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dilf-docs · 9 hours ago

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Snow At The Beach, I. Day One: Arrival

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: you knew doing things without thinking was bad. so now, of course, your impromptu trip to iceland gets ruined by a man who claims you have ruined his.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (late 20s/late 40s), (eventual) smut, s2l, forced proximity, one bed, tons of angst, MATERIALISTS SPOILERS +more specific to be added per chapter!

word count: 3,266 words

side note: i feel like a man who fathers too many kids who he can't take care of lmao very fitting since it's father's day in my country!! i do have a present loving dad so i'm afraid my dilfism has been earned by other worse reasons. fun fact, it's also my 21st bday! yey (づ๑•ᴗ•๑)づ🎂 shot out too to the daddiest non-dad out there, pedro pascal!!!! (i know some of these things like hotel mishaps don't make sense since it's supposed to be a luxury place but idc do it for the plot!)

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He feels stupid. Sitting at the airport with luggage for a week and a ticket to Iceland that felt more like a reckless choice every passing hour and less like the romantic getaway he envisioned. Surrounded by families, friends, couples and people by themselves who certainly don't look as miserable as he does. Lonely. His gaze lingers on the lovers, as some sort of punishment. He thinks of his brother and his recent marriage and the girl who got away. Lucy. He still doesn't know how to feel about it, but he definitely isn't feeling sunshine and rainbows.

Just stupid.

Harry Castillo, billionaire, deceived by the promise of love, taken away from him by a broke waiter of all people.

He boards the plane with rage, holding his handbag so tightly, the stewardess posted at first class asks him if he's okay. He nods, but he knows he's far from it. Spends all the five hours checking his email and pending files, yet he also knows he cares about it as much as he cares about his brother's Things To Do In Iceland list. Hiking, whale watching, romantic waterfalls and the promise of a wet enchanted kiss. Those were things to do for couples. Harry is fucking alone.

Sitting next to him is a man who snores. Too loud. His eye ticks. Who sleeps on a fucking five hour flight? Alright, Harry is irritable at the moment; he thinks he's right about this though.

The plane lands in between the views of white-coated mountains and green grass. Some people clap. Harry hates people who clap when a plane lands.

Who would've thought a real romantic and composed businessman could be this full of hate?

It's Lucy's fault.

Now, Harry's moved to the stage where he blames everyone else. Not shared guilt, just her fault. Entirely hers. For her icy blue eyes, like the lakes behind his window. As well as cold. For fawning at his apartment but not at his kisses. For acknowledging he was great. Because even then, she chose not to stay.

As the car drives to his chosen hotel, the Torfhùs retreat, he thinks about her again. Lucy and him. Blames her for not opening up. But, he didn't either. Slept facing the other side after their first night together, hiding scars under expensive bed sheets. On his knees and on his heart. Hard to love, wanting to. Embarrassed to feel all at once and even more to admit it out loud.

This time, as the car parks outside and he asks the driver for a few minutes to get out and accept he's on this trip completely by himself, Harry's at the stage where he takes all the blame. For expecting. For wanting. For forcing himself on her, because she did say she wasn't what he needed. But they did work out. Maybe he didn't try too hard. That he should've been honest about the surgery, despite it being eight years ago. Maybe he tried too hard.

Either way, Harry has lost.

He sighs one last time and gets down the car. His bags are already inside the lodge.

He's about to get inside the lobby when a figure walks past him, touching the handle before him.

"Sorry. You go first" to the unknown woman, then reaches his hand, because despite the quiet anger and heartbreak, Harry Castillo's still a gentleman. Then holds the door open for them.

"Thank you" voice impossibly soft. To be confused with meek, but it sounds rather resigned.

They go inside, and that's when Harry notices it's a woman.

He notices other things, always an observer. Her walk, composed. She's pretending, he thinks. Her hair, held tight by a ponytail and the way it swings with each step she takes. But it's her floral perfume that catches his attention the most. He hates cheap perfume. Still, Harry can deduce it's not expensive yet not cheap smelling either. Just... natural. As in effortless. He decides he's okay with that.

"Hello" he follows behind closely as if they came together, unable to resist a weird pull. "I made a reservation last week. Room 10"

Direct to the point. Harry hates people who talk too much. Who bullshit and lie. Which is funny, given his... Nevermind. Embarrassing.

Harry would like this, if it wasn't for the fact that number 10 is his exact same room.

You are not an spontaneous person.

Not boring either, just nothing that makes you stand out in a crowd. Another young adult with a career, a cat, and a boyfriend.

You jog every morning and pay your taxes on time. You do groceries on Sundays and cleaning on Mondays. Your circle of friends is small and you hang out every two weeks at brunch. You take the same route to work, having memorized it by now. You have goals, dreams, ambitions and a clear mind.

