So, what do you love about our Harry?” Nan asked, a wicked glint in her eye.

Your stomach flipped. You didn’t even get a chance to answer before Harry groaned, “Nan, come on.”

But you lifted a brow. “Hmm,” you pretended to think. “I guess I love how annoyingly attentive he is. He notices every tiny thing no one else would. And he always has something clever to say, even when I wish he’d just shut up.”

Liz cackled. “Welcome to the club.”

Nan grinned like she’d just won something. “Oh, I really like her,” she declared, reaching out to pat your hand. “Finally, someone who’ll give him a bit of trouble.”

Harry shook his head with a sheepish smile, his hand finding your knee under the table, a simple, steady touch that made your pulse stumble for a beat. You weren’t supposed to notice stuff like that. It had been a week, for god’s sake.

Liz leaned toward you. “He always dates the boring ones. No offense, but you’ve got more spark than the last three combined.”

“Liz,” Harry groaned again, his face going red now.

You laughed, leaning your chin into your palm as you looked at her. “Well, thank you for the warm welcome. I was honestly a little nervous.”

“Nothing to be nervous about,” his mum said kindly. “We’re just happy to finally meet the girl who’s been keeping our Harry busy.”

“Busy, huh?” you teased, raising your brow at Harry.

He shrugged with a grin, eyes flickering down to his plate. “I might’ve… mentioned you. A bit.”

“A bit?” Liz scoffed. “It’s been non-stop. ‘She made me this insane coffee today,’ ‘she roasted me for my shoes,’ ‘she is the most beautiful woman in every room’ It’s pathetic, honestly.”

You snorted, shaking your head. “I had no idea I was such a topic of conversation.”

Nan winked. “When he likes someone, he’s hopeless.”

Harry cleared his throat, sitting a little straighter. “Okay, alright. Are we gonna eat or roast me all night?”

“Both,” Liz and Nan said in unison, and you laughed again, the sound too easy, too natural in this little group you’d known for about an hour but somehow felt like you’d known your whole life.

And somewhere between dessert and another glass of wine, when Harry’s hand brushed yours again under the table and didn’t move away this time, you felt it.

The tiniest shift.

Like maybe this fake thing was starting to feel a little too good.

Like maybe you didn’t mind the way his family looked at you, or the way he did

And you smiled, because what else could you do?

You weren’t sure what scared you more.

The fact that you were lying to them.

Or the fact that part of you that was wishing it wasn’t a lie.

As the night wore out. Nan was telling a story about Harry as a kid, something about him putting his head through a fence to get a better look at a stray cat, and you were fully invested. You had your chin resting in your hand, eyes soft, grinning at every ridiculous detail like you’d known him your whole life.

Harry glanced at you, and for a second, everything around him faded.

You laughed when Nan got to the part where he’d cried because he couldn’t get his head back out. And then, without thinking, you reached over and squeezed his hand on the table. Just a light touch, but warm and steady, and it sent something sharp and tender right through him.

“You were adorable,” you told him, your voice laced with nothing but kindness, no teasing this time.

And damn, it did something to him.

It was stupid. It was fake. A one-week, pretend relationship because he was an idiot who’d lied to his family, but the way you looked at him in that moment wasn’t pretend at all.

His mum caught the way his face softened, and her own expression shifted just a little. She saw it too.

“You’re sweet, love,” Nan said to you, beaming. “I can see why he fell for you.”

You blushed, ducking your head, biting your lip as you murmured, “I’m just glad I get to be here.”

And you meant it. You were kind in this effortless way Harry hadn’t realized he was craving for. All this time chasing after people who never quite knew how to be gentle with him, people coming after the money he had and here you were, a storm of wit and heart, laughing with his family like you belonged there.

Liz elbowed him under the table with a knowing look.

Harry rolled his eyes, but he couldn’t stop the stupid grin tugging at his mouth.

You turned to his mum as the waiter set down dessert, a beautifully plated lemon tart that made you gasp a little.

“Oh, this looks incredible,” you said, eyes lighting up as you reached for your fork. “If I’d known you lot ate like this, I would’ve insisted Harry introduce me sooner.”

His mum laughed, warmth in her eyes. “Well, you’re welcome anytime, love. It’s about time someone kept him in line.”

You grinned. “I’ll gladly take that job. He’s already a full-time headache at my coffee shop.”

That earned a round of chuckles from the table, and even Nan reached over to pat your hand. Liz was watching you with that same knowing look, like she could see right through you both and was enjoying every second of it.

Harry, meanwhile, couldn’t stop watching you. The way you laughed with his family, like you belonged there, like you’d always belonged there did something to him he couldn’t explain.

Without even thinking, he leaned in and pressed a kiss to your temple, his hand resting naturally on the back of your chair.

You blinked up at him, caught a little off guard.

He smirked, lowering his voice. “Couldn’t help myself.”

You bit back a smile, nudging his knee under the table. “Better behave, Castillo. Remember the rules.”

“I’m bending them,” he murmured back, grin still tugging at his mouth.

And across the table, Nan smirked into her wine glass, Liz raised her brows at him, and his mum just smiled like she’d seen it coming all along.

As the night wound down and everyone stood from the table, you found yourself being wrapped in warm hugs, Nan pulling you close again, Liz whispering a teasing “You’re my favorite already” in your ear, and Harry’s mum holding your hands for a moment longer than expected.

“It was so lovely meeting you, sweetheart,” she said with genuine affection. “I can see why he’s so taken with you.”

Your cheeks warmed, but you smiled. “Thank you so much for having me. Really. It was… one of the best nights I’ve had in a while.”

“Good,” Nan declared with a wink. “Now, don’t be a stranger.”

“I won’t,” you promised, glancing at Harry, who was watching the whole scene with a look that was dangerously close to soft.

After goodbyes were exchanged, his family made their way toward their car, waving as they went.

And then it was just the two of you outside, the night cool and still, the distant sounds of the city settling like a hum around you.

Harry shoved his hands into his pockets and let out a long, quiet breath. “Hey,” he said, turning to face you fully. “Thank you. For tonight. For… all of it.”

You gave him a soft smile, nudging his arm with your elbow. “You don’t have to thank me, Harry. They’re amazing. And honestly… it was kinda nice. Felt like I was crashing someone else’s family dinner in the best way.”

He smiled back at you, one of those quiet, real ones that didn’t need to be flashy. Then, without overthinking it, he stepped a little closer, leaning down to press a gentle kiss to your forehead.

You closed your eyes for a second, feeling it more than you should’ve.

When he pulled back, his voice was soft. “You’re something else, you know that?”

You looked up at him, a playful smirk returning to your lips. “Yeah, yeah. Don’t fall in love with me, Harry. Remember the rules.”

He laughed, shaking his head as you stood there.

Then Harry took a half step toward his car before pausing, glancing back at you.

“What are you doing there?” he asked, brow quirked, that grin still tugging at the corner of his mouth. “I’m driving you home.”

You looked around the quiet street, hands in your jacket pockets, a mischievous glint in your eye.

“Yeah, about that,” you said, pretending to study a flickering streetlamp. “I’m honestly kinda craving a pizza right now. Thought I might walk to grab one and then I was going to take a taxi”

Harry blinked at you, then let out a disbelieving laugh, shaking his head like you’d just suggested adopting a stray dog at midnight.

“You’re kidding,” he said, stepping closer. “You’re seriously about to wander off into the night for pizza and a taxi?”

You grinned up at him. “I’ve done worse.”

He tilted his head, giving you a look equal parts exasperated and fond. “You’re something else, you know that?”

“Yeah, you already told me,” You teased, nudging his side with your elbow.

He sighed dramatically, then reached out and hooked a finger through your jacket’s collar, tugging you a little closer.

“Okay then,” he said, voice soft. “I’ll walk with you. Can’t have you getting lost on the way to a pizza place.”

You raised a brow. “Harry Castillo, breaking his own rules?”

He smirked. “Sue me.”

A week slipped by like it was nothing. Every morning without fail, the bell above your coffee shop door would chime around 9:15, and there he’d be, Harry Castillo, sunglasses perched in his hair, stupidly charming grin in place, ordering the same vanilla iced latte you pretended to roll your eyes at every time.

And then you’d message each other throughout the day. Stupid things. Memes. Complaints about work. The occasional voice notes of him humming some old ‘80s song in traffic. You tried not to overthink how easy it was, how natural it felt to have him around in this quiet, steady way.

Until Thursday.

You were wiping down the counter, half-distracted by a message you were about to send him, when the door opened and in walked someone else, a tall, polished-looking woman you vaguely recognized from other times, she must be Harry’s assistant.

“For Mr. Castillo,” she said politely, not even glancing at the menu.

You felt it. That tiny, dumb pang in your chest you weren’t proud of.

“Sure,” you smiled, acting cool as ever while making his drink. “Tell him he’s a coward.”

The assistant blinked. “Sorry?”

You grinned wider, slid the cup across the counter. “He’ll get it.”

She gave you a confused little nod and left.

And sure enough, around thirty minutes later, your phone buzzed.

Harry ☕

Did you just call me a coward through my assistant?

You smirked down at your screen, thumbs flying.

You ☀️

Well, if the shoe fits. What happened to my daily sunshine?

It took less than a minute.

Harry ☕

Miss me that much?

You bit your lip, shaking your head like an idiot in the middle of your own shop.

You ☀️

Not even a little.

And for some reason… you knew he was smiling too.

Your phone buzzed again, this time, not a message.

Harry’s name lit up your screen, and before you could talk yourself out of it, you answered.

“Well, well, look who decided to remember how phones work,” you teased, leaning your hip against the counter.

His chuckle came through the line, warm and familiar. “Alright, alright, you made your point. I deserved that.”

“Damn right, you did.”

For a beat, neither of you spoke, and then his voice softened a little. “You busy tomorrow night?”

You raised a brow, even though he couldn’t see you. “Depends. Why? You need someone to make fun of you again in front of your mom?”

He laughed. “Tempting. But no. I’ve got this business thing, a party, really. Bunch of people I don’t care about, free champagne, probably awful music. Thought maybe you would like to come with me.”

You pretended to think it over. “Hmm. So basically, you’re asking me to be your emotional support human while you schmooze rich people.”

“Something like that,” he agreed, and you could practically hear the grin in his voice. “But also cause I want you there.”

Your chest did that annoying tight thing again.

“It’s a job thing and everyone is taking their partners with them and you are mine, so…”

“It’s a job thing, really. Everyone’s taking their partners, and you’re mine. So…” He let the sentence hang, warm and unspoken.

You smiled, feeling a mix of nerves and something else you weren’t quite ready to name. “Alright, Castillo. I’m in.”

“Good,” he said, voice grinning through the line. “See you tomorrow, darling.”

You smiled at the pet name.

“See you tomorrow, Harry.”

You slipped your phone into your pocket, still smiling at the way he’d said “darling.” The warmth lingered longer than you expected.

Just then, the café door swung open with a burst of energy.

“HARRY?!” a familiar voice called out, loud and unmistakable.