Keeping a straight head won you a job that allowed you to buy an apartment in lower Manhattan. Home.

You remember the first thing you bought: a small forget me not that died three weeks later. An omen of the heartbreak to come.

What died was the most important thing one should nurture.

Love.

It was a slow death, too quiet to even notice. Subtle. Late office nights, arriving at a house cold and silent. The darkness that awaits the ones who aren't being waited for. Silk sheets replacing cheap ones but gone the warmth of two bodies who searched each other even when the weather wasn't cold.

You can't remember the last time he held you close like someone worth to keep. The last time you went on dates, first because of time and then nothing at all. Just not doing it. Like you didn't eat together anymore. Or that he kept forgetting your favorite things, things he held before close to his heart, as sacred as a prayer or a secret language only you could understand.

The language written in vows. The one when you swear your heart to only one person for the rest of your life.

Then it came down with a scream. Even later nights, but the previously occupied bed was now empty. It filled in the morning, but your heart stayed empty. In the tense air lingered the things unsaid and a perfume that wasn't yours.

You threw things, bit back like a wounded dog. And he returned the pain, doubled it.

"I'm seeing someone else"

You felt the shame and anger reside in your veins. Deceived. Almost a decade with him but she had taken the last dying months, and somehow, even if she had less, in the end, she won. The other woman. The one who was this prettier newer shiny toy that had taken your spot.

"I love her"

Words you thought would always be only yours. The promise of a husband to a wife.

So, in spite, childishly maybe, you took the saved money you had in your bank account and booked a flight to the farthest place you could come up with.

That's why you're sitting at Keflavík airport alone.

Iceland.

Booked a one-week stay in one of Iceland's most expensive hotels. Torfhùs retreat: cozy cabins in Selfoss, dressed in modern luxury.

"You could've used that money for a good lawyer" your bestfriend Danna chastised. "I know one. Her office is in upper Manhattan. She's a nepo baby, but trust me, she's great. Amazing"

But you needed to get away.

For just a moment, five thousand kilometers away, you could pretend everything was fine and your life hadn't turned upside down in a matter of weeks.

That your cat meowed in anguish, asking for his absence, present in his empty side of the bed and lack of clothes in the closet.

That seeing your pictures replaced with hers didn't bring you to tears.

That there wasn't a permanent ache in your heart.

Among the waterfalls, mountains and green grass, you could show the world you weren't crying in bed for what was already over.

No, twenty-seven year old Y/n, soon to be a divorcee, could have fun among one of the greatest sadness a person could experience.

"So, Iceland?" Danna asks, finally after you had sent a picture of the airport bar you were sitting at. Well, camping at. Trying to gather some courage to face a divorce and that getaway you always imagined, but by yourself.

"Yeah, mother fucking Iceland"

You had never traveled alone before. Took a long gulp of your Brennivín and prayed for courage.

Upon arrival, you lowered your expectations and hoped just for a good trip. When a man walked before you, almost colliding into you, but realized and held the door, a gesture so small yet one you hadn't experienced in so long, it made flush rush to your cheeks.

"Sorry. You go first" and his voice is so deep and raspy, every hair in your body raises to its command. It wraps you. Soothing. Like velvet.

"Thank you" you manage to say, and even if you sound tired, you try to express the warm feeling of gratitude.

You don't think he notices your voice crack, or how each step you take is labored. That you haven't been okay for a long time and that his gesture has had an effect on you, bigger than you'd like to admit.

As you walk to the front desk, you notice the man walking close to you, his perfume and faint smell of cigarettes wafting through the air.

"Hello" you pull out your printed reservation (yes, printed. You were just that prepared). "I made a reservation last week. Room 10"

You hear the door guy stop. The man from the desk hands you the key. A throat clears up behind your back.

"No, that can't be" and a little nervous yet entitled laugh.

You turn around. "Sorry, where you talking to me?"

The man nods, smile condescending.

"I think you're mistaken, miss"

"Y/n" you cut a bit harshly, the small chivalry long forgotten.

You're tired, sad and angry. You just want to go lay down and sleep your sorrow away.

"Y/n" he repeats, and you shouldn't enjoy how much it sounds on his gravely voice. Not when he's treating you like this. How was this the same man who held the door for you?

"Yes?"

"I said I think you're mistaken"

"I don't understand" you blink, slowly.

The man behind the counter starts to look distressed. "Allir, róið ykkur niður" (everyone, calm down)

"Room 10... That's my room"

You laugh and dangle the key in front of his face.

"No, it's mine"

The man looks at you like you're a naive kid.