You looked up to see Claire, radiant and glowing, stepping inside, fresh from her honeymoon

“Claire?” you laughed, walking to hug her “How was the honeymoon? How is Chris?”

Claire smiled warmly, returning your hug. “Good, good. Chris is back at work already. But now, Harry? Who? As in Harry Castillo, Chris’s groomsman? His boss?”

You blinked. “Wait, what?” you said, pulling back to look at her. “Harry is Chris’s boss?”

Claire let out a laugh, linking her arm through yours like she was about to spill the juiciest piece of gossip. “What? You didn’t know who he is? That man owns half of this city’s businesses. Restaurants, bars, hotels, real estate. Castillo Group? Ring a bell?”

Your mouth opened, then shut again. “You’re kidding.”

She shook her head, grinning. “Nope. Chris has worked under him for like three years now. He’s this insane mix of ridiculously rich and weirdly private. I’m honestly surprised he’s hanging around here every day.”

You just stared at her for a second, your brain tripping over itself. Harry. Castillo. You’d spent the last week teasing him about his extra shots of vanilla syrup and calling him an idiot, and he owned half the city?

“I need to sit down,” you muttered, reaching for the nearest chair.

Claire giggled, clearly delighted. “Oh my god, you really had no clue.”

“Not a single one,” you breathed out, half-laughing, half-panicking.

You sat down hard in the chair, your mind racing. Claire was still watching you with that gleeful, nosy-best-friend grin, and it hit you — shit. The agreement. The one where, for whatever ridiculous reason, you and Harry had agreed to fake date for these business things. And now here was Claire, freshly back from her honeymoon, connecting dots you hadn’t planned on anyone connecting.

Your stomach twisted. You had to lie.

“So…” Claire sing-songed, leaning on the table. “Are you guys…like… together?”

You forced a casual shrug, heart thudding in your chest. “Yeah, uh… yeah. We’ve been… seeing each other.”

Her eyes widened like saucers. “Since when?!”

“Just after your wedding, really,” you said, keeping your voice light, hoping she wouldn’t hear the slight tremor. “We ran into each other a couple times and… it kind of just happened.”

Claire squealed, grabbing your hands. “Why didn’t you tell me?!”

“I was gonna,” you lied smoothly. “But with you on your honeymoon and… we’ve been keeping it quiet, seeing where it goes, you know?”

Claire beamed at you like you’d just handed her front-row tickets to a scandalous rom-com. “This is wild. I mean, Harry freaking Castillo. And you. I love it. You have to tell me everything.”

Claire pulled out a chair like she had no plans of leaving anytime soon, eyes bright with excitement. “Okay, how did it start? Who made the first move? Was it like, sparks-flying, slow motion thing?

You let out a nervous laugh, trying not to visibly panic. “Honestly… it was more like… he loves the coffee from here.”

Which, technically, wasn’t a lie.

Claire grinned. “Ugh, that’s so you. God, and I just knew he was flirting with you at the wedding, he had his eye on you the whole time.”

You swallowed hard, hoping your face wasn’t betraying you. “Yeah, well… we’ve kind of just been hanging out, keeping it low-key.”

“And you’re into him?” she asked, nudging your elbow with a teasing smirk.

You hesitated, because the answer was complicated and you weren’t even sure what counted as fake or real anymore, but you covered it with a casual grin. “Yeah… he’s actually… really great.”

Claire’s whole face softened at that. “Well, I’m happy for you. You deserve someone good, you know?”

And damn it if that didn’t sting a little.

You smiled. “Thanks, Claire.”

Before she could dig for more, your phone buzzed in your pocket. You pulled it out, a message from Harry.

Harry ☕

Chris is already planning our wedding.

You smirked and quickly typed back.

You ☀️

Claire’s too. You owe me.

You slid your phone away just as Claire sighed dreamily. “God, imagine if you actually married Harry Castillo.”

You laughed a little too loud. “Yeah… imagine.”

Claire arched a brow at your reaction, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips. “Oh my god — you like him.”

You scoffed, grabbing a dish towel from the counter to busy your hands. “I don’t.”

“Mm-hmm,” she hummed, leaning back in her chair like she’d cracked some unspoken code. “You’ve got that dumb grin people get when they’re catching feelings.”

You shot her a look. “Claire, we’ve been ‘dating’ for like five minutes.”

“Doesn’t matter,” she sing-songed. “That’s how it starts. Next thing you know, you’re moving into his ridiculous penthouse and adopting a designer dog.”

You couldn’t help the way your lips twitched into a smile. “First of all — if anyone’s getting a dog in this scenario, it’s me. And second, it’s not like that. We’re just… taking it slow.”

Claire softened again, reaching over to squeeze your hand. “Hey, look — I’m not trying to tease too much. I just… you deserve to be happy. And maybe this is good for you, you know? Something unexpected.”

You swallowed, throat a little tight because maybe it was. And maybe it scared you half to death.

Before you could answer, your phone buzzed again.

Harry ☕

Also, just so you know, I’m definitely getting you a huge portion of French fries tomorrow after the party. Can’t have my date starving.

You bit your lip, the flutter in your chest way too annoying for your liking.

You ☀️

I’m holding you to that, Harry.

Claire grinned knowingly. “That better be him.”

You rolled your eyes, slipping your phone into your pocket. “Shut up and tell me about your honeymoon already.”

And for now, you let yourself breathe.

The next day blurred past in a mess of deliveries, inventory lists, and your staff pestering you about whether or not you were actually dating the Harry Castillo, something Claire apparently hadn’t wasted a single second spreading around.

By early evening, you’d finally escaped into your small office at the back of the coffee shop, drowning in paperwork you’d been avoiding all week. The hum of the café outside was distant through the closed door, and for a while, it felt peaceful.

A soft knock pulled you from your numbers.

“Come in,” you called, not looking up, assuming it was Celine with one of her million shift questions.

But the voice you heard wasn’t hers.

“Hey.”

You looked up, and there they were. Those soft, impossibly familiar brown eyes you could not stop thinking about no matter how many times you told yourself you shouldn’t.

Harry leaned casually against the doorframe, one hand tucked into his pocket, the other holding a coffee cup, from your own café, no less.

For a second, you couldn’t even get your brain to function.

“What…what are you doing here?” you asked, setting your pen down and quickly trying to look less flustered than you felt.

He grinned. “Had a meeting nearby. Figured I’d stop by, check if my favorite coffee shop owner was still alive… and maybe see if she’s still free for tonight.”

You swallowed. “I am.”

His smile softened, and for a beat, neither of you said anything. Just the quiet hum of the café and the low buzz of your heart thudding too hard in your chest.

Harry stepped fully inside, closing the door behind him. “You look good, by the way.”

You snorted, gesturing at your slightly messy bun and sleeves rolled up past your elbows. “Yeah, peak fashion.”

“Always,” he teased, before his voice dropped a little. “I missed seeing you here this morning.”

Your heart gave an annoyingly hopeful skip. “You sent your assistant again.”

“Biggest regret of my day,” he admitted, his grin tilting to something softer, something that made your breath catch.

“I’m actually came here to give you this” he said, walking towards you.

You blinked down at the glossy black Versace bag he held out to you, its gold lettering practically gleaming in your dim little office. Your stomach dropped.

“No,” you said immediately, holding your hands up like it might bite. “Harry, absolutely not.”

He laughed, unfazed by your reaction, and stepped closer, setting it on your desk anyway. “It’s not a big deal.”

“It’s Versace!” you hissed, like saying the name too loud might summon the fashion police to haul you away. “I—no. I’m not taking that. What even is it?”

“Relax,” he chuckled, leaning a hip against your desk, looking entirely too smug about your flustered panic. “It’s just something for tonight.”

“Harry, I have a dress,” you insisted, even though technically it was more of a safe option you pulled out for weddings. Nothing Versace-level. Nothing dating Harry Castillo-level.

He raised a brow. “Humor me.”

“Harry—”

“Look,” he said gently, his voice softening. “You’re doing me a favor by coming tonight. This is just… me saying thanks. I saw it, thought of you. That’s it.”

You stared at him, at those unfairly warm eyes and the sincere look on his face, and damn it if you didn’t feel your resolve wobble.

“…I’m still mad about this,” you grumbled, snatching the bag off the desk and earning a wide grin from him. “Besides you had been lying to me.”

“I can live with that, and we can talk about it tonight.” he said easily. “Pick you up at eight.”

And just like that, he was gone again, leaving you alone with your paperwork, a dangerously fluttery heart, and a Versace bag you absolutely should not open, but already knew you would.

You stared at the bag like it might self-destruct, then sighed, dragging it closer with one finger.

“This is such a bad idea,” you muttered to yourself, but you were already pulling the tissue paper aside.

Inside was a slip of silk — no, satin — in a deep midnight blue that shimmered when it caught the light. It was elegant, simple, but devastating in the way only something stupidly expensive and perfectly chosen could be. You ran your fingers over the fabric, cursing under your breath.

Of course he would pick something like this.

Of course it would be exactly your style.

And of course your stomach would do a whole dumb somersault over it.

You shook your head, stuffing the dress carefully back into the bag before you could talk yourself into trying it on in your office like a deranged person.

Your phone buzzed on the desk.

Harry ☕

Hope you like it. And if you don’t, though, you’re wearing it.

You rolled your eyes, fighting a smile, and typed back.

You ☀️

You’re an actual menace, Harry.

A second later:

Harry ☕

Yeah, but I’m your menace tonight.

And god help you , you were so completely screwed.

You shoved your phone in your pocket before you could grin any wider, grabbed the Versace bag, and slipped out of your office. Celine caught sight of the bag immediately and narrowed her eyes.

“That better be for me,” she called.

You didn’t answer, just shot her a look and muttered, “Don’t start.”

And as you locked up that night, you tried, truly, sincerely tried, not to think about the way Harry Castillo made you feel like maybe, just maybe, none of this was pretend anymore.

The night settled around the city in a blanket of warm lights and cool air, the streets humming softly with the kind of buzz that made you feel alive but also… absolutely on edge.

You stood just outside your building, shifting your weight from one foot to the other, arms wrapped around yourself even though it wasn’t cold. The Versace bag swung gently at your wrist, and you tried not to let your nerves show on your face, though you doubted anyone was paying enough attention to notice.

Except, you knew one person would.

You checked your phone again. No new messages, but the last one from Harry sat there like a tiny bomb in your inbox.

Harry ☕

On my way, sweetheart.

Sweetheart.

You took a steadying breath, glancing down at the dress in the bag again. You’d slipped it on before, just to make sure it fit. It had hugged your frame in a way that felt unfair. It made you feel like a version of yourself you didn’t quite recognize — a little too soft, a little too exposed, but undeniably… beautiful.

And maybe, just maybe, you wanted Harry to see you like that.

A black car slowed to a stop at the curb, the passenger window rolling down. And there he was — messy hair, that infuriatingly charming half-smile, and brown eyes that somehow made you feel seen in a way you weren’t used to.

“Hey,” he called, voice low and warm. “Get in, gorgeous.”