"Here" he pulls out his own reservation paper. Printed as well. You ex-husband used to say it was a waste of paper. You'd like to prove him wrong and make this a silly Look, we're the same! moment, except this man is far from your friend. "Now you believe me?"

Room 10.

"Ég held að það hafi orðið mistök" (i think there's been a mistake)

You start to loose your patience. "Listen, mister-"

"Harry" with the same icy tone you'd used.

"Harry" you repeat, hating how smoothly it slides across your tongue. Almost as if you were born to say it. "I made this reservation last week"

The smug grin he sports irks you. "I did it a month ago"

"Kannski var það tölvan. Eða nýjasti gaurinn" the man says. He's started to sweat by now. (maybe it was the computer. or the newest guy)

You tap your feet against the floor, both impatient and annoyed. "So?"

The man smiles, enjoying this.

"By that logic, the room's mine" he replies cooly, pleased.

The color drains from your face. What are you supposed to do? You don't know the country or the language, not to mention the obscene amount of money you've wasted.

"And what am I supposed to do?" you ask, helpless.

"Book somewhere else" he drops, carelessly.

"Do you think money grows from trees!?" you raise your voice, losing your temper. Maybe it's the accumulated stress, because you never shouted at anyone. At least, not since you last argued with your ex-husband.

He doesn't answer to that.

"If you expect me to search for another place right now" you find your voice again, lower yet still sharp, "you're dumber than you look"

He scoffs. "You're dumb if you think you can book a place a week before your trip"

You laugh dryly. "Says the guy who's telling me to book a hotel right now"

He chuckles, a bit less meaner. "Fair"

"You're forgetting something, though"

Harry raises an eyebrow. "Yes?"

You grin, victoriously. "I got the key"

"I still have more rights to it" he says with a bit of a whine.

"What about manners? Women go first!"

"And your own? Don't be a child and accept I booked it first so I deserve it"

"You're ruining my trip!" you protest, spiteful.

Harry is as angry and irritable as you.

"So are you!"

The man behind the lobby, an elder man with ashes for hair who introduces himself as Axel the housekeeper, stands in between.

"Wait!"

You both turn at the man who had remained behind the safety of his desk, both nervous and distressed.

"You speak English?" Harry asks.

"Little" he replies, more embarrassed about the situation than his language knowledge.

"Thank God" you sigh, a little too relieved. "Please, help us"

"I try, just stop shouting. Guests don't like"

Your face feels hot and Harry's ears turn red at the tip. For some reason, seeing the once intimidating man who could easily own a room blush out of embarrasment is kind of adorable.

Ugh. You so need to get laid. Get yourself a viking, Danna had said.

"Sorry. We got nervous. A bit altered" you utter.

"I apologize as well" but he isn't looking at you. "We just want to understand why we both have the same room"

"I told her. Bad idea" he sighs, shaking his head. "Wife cares of this. She sick. New guy came. He ruined it" Axel points to the computer. "I not good with this. Nor english. Wife is"

You can't help but smile at the hint of hidden adoration the explanation carries. "She sounds like a great woman"

"A true keeper" Harry agrees. He can't help but be a romantic, despite it all.

(Despite never falling in love. Not knowing how to love. What it is to be loved)

You look at the him, stunned for agreeing with you or maybe at the way there's yearning laced within his words. Your eyes briefly dart to his finger without a ring, wondering. He catches your view when you raise it, which makes you turn away, embarrased.

"The best" Alex agrees with both of you. "Anna is the love of my life"

Something about growing old and counting wrinkles on the face of a lover. The tale of years passed but love standing across time. All that's left is the ache of the person you imagined spending the rest of your life with, slipping through your fingers until he wasn't yours. Like he never was.

"Hey, I have solution" he takes out another key from the drawer and hands it to Harry. "Here"

Harry takes it, examines it and then looks back at Axel, confused.

"It's for Room 10"

"Yes" like it's the most obvious thing in the world.

He blinks, slowly. "I'm not getting it"

Axel smiles, as if the answer is easy.

"Yes. You two share room"

It takes a few seconds for both of you to react.

"What?!" you shout in unison.

"That doesn't make any sense" Harry says.

"Yeah" you concede. "There's no way I'm sharing a room with him"

Harry scoffs, crossing his arms.

"What makes you think I would share a room with you?"

"Is the solution I have" Axel shrugs. "I apologize but it's only one"

You sigh, sitting on a chair while rubbing your temples. Your head and feet hurt. Your eyes are heavy and you feel like crying.

"I can't believe it... this is why I plan things on advance"

Harry rolls his eyes. "Maybe you learned your lesson"

"Oh, definitely" you roll your eyes as well, standing up in front of him, tone daring. "Never book a luxury hotel full of snotty and arrogant people like you"

"Yeah, and I'd choose better than a hotel who allows anyone"

"Actually, we have policies-"

You both interrupt Axel with a hard "Shut up!"