You let out a breathy laugh, because damn him. “Stop being so smooth, it’s exhausting.”

“Can’t help it,” he grinned, leaning over to push the door open for you. “It’s a medical condition.”

You slid into the car, heart rattling in your chest. He looked over at you, taking in your makeup, the soft waves in your hair, and the way your lips curved even when you tried to keep a straight face.

“You’re nervous,” he said, not as a tease, just a fact, quiet and careful.

You shrugged. “A little. This whole… thing. I’m not exactly used to pretending to be someone’s plus one at a business party.”

Harry’s expression softened, and he reached over, his hand covering yours on your lap.

“You don’t have to pretend anything,” he murmured. “Just be you. That’s all I want tonight.”

And god, why did that make everything worse and better at the same time?

You gave a small nod, meeting his gaze. “Okay.”

The car eased to a stop outside one of those ridiculous glass-walled buildings uptown — the kind where the valet was in a tux and the guests stepping out of luxury cars looked like they belonged on magazine covers. You stared out the window for half a second longer than necessary, steeling yourself.

Harry climbed out first, moving around the car to open your door like it was the most natural thing in the world. He held a hand out to you, palm up, and you hesitated for just a second before placing yours in his.

His fingers curled around yours, warm, steady, certain. The touch sent a quiet current through your skin, but you forced a casual smile as you stepped out.

“You ready for this?” he asked, leaning in, voice for your ears only.

“Ready as I’ll ever be,” you replied, smirking up at him.

The lobby was all polished marble, soft golden light, and the distant sound of a jazz trio playing something smooth and expensive-sounding. People were already milling around with champagne flutes in hand, and you could feel a few heads turn as you and Harry stepped in.

And then, he didn’t let go of your hand.

In fact, his grip tightened slightly as he guided you through the room, stopping to greet a few people, nodding here and there, that easy confidence radiating off him like he was made for this kind of setting.

To anyone else, it probably looked effortless.

To you, well, it was a little infuriating how good he was at this.

At one point, a woman in a sleek black dress and sharp red lipstick approached with a bright smile. “Harry, darling. And who’s this?”

You opened your mouth, not quite sure how to introduce yourself in whatever fake arrangement you were in, but Harry beat you to it.

“This is my girl,” he said easily, tugging you a little closer with a glance down at you that made your stomach tumble. “She’s the best thing I’ve had the good fortune to stumble into this year.”

The words knocked the air out of you for a second, because he said it like it wasn’t a line.

Like maybe he almost meant it.

You managed a polite smile and shook the woman’s hand. The rest of the introductions blurred a little after that, though you kept catching Harry’s thumb brushing the back of your hand, little grounding touches that felt way too natural.

When you finally had a moment alone by the bar, you looked up at him, raising an eyebrow. “My girl, huh?”

He grinned, leaning in close enough for only you to hear. “Could’ve gone with ‘darling’ again, but figured I’d keep you guessing.”

You tried to look unimpressed. Failed miserably.

“Smooth, Harry. Real smooth.”

And as he reached for two glasses of champagne, handing you one, he murmured with a crooked smile, “Perhaps, I’m not pretending as well as I thought I’d be.”

You barely had a chance to process the weight of those words — I’m not pretending as well as I thought I’d be — before a familiar burst of laughter snagged your attention from across the room.

You turned your head and there they were. Claire, in a gorgeous emerald green dress that made her glow, and Chris, looking sharp in a navy suit, his arm around her waist as they chatted with a small group of people.

Your stomach did a little flip.

“Uh oh,” you muttered, leaning in toward Harry so only he could hear. “Incoming.”

Harry followed your gaze, his lips quirking up when he spotted them. “Ah, the newlyweds.”

As if on cue, Claire’s eyes landed on you, and her whole face lit up. She nudged Chris, whispering something, and the two of them made a beeline toward you.

“Look at you two!” Claire practically beamed, pulling you into a quick, excited hug, then stepping back to eye you both with a mischievous glint in her eyes. “God, you clean up well. And together? This is unfairly attractive.”

Chris laughed, shaking Harry’s hand and clapping him on the shoulder. “I didn’t know you were bringing company tonight, man.”

“Would’ve been a crime not to,” Harry replied smoothly, his hand finding yours again like it belonged there, fingers threading through yours with ease. “Wouldn’t survive this kind of crowd without her.”

Claire’s gaze darted down to your joined hands, then back up to your face with a knowing smirk.

You gave her a look that said be cool, but it only made her grin wider.

“So how long has this been going on?” Claire asked, leaning in, teasing but genuinely curious.

You opened your mouth, brain scrambling for the number you and Harry had joked about before, but before you could answer, Harry spoke first.

“Since your wedding” he said, squeezing your hand gently.

You barely had time to register Harry’s answer before a small crowd pulled him and Chris away, laughing and talking loudly as they got drawn into a conversation with some other guests. You were left standing there with Claire, feeling suddenly a little out of place in your heels and dress.

Claire nudged you gently. “Well, that was smooth.”

You smiled, grateful for the distraction as you chatted with her about her honeymoon and how married life was treating her. The room buzzed with chatter, clinking glasses, and soft music — a perfect backdrop for what you hoped would be a low-key evening.

Then, out of nowhere, a light tap on your shoulder startled you.

Turning around, you found yourself looking up at a man with a charming smile and confident eyes, clearly trying to catch your attention.

“I couldn’t help but notice you from across the room,” he said smoothly, voice low. “You have the kind of smile that could light up this entire place.”

You glanced at Claire, who was watching the scene with amused eyes, then turned back to the man, forcing a polite but firm smile.

“That’s very kind of you,” you said carefully, trying not to encourage him.

Before the man could continue, a strong presence settled beside you. Harry’s hand slid easily over yours, his gaze sharp and protective as he looked down at the newcomer.

“Excuse me,” Harry said, voice calm but clearly warning, “she’s with me.”

The man’s smile faltered as Harry’s eyes locked onto his, the unspoken message clear.

“Oh. Right. Of course,” the man said quickly, backing away with an awkward chuckle.

Harry’s jaw relaxed, but his hold on your hand remained steady, grounding you.

Claire leaned in with a grin. “Well, that was fast.”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding, feeling the heat of Harry’s closeness settle around you like a shield.

“Thanks for the rescue,” you murmured.

Harry’s eyes softened as he squeezed your hand again. “Always.

Harry’s hand slid from your fingers to your waist, pulling you just a little closer, his body warmth seeping into you. Your breath hitched, heart fluttering as you were about to let yourself fall for this protective side of him, when out of the corner of your eye, you saw her.

Lucy.

She stood across the room, wearing a stunning black dress that hugged every curve, her raven-black hair cascading perfectly over her shoulders, and those icy blue eyes scanning the crowd like a queen surveying her kingdom. Everything about her, her confidence, her presence, hit you all at once.

Suddenly, the closeness between you and Harry felt less sweet and more like a calculated move. You realized then that Harry wasn’t doing this just to keep his family off his back. No, this was personal. A game. A way to get back at his ex.

Disappointment flooded your chest, thick and sharp.

You gently pulled away from him, smoothing your dress and forcing a steady breath.

“I… I need to get some air,” you said quietly, trying not to let the hurt show.

Harry opened his mouth, but you didn’t wait for his response. You turned and walked toward the door, your mind spinning with thoughts you hadn’t expected to feel tonight.

An hour passed like slow, heavy waves crashing over him, and Harry still hadn’t found you. The party’s noise throbbed behind the walls, but inside him, everything was quieter, empty in the worst way.

He finally stepped outside onto the balcony, the cool night air biting at his skin. His eyes scanned the dim space until they landed on you, sitting alone on the ledge, wrapped in your arms like you were trying to hold yourself together against the chill.

You didn’t look at him at first, just stared up at the dark sky as if searching for answers in the stars. Harry’s heart clenched, and without a word, he crossed the distance and sat down beside you, careful not to crowd your space.

The silence stretched, but it wasn’t uncomfortable, just heavy with everything left unsaid. After a moment, Harry’s voice came out soft, almost hesitant.

“Hey”

You finally looked at him, eyes reflecting the distant city lights. “You lied to me.”

He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

“You said all of this was about your family but the truth is, you wanted to get back at Lucy fore leaving you and I’m the revenge gun.” You added.

Harry’s eyes darkened, guilt flashing across his face before he quickly masked it with something softer.

“I never wanted you to feel like that,” he said quietly. “You’re not some pawn in my past. You’re... you’re not that.”

You pulled your arms tighter around yourself, frustration bubbling beneath the surface.

“But that’s exactly what it felt like tonight. Like I was just a way to get back at her.”

Harry looked down for a moment, then met your gaze again, earnest and raw.

“I—yes, I omitted that information.” He confessed, “But getting to know you…It has been so—so magical I-.”

You let out a shaky breath, unsure if you were angry, hurt, or just exhausted.

“I’m not mad.” You said calmly, “But I’m disappointed. You lied about this and you lied about who you are too.”

“What do you mean?”

“You didn’t tell me you were a billionaire either.”

Harry blinked, a slow, rueful smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

“Yeah,” he admitted, running a hand through his hair again, the vulnerability slipping through for a moment. “I didn’t think it mattered. I wanted you to like me for me, not my bank account.”

You studied him, the weight of the night pressing down on you, but beneath it all, a flicker of something softer.

“You think that low of me?” you asked, kinda hurt by that.

Harry’s face fell the second the words left your mouth — like you’d knocked the air right out of him.

“No,” he said quickly, stepping closer, his voice rough with regret. “God, no. That’s not what I meant. It wasn’t about you. It was about me. About… how people usually are with me. I didn’t want to risk it being the same with you because you’re—”

He stopped himself, swallowing hard, his eyes searching yours in the low light.

“You’re different,” he finished quietly. “You scare the hell out of me in the best possible way. And I’ve been so terrified of messing it up, I already did.”

Your chest tightened, your arms still wrapped around yourself, and for a second you weren’t sure if you wanted to yell at him or pull him close. Maybe both.

“I’m not some charity case you get to parade around, Harry,” you said softly. “I’m not a revenge plan. I’m not something you use to prove a point to an ex. I’m a person.”

“I know,” he said, stepping even closer, his hand hesitating before gently brushing your arm, as if testing if you’d let him. “And you deserve better than what I did tonight. I swear to you… none of this feels like a game to me anymore. It hasn’t for a while.”

You closed your eyes for a second, breathing in the cold night air, trying to steady the storm inside you.

“I don’t know what this is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “Or what it could be. But if you want this plan to keep going, you need to be honest with me. No more half-truths. No more omissions.”

Harry nodded, the weight of your words settling between you like some fragile, unspoken truce.

“I can do that,” he said, voice low, sincere in a way you hadn’t seen before tonight. “You deserve that. Hell, you deserve more than that, but… I’ll start there.”

His hand lingered at your arm, fingers grazing your skin like he wasn’t ready to let you drift any farther from him. You didn’t pull away this time, though your heart ached with a mix of too many things you didn’t have names for.

After a long, quiet moment, you huffed a breath, a ghost of a smirk tugging at your lips despite yourself. “You realize Claire is never letting me live this down if we go back in there together.”