He backs away, raising his hands in defeat. You finally react then.

"Look" you say, taking a deep breath and clapping your palms together for any semblance of peace. "Shouting won't take us anywhere"

He pinches the bridge of his nose, tired. "Alright. What do you suggest then?"

You take out your phone, asking Axel for the Wi-Fi. Once you get signal, you do a quick search for hotels in Selfoss. All of them are as expensive if not more than this one. Why even bother? Not like you had any money left.

"The closest hotel is almost three miles away. And it's small" you comment, looking at the picture. "I'm pretty sure it's all booked"

You give him a little look. The disarming look, as Danna would joke. The look that won you free drinks and your ex-husband to look your way the very first time.

"No" he picks up, immediately. It seems Harry might be the only man inmune to it.

"It's the only way" you speak, stern. "Don't think I'm happy about it"

"Good" Harry seconds, acidic. "Neither am I, just to be clear"

"Just to be clear" you replied, annoyed. Probably at the fact it feels like a subtle rejection. Not like you care, anyway.

Harry looks at his bags on the floor and you look at your own. The clock reads nine, and after such an emotional rollercoaster, you feel the need for a good bath and a comfy bed. After a few moments of silence, Harry speaks, defeated.

"Are we really doing this?"

"Unless you want me to drive twenty miles to the biggest hotel in Selfoss. And pay for it"

I could, he thinks, but chooses to remain silent. "I'm not cruel"

Your lips curve up slightly. "I'm sure if good ol' Axel wasn't here, you would've wrestled me for this key to death"

Harry rolls his eyes, but a faint smile adorns his face.

"You're lucky I skipped Taekwondo classes"

"Taekwondo?" you chuckle, in disbelief. "I'd never imagine so. You look like a... finance guy"

"Can't a guy be both?" voice lighter, almost playful.

You giggle. "A millionaire fighting? Only if you're Batman"

He sends a wink your way, disarming you. "Maybe I am"

There is something about the man standing before you. Something that makes it impossible to hate him, even as annoyed as you are. Something that draws you to him. Impossible to ignore. A pull that bent knees and hearts.

Axel's raspy voice cuts the moment. "When room is empty, I'll give you new key"

"I like the sound of that" you agree. Then, you hold your hand up. "Temporary roomates?"

Harry chuckles at your antics, but accepts your hand nonetheless. His palm is so big, it practically swallows yours. It's firm and warm, the security of his dominant handshake engulfing you. You haven't realize you've held for longer than necessary until Axel intervenes about showing you your room.

"Temporary roomates it is"

Yet some things are meant to be forever, and you had a feeling Harry hadn't just crashed your runaway plan but your life.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / dts: @thecamiladiazuniverse @kaliispunk @manuymesut

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dilf-docs · 2 days ago

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OHHH MY SOULLLLLLL💔💔💔💔💔💔💔

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

harry castillo (materialists) x fem!sunshine!reader

masterlist | previous chapter | next chapter

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

w.c: 7,5k

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

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

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

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

You waited for a call, a message, a knock at your door. Everything that could have remined that you were valuable to Harry.

And when Monday rolled around, you dragged yourself out of bed, threw on a sweater that still faintly smelled like coffee, and opened the café with a weight in your chest you couldn’t erase.

The place was alive as always, the soft clink of mugs, the gentle murmur of conversations, Mia’s laughter carrying from behind the counter. But you felt like a ghost in your own space because Harry had made a home inside your house and now it felt hollow without the certainty of that presence.

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

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

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

But even Evan didn’t buy it. He gave you a knowing look and said nothing, wisely leaving you to your mood.

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

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

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

And then the bell over the door chimed.

You looked up out of habit, and your stomach dropped at the sight of Lucy at the door.

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

“Hi,” she said, approaching the counter.

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

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

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

Two vanilla lattes.

And immediately, the spiral started.

Was one for Harry?

Had he gone back to her?

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

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

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

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

“You think?”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You forced a small, polite smile. “Well, I own this place.”

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

Best coffee in this city

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

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

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

You nodded. “You too.”

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

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

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

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

“Damn, boss,” he muttered under his breath, bumping your shoulder. “You, okay? Cause if I didn’t know better, I’d say you look pretty grumpy today.”

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

“Or to see your boyfriend, huh?”

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

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

"Come in" you said.

You blinked, your stomach twisting, heart leaping in your chest before your brain could even catch up. The door eased open and a massive bouquet of deep red roses filled the frame first, then the hand holding them, and finally Harry.

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

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

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

You didn’t return it.