Harry’s mouth curved into a crooked smile, some of the tension easing from his face. “I’ll take full responsibility for that.”

You arched a brow. “Including when she makes a slideshow of our imaginary honeymoon?”

He laughed, and it was soft, real — nothing polished or smug about it. “Even then.”

A beat passed. The cold didn’t sting as sharply now. The city lights flickered in the distance, and his eyes never left yours.

“Okay,” you said quietly. “Let’s finish what we started. But this time… you’re honest with me. Every step.”

“I promise,” Harry murmured.

Harry glanced at you, noticed the way your arms were still wrapped around yourself against the cold, and without a word, shrugged out of his jacket.

“Here,” he murmured, draping it over your shoulders with a tenderness that made your heart ache in a way you weren’t prepared for.

You inhaled instinctively — it smelled like him. Warm, expensive cologne and something inherently Harry beneath it.

“Thanks,” you whispered, your fingers brushing his as you pulled it tighter around yourself.

He lingered a second longer, his hands hesitating at your shoulders, as if debating whether to say more, to touch more. But instead, he just gave you a soft, crooked smile.

“You know,” he said quietly, “even when you’re mad at me, you still look beautiful.”

You rolled your eyes, though a reluctant smile pulled at your lips. “You’re dangerously close to losing jacket privileges.”

Harry chuckled, the sound low and warm. “Noted.”

Another silence fell, but this time, it felt… different. Not heavy with things unsaid, but fragile in a new, tentative way — like a beginning neither of you were quite brave enough to name yet.

After a moment, you exhaled. “Come on. Let’s get back in before Claire starts a betting pool.”

Harry grinned at that, and for the first time in what felt like hours, the knot in your chest loosened just a little.

He held the door open for you, his hand grazing your lower back as you stepped inside, light, unassuming, but enough to remind you he was still there.

You stepped back into the warmth of the party, the soft hum of conversation and clinking glasses wrapping around you like a familiar, chaotic blanket. But it wasn’t the glittering lights or the music you noticed first. It was her.

Lucy.

She was standing near the bar in that slinky black dress, her arm looped through some guy’s, but her blue eyes were locked on one person.

Harry.

You saw it plain as day, the possessive flicker, the bitterness she couldn’t quite hide behind her practiced smile. And something inside you, some heady cocktail of defiance, adrenaline, and maybe the tiniest hint of revenge, surged to the surface.

Without giving yourself a chance to overthink it, you reached out, grabbed a fistful of Harry’s shirt, and tugged him down to you.

His eyes widened in surprise just a beat before your lips crashed onto his.

And damn it if it didn’t feel electric.

The world around you blurred, the music, the people, even the cold ache of what had happened an hour ago, all of it drowned under the warmth of his mouth on yours. He hesitated only a second before his hand cupped the side of your neck, his lips moving against yours with a tenderness you weren’t ready for.

It wasn’t a fake kiss.

Not the kind meant to sell a lie.

It was something else.

When you finally pulled back, breathe a little short, you caught the flicker of shock and unmistakable jealousy in Lucy’s face.

Good.

Harry’s gaze searched yours, his thumb brushing your jaw like he couldn’t help himself. “What… was that for?” he murmured, his voice low and a little breathless.

You smirked up at him, chest still pounding. “Just reminding someone what she lost.”

His grin spread slow and crooked, his eyes gleaming with something dangerous and unguarded. “God, you’re something else,” he whispered.

You shrugged, though you could feel your pulse hammering in your throat. “Come on. Let’s go to grab some champagne.”

And for the first time that night, it felt like it was your game now.

Harry chuckled under his breath, shaking his head like he couldn’t quite believe you — or maybe like he was starting to realize he didn’t want to stop believing in you. His hand found yours again, this time with no audience, no pretend, no reason but because he wanted to.

“Lead the way,” he murmured.

You tugged him through the crowd toward the bar, your smirk lingering just long enough to catch the storm brewing in Lucy’s eyes. It wasn’t even about her anymore, not really. It was about you. About reclaiming a night that had made you feel small, powerless, and used.

The bartender raised an eyebrow as you slid two fingers across the counter. “Your best champagne,” you said, grinning. “On his tab.”

Harry laughed, leaning in close, his lips brushing your ear. “You’re dangerous, you know that?”

“Yeah,” you whispered, feeling the spark in your chest catch fire, “but you like it.”

A minute later, two crystal flutes of something bubbly and outrageously expensive were in your hands. You raised yours toward him, chin lifting. “To terrible ideas.”

Harry clinked his glass against yours, his gaze never leaving your face. “And to hoping they turn into the best ones.”

You swallowed a smile, the warmth of the champagne chasing the last of the cold from your skin. But you knew this wasn’t done. Not by a long shot.

Because even as you let yourself lean into the ridiculousness of it, the party, the pretend, the kiss that didn’t feel so pretend anymore, you could still feel Lucy’s stare like a needle in your back. And deep down, you knew you’d only made things more complicated.

Some time later, the night had dulled into that sleepy, glittering haze that parties get when they’ve gone on too long — the music softer, the conversations blurring together, the champagne no longer crisp but heavy in your veins.

Harry had gotten swept away by a group of older men in tailored suits, half business partners, half family friends you didn’t know and didn’t care to. You caught his eyes a couple of times across the room, his expression apologetic, but you just waved him off with a small smile. It was fine.

You and Claire ended up perched on one of those ridiculously overpriced velvet couches near the corner, away from the crowd, both of you leaning into each other like you were back in college again, sneaking out of classes and eating junk food on your dorm floor.

Claire sighed dramatically, resting her head against yours. “If one more man over forty-five tries to explain crypto to me, I’m throwing myself into that champagne fountain.”

You snorted, eyes heavy-lidded, tipping your head to rest against her shoulder. “Wake me up before you do. I wanna see that.”

“Okay.”

A comfortable quiet settled between you, the room spinning a little too warmly, the lingering scent of expensive perfume clinging to the air. You let your eyes flutter shut for a minute, feeling Claire’s steady breathing and the distant hum of voices.

“Hey,” she murmured after a while, nudging you gently. “You okay? You’ve been… quiet.”

You gave a small shrug, not opening your eyes. “Yeah. Just… tired.”

She hummed knowingly. “You know he’s into you, right? It’s not just about Lucy.”

Your eyes flickered open then, and you turned your head just enough to look at her. “Claire—”

“I’ve seen the way he looks at you. He’s a goner.”

Your stomach twisted, heat creeping up your neck. “I don’t… I don’t even know what I’m doing anymore.”

Claire smiled softly, squeezing your hand. “You’re living a little. About damn time.”

And before you could say anything else, a familiar hand brushed your shoulder.

You glanced up to find Harry standing there, eyes only for you, his tie slightly loosened, hair a little messy, looking like the man everyone in the room wanted a piece of — but right now, it felt like he only wanted you.

“Sorry I disappeared,” he murmured. “Stealing you now.”

Claire grinned, giving your hand a squeeze before letting go. “Go. Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do.”

You rolled your eyes, standing up a little unsteadily as Harry’s hand settled on your back. His palm warm, grounding.

“Everything okay?” he asked quietly.

You gave a small smile. “I want to go home.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, concern flickering across his face. His hand didn’t leave your back as he leaned in a little closer, voice soft enough that only you could hear it over the hum of the party.

“Yeah,” he murmured. “Let’s get you out of here.”

Without another word, he threaded his fingers through yours, giving your hand a reassuring squeeze before gently guiding you through the crowd. You caught Claire’s knowing smirk from the couch as you passed, mouthing text me later before you disappeared through the doors.

The night air hit you in a rush, cool and sharp against your skin. You breathed it in like a balm, finally free from the thick press of the party, the expectations, the eyes.

His hand lingering at your back as he walked you toward the car. Neither of you said much. You didn’t need to. The silence was different now, not heavy, not awkward. Just… quiet.

When you reached the car, he opened the door for you, watching you slide in before joining you on the other side. The driver asked where to, and for a second, you hesitated.

But then Harry spoke, his voice low and certain.

“To her place.”

You glanced at him, and he met your eyes, a softness there that made your stomach flip.

“Only if you want me to,” he added, quieter now, his thumb brushing over the back of your hand.

You exhaled, a small, tired smile tugging at your lips.

The car pulled away from the curb, the city lights blurring past the window, and for the first time that night, you let yourself lean into him, resting your head against his shoulder, the steady beat of his heart under your cheek. He pressed a kiss to your hair, and neither of you said another word the whole ride home.

…….....

When the car finally rolled to a stop in front of your building, you sat up a little, rubbing your eyes as the exhaustion of the night caught up with you. Harry climbed out first, rounding the car to open your door like it was the most natural thing in the world. His hand reached for yours again, steady and sure, and you let him help you out.

As you reached your front steps, he lingered behind you, hands in his pockets, a soft smile playing at his lips.

“You know,” he started, tilting his head as he looked up at your place, “you haven’t shown me your place yet.”

You let out a tired, slightly amused breath, glancing over your shoulder at him. “It’s pretty modest.”

He shrugged, that easy grin tugging at the corners of his mouth. “Good. I’m sick of penthouses and marble bathrooms.”

You smiled, shaking your head as you pulled your keys from your bag and unlocked the door. “Well, don’t get too excited. The fanciest thing in there is probably my coffee maker.”

“Perfect,” he murmured, his voice low, something softer threaded in it as he followed you inside.

The warm glow of your little apartment welcomed you both. It wasn’t much, cozy couch, a few mismatched frames on the walls, books stacked where they probably shouldn’t be, but it was yours. Lived in. Safe.

Harry took it in, the way you half expected him to make some kind of teasing comment about your thrift store throw pillows or the crooked bookshelf, but he didn’t. He just smiled.

“I love it,” he said quietly.

You hung up your coat, his jacket still around your shoulders. “You want some tea or…?”

But before you could finish the question, he crossed the room, cupping your face gently, his thumb brushing your cheek.

Your heart gave a helpless tug in your chest.

“Harry?" you whispered.

And before he could overthink it, he closed the space between you, his lips meeting yours in a kiss that tasted like exhaustion and honesty and the quiet promise of something you weren’t quite ready to name yet.

The kiss was slow, unhurried, like neither of you wanted to be the one to pull away first. His hand slipped to the back of your neck, holding you there like maybe this was exactly where you were meant to be all along.

When you finally parted, breath mingling, foreheads nearly touching, you managed a wry little smirk, your fingers still gripping the front of his shirt.

“You’re breaking rule number three,” you murmured against his lips, your voice soft and teasing, but there was no hiding the way your pulse fluttered.

Harry chuckled, low and rough, his thumb brushing your cheek again. “Yeah,” he breathed, eyes locked on yours. “I’m starting to think I want to break all of them.”

💌💌💌💌💌💌💌💌

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#fic: whatever you'd like us to be #harry castilo #harry castillo materialists #harry castillo x f!reader #harry castillo x you #harry castillo fanfiction #harry castillo imagine #pedro pascal character fanfiction #pedro pascal

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