“I told you to stay out,” you said quietly. A lied, a big lie, because everything you wanted was him to come to you.

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

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

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

Your throat felt tight, your heart lurching at the rawness in his voice. You wanted to stay mad, and you should stay mad, but his words found every soft, unguarded part of you.

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

You finally met his gaze again, your arms still crossed, but your posture softer. “Why did you mention her that night, Harry?”

His expression cracked a little, like you’d pressed your thumb against an old bruise. He stepped closer, leaning his palms against your desk. “Because I’m an idiot,” he said, voice low.

“Because I’m an idiot,” he said, voice low, thick with regret. “And because… part of me was scared it wasn’t just a kiss. It wasn’t just breaking the rules. It was real. And I panicked.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You shook your head, leaning back against your chair like you needed the distance to breathe. “You don’t get to drag people into your tantrums because you’re pissed off at your parents or your past, Harry. I’m not a placeholder for your…kind of rebellion. I’m a person. And I deserved better than being some convenient way for you to feel in control for five minutes.”

He looked like you’d slapped him. And maybe, in a way, you had.

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

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

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

You sat there for a long moment, the silence between you loaded, heavy with everything that had built up between reckless choices and unsaid things.

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

His eyes glistened, but he didn’t argue. Didn’t beg.

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

You sat there long after the door had closed, the soft chime above it echoing like a final note you hadn’t asked for. The roses sat on your desk, too many and too red, a vibrancy you felt it left with harry through that door. The kind of gesture Harry always leaned on when words failed him.

Your throat burned.

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

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

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

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

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

But he didn’t. Not really.

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

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

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

It was his assistant.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I love you, bye” she said.

“I love you too.”

Harry’s assistant, pushed open the office door with one hand while balancing a takeaway tray in the other.

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

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

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

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

“She looks okay.” She replied carefully.

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

A picture of you.

From Claire’s and Chris wedding.

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

Chris had given it to him as a joke after the wedding.

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

Harry had played it off, acted like it was just one of those silly things people kept around.

But it stayed. Day after day. He sighed, leaning back in his chair, staring at that photo like it might speak to him.

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

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

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

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

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

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

You raised a hand and knocked.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

You swallowed hard, your gaze darting away.

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

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

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

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

You gave a small shrug. “Getting there.”

Chris squeezed your shoulder gently, then pulled back with a crooked smile. “Good. You know we’ve got your back.”

You opened your mouth to answer, but then a knock at the door interrupted the conversation.

The sound made your chest seize up, your pulse stuttering like a skipped beat. You saw Claire glance at you, her face unreadable, and for a second it was just the two of you, a silent conversation passing between your eyes.

The door creaked open. And then, his voice.

“Hey, man.”

Low, rough, a little hesitant in a way you weren’t used to hearing from Harry.

You couldn’t see him from where you stood, but the sound of him hit you like a slow, searing burn you’d been trying to forget for days. That voice, steady and sharp with its usual confidence now dulled by something heavier, was one you could pick out in a crowded room, even if you tried not to.

Claire squeezed your hand once. “You want me to kick him out?” she whispered, only half-joking.

You gave a brittle little laugh, your throat tight. “No,” you murmured. “I’ll be fine.”

The truth was a more complicated, tangled thing, but you were done running your feelings.

Chris stepped aside to let Harry in, and you caught the edge of his tall frame, the dark sweep of his hair, his hands shoved into his jacket pockets like a man walking into a storm of his own making. His eyes landed on you almost immediately, like he couldn’t help it, and you felt the weight of them, heavy and unrelenting.

He looked tired. The kind of tired that wasn’t from sleepless nights but a soul-deep weariness. And he held it together in front of the others, a practiced smirk flickering to life when Chris clapped him on the back.

But then his gaze found yours again, and the mask cracked, just for a second.

Claire glanced between you two, then cleared her throat. “Well,” she said brightly, like she was trying to cut through the unbearable tension, “who’s hungry?”

No one answered.

Because now Harry was standing there like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to take another step. And you were standing there like your heart might break clean open if he did.

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

Each other.

Dinner was a strange, fragile thing.

The four of you sat around the table, a beautiful spread laid out like Claire always did, roasted vegetables, a bottle of wine already open, soft music playing low in the background. It should’ve felt normal. Familiar. But the air was thick with things unsaid, heavy with the weight of you and Harry sitting side by side.

You’d tried to angle for a seat across the table, but Claire, ever the meddler in the name of love, had pulled out the chair next to her, leaving only the one beside you open when Harry entered the room.

He slid into it without a word. Close enough that you could feel the warmth of him, his elbow brushing yours every time he reached for something. And each accidental graze felt deliberate, like a silent apology you refused to accept.

Chris was doing his best to fill the silence, launching into a story about some disaster at work Harry didn’t know that had happened, and Claire kept nudging you to eat, to drink, to smile. You managed a few polite laughs, but you could feel Harry’s eyes on you, stealing glances when he thought you wouldn’t notice.

At one point, when Chris went to refill the wine glasses and Claire disappeared to the kitchen for dessert, it was just you and him, the low hum of the music and the faint clink of silverware the only sounds.

Harry cleared his throat. “I didn’t know you were coming,” he said quietly, his voice rough and uneven.

You didn’t look at him. “Same.”

A beat of silence. Then, softer “You look beautiful.”

The words landed like a punch and a balm all at once.

You finally turned your head to meet his gaze. His face was open in a way you hadn’t seen in days. No smug grin, no cocky spark. Just the man you’d somehow let yourself fall for.

But before you could answer, Claire swept back in carrying a tray of chocolate cake, her voice loud and cheerful as she set it down.

“Okay,” she grinned, slicing into it, “I have an announcement.”

You blinked, forcing your eyes away from Harry, grateful for the distraction.

Chris’s face lit up. “Are you telling them now?”

Claire beamed and nodded. “We’re having a baby.”

The room burst into congratulatory shouts and laughter from you and Harry. Chris leaning over to kiss her, you getting up to hug her tight, pretending the burn behind your eyes was just happiness for them.

Claire clung to you for a moment longer than usual, like she sensed the ache beneath your smile but chose not to name it. When you finally pulled back, you wiped at your cheek with a laugh, blaming it on the wine and the news.

“That’s amazing, Claire,” you said, your voice thick but steady. “You’re going to be the best mom.”

Claire’s grin softened into something gentler. “And you’ll be around, right? I mean… I’ll need you.”

“Always,” you promised, meaning it.

You settled back into your seat; your heart still heavy but warmed at the edges by her happiness. Harry’s eyes met yours across the table, something unreadable in them, and for a brief second, it felt like the room disappeared, like it was just the two of you again, in that frustrating, electric limbo you couldn’t quite seem to leave behind.

He smiled, small and almost sad, and you hated how your heart skipped for it.

“Congratulations, Claire,” Harry said, raising his glass, and his voice was softer than you expected. “You and Chris. You’re going to be incredible parents.”

Chris grinned, sliding an arm around Claire’s shoulders. “Thanks, man. Means a lot. I hope a raise now, Boss.”

The table broke into light laughter, Claire playfully swatting Chris’s arm.

“Oh my God, Chris,” she groaned, though she was smiling.

Harry chuckled, shaking his head as he lifted his glass again. “You’ll have to fight the board for that one, but… maybe I’ll put in a good word.”

Chris grinned like a kid who’d gotten away with something, and Claire leaned in to kiss his cheek.

The conversation moved on after that, baby names, nursery colors, Claire’s bizarre cravings already setting in, and you let yourself drift through it, contributing where you could, laughing when it was expected, but mostly trying to ignore the constant hum of Harry’s presence beside you.

You became silent after that. You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

Three pairs of eyes turned to you, but you kept your expression easy, giving them a soft smile.

“Hey, I’m sorry,” you said, your voice gentle, threading through the cozy warmth of the room. “I’m kind of wiped… it’s been a long week. I think I’m gonna head out.”

Claire’s face immediately pinched in concern. “You sure? You can stay, crash in the guest room if you want—”

You shook your head, offering a small, reassuring smile. “No, it’s okay. I just… need a quiet night.”

Chris stood up to hug you. “Thanks for coming, really. Means a lot to us.”

“Wouldn’t have missed it,” you murmured, squeezing him back.

Claire wrapped you in a tight, lingering hug. “Text me when you get home, okay?” she whispered against your hair.

You nodded, your throat burning again. “I will.”

And then, you knew it would happen, and you tried not to look, but your gaze snagged on Harry as you stepped toward the door. He was already on his feet, watching you with that same quiet, wrecked expression he’d had all night.

You hesitated, then gave a polite, distant nod. “Good night, Harry.”

His jaw flexed. “Good night.”

You pushed your chair back quietly, the legs scraping against the hardwood floor a little louder than you intended.

The door clicked shut behind you, and the room felt heavier for a moment, like the air itself shifted. Claire stared after you, her smile gone, replaced with sharp, narrowed eyes. She turned toward Harry, her voice low but fierce.

“What the hell did you do to her?”

Chris glanced between them, frowning. “Claire—”

“No,” she cut him off, not taking her eyes off Harry. “She came in here holding herself together with string, Harry. She barely spoke, barely smiled, and she left like she was running from something. And now I know it’s you.”

Harry’s expression didn’t flinch. If anything, he looked like someone already carrying the punishment she was trying to give. He set his glass down with a soft clink, the echo filling the space between them.

“I hurt her,” he said quietly.

“Then what are you doing here still?” she demanded, her voice gentler now, but no less cutting.

Harry looked at her, eyes rimmed with something raw and unguarded.

Claire softened just a fraction, giving a small, tired smile. “If I’m not wrong, she hasn’t left. She’s sitting on the stairs. I bet on that.”

Harry’s head jerked slightly at that, something sparking behind his eyes.

“Please, Harry,” Claire said, quieter this time. “Fix it.”

For a long moment, he just stood there, fingers flexing at his sides, battling whatever storm was churning in his gut. And then he moved, wordlessly, pushing back his chair and heading for the door.

Claire exhaled, leaning into Chris’s side as he watched Harry go.

“I swear to God,” she murmured, “I will make him go broke if he doesn’t fix this.”

Harry stepped out into the cool evening air, his pulse hammering in his ears. He moved toward the front steps, and sure enough, there you were.

Sitting there, arms wrapped around your knees, your head tilted back against the railing like you’d been holding back tears and now you were too tired to bother.

His chest cracked open at the sight.

“Hey,” he said, his voice breaking slightly around the word.

You didn’t look at him right away, just kept your eyes on the dark sky above, the cool air kissing your skin. The ache in your throat was sharp and stubborn, but you spoke anyway.

“You don’t have anyone else to bother?” you asked, your voice quieter than you meant it to be, but steady enough.

Harry let out a rough breath, shoving his hands into his pockets like a man who had no idea what the hell to do with them. He took a cautious step closer.

“No,” he admitted, voice hoarse. “I don’t.”

You finally turned your head, meeting his gaze. And God, the way he was looking at you.

Harry gave a small, rueful smile, stepping closer. “Can I sit next to you?” he asked quietly.

You hesitated for a moment, then nodded. He eased down onto the steps beside you, close enough to feel the warmth of his presence but not so close that it made your heart race out of control.

For a while, neither of you spoke. The quiet stretched between you, comfortable and heavy all at once.

The air was cold, and your bare arms tingled from the chill. Without a word, Harry slipped off his jacket and draped it gently over your shoulders. The fabric was warm, and the unexpected gesture sent a small shiver down your spine. You glanced at him, surprised, but all he did was offer a quiet, understanding smile before turning his gaze back ahead.

“I feel so happy for Claire. I really do,” you murmured, your voice thin and uneven, eyes fixed on some distant point ahead, as if the darkness could offer answers, you hadn’t found yet. “She’s getting everything she ever wanted. The baby, the family, the life… someone who loves her like that.”

Harry stayed quiet, not interrupting, just listening. It made it easier, somehow, like the words had been caged in your chest for too long and now, in the cold, under the dark sky, with his jacket around your shoulders, they could finally come out.

“And I’ll be there,” you went on, a humorless, soft laugh catching in your throat. “I’ll watch it happen. Watch them build a life, a family. And I’ll be happy for them because I am. God, I am. But it’ll still feel like losing her. Like… like I’m standing still, and everyone else keeps moving forward.”

You swallowed, blinking hard against the sting in your eyes.

“I don’t think I’ll ever have that,” you admitted, voice cracking around the words. “The baby. The house. The person who loves you like it’s a damn fact of the universe. Someone who chooses you every single day. I don’t know what’s wrong with me that I can’t get there. That I let people in, and they leave. And maybe it’s just… maybe it’s me.”

The ache in your throat burned and you pressed your hands together tightly in your lap to keep them from shaking. You could feel his gaze on you now, steady, heavy, like it was stitching you together and unraveling you at the same time.

You turned your head to look at him, and for a moment the world shrank to just the two of you “And the moment I thought I met the perfect man…it turned out he wanted me to make his ex jealous.”

Harry flinched it, you saw it. The way his jaw tensed, the flicker of something sharp in his eyes, like your words had struck somewhere he wasn’t ready for.

He didn’t look away though. He stayed right there, his gaze locked on yours, the weight of it a little heavier now.

“I deserved that,” he said quietly, his voice rougher than before. “Every word of it.”

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat. You hadn’t meant to spill it out like that, but once it started, you couldn’t stop.

“I kept telling myself I was fine with it,” you admitted, the words trembling out of you. “That it didn’t matter. That it wasn’t real. That I wasn’t… falling. But I was, Harry because you…you’re …because you’re the one I wanted,” you whispered, the words breaking at the edges like glass under pressure. “And I hate myself for it. For letting it happen. For hoping for something that was never mine to have.”

Harry’s eyes closed for a second, like the weight of your confession physically hit him. When he opened them again, they were shining with something raw, unguarded, and it stole the air right out of your lungs.

His shoulders sagged a little, like hearing that eased something in him. “I never came here just to get something from you. Yeah, I made a mess of it. I crossed lines. I confused you. But… I kept coming because this place, you. You’re the only part of my life that feels like mine. Not my family’s, not some move, not something someone else expects from me. Just mine.”

The words settled between you like a secret too sacred for the world to hear. Your chest ached, your heart thrumming so loud you were sure he could hear it. You looked at him, really looked, the stubble on his jaw, the dark sweep of his lashes, the way his mouth trembled around the truth he was finally speaking.

“I don’t know how to be good at this,” he went on, his voice rough, cracking in places. “At… loving someone the right way. I don’t know how to love someone.”

You closed your eyes at that, standing up before he could break your heart.

His fingers wrapped around your wrist, gentle but firm, halting you in place. The warmth of his touch seared through your skin like a brand, and your breath caught in your throat.

“Please don’t go,” Harry murmured, his voice so soft it was barely a sound. You didn’t dare turn around; afraid your resolve would crack the moment you saw his face.

“I can’t do this, Harry,” you whispered, your voice shaking. “I can’t be the almost. The temporary. The girl you run to when it’s easy and walk away from when it’s not.”

Harry’s grip tightened just a little, not to keep you there, but like he needed to hold onto something real. His breath hitched, and for a moment he didn’t speak, like the words were too heavy in his chest, too tangled up in everything he’d never had the courage to say.

Then, finally, in a voice raw and aching, he said, “You’ve never been temporary to me. Not for a second. You’re the only thing that’s ever felt permanent, even when I tried to convince myself otherwise.”

Your heart clenched, and you felt your defenses crack, a splinter running right through you.

He stood up “The moment I laid my eyes on you at the wedding I could feel my heart stopping for a second because I thought you were the most beautiful person I’d ever seen,” Harry went on, standing there in front of you like a man unraveling at the seams. His voice was hoarse, thick with emotion, and his eyes never left yours. “And then you smiled and it was over for me” He ran a shaky hand through his hair, laughing softly, like he couldn’t believe he was finally saying it.

Harry took a breath like it hurt to hold it in any longer, his eyes shining in the dim light. “You came into my life so damn easily,” he said, his voice rough and low, as though the words had been waiting, buried in his chest for far too long. “Like you belonged there. Like you’d always been meant to find me, even when I didn’t know I was lost.”

He shook his head, a fragile, almost disbelieving smile touching his lips. “You tugged on this string inside me, one I didn’t even know existed. Nobody’s ever found it before, no one’s ever known how. And it terrified me because I’ve spent so long building walls, convincing myself I didn’t need anyone. That love was nothing but a contract you could buy with money.”

His hand came up, hovering near your cheek, like he wasn’t sure he had the right to touch you yet, but God, he wanted to. “I don’t know how to love,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I’ve never been shown the kind that stays. The kind that’s safe. But with you, it doesn’t feel like something I need to run from. It feels like something I get to learn. Something worth learning.”

His throat worked as he swallowed hard, searching your face. “You make me want to be better. Not for anyone else, not for show. Just for you. Because every time you laugh, every time you look at me like I matter, it makes me think maybe I’m not as lost as I thought I was.”

A tear slipped down your cheek, and Harry’s thumb brushed it away with the softest touch, his fingers trembling against your skin.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words carrying the weight of every unspoken feeling he’d buried for too long. “I love you in a way I didn’t think I was capable of. And I don’t want to spend another second pretending it’s anything less.”

A soft rain began to fall, delicate, almost hesitant drops that speckled the stone steps around you and clung to the edges of his hair. The air smelled clean, like earth and something new beginning, and for a moment neither of you moved, standing there in the quiet hush of it.

You felt your lips curve into a small, fragile smile. Not because the pain was gone, it wasn’t, not completely, but because despite it, despite everything, he was here. And so were you.

Your gaze met his, and the storm behind his eyes softened the moment you smiled. He let out a breath, one he’d clearly been holding for far too long.

“You have a terrible sense of time,” you murmured, a gentle tease in your voice, though your heart ached with how much you meant it.

Harry laughed, a soft, broken sound, his shoulders shaking. “It honestly feels like the right moment.”

The rain came a little steadier now, but neither of you moved to leave. Instead, you stepped closer, closing the final inches between you. His jacket slipped from your shoulders, but before the chill could find you, his hands were there, one at your waist, the other brushing damp hair from your cheek.

“I want us to try something real. To get to know each other in ways that aren’t rushed, or messy, or hidden behind excuses.” His thumb brushed your cheek, a tender, reverent touch, and you felt yourself lean into it before you even realized.

“I wanna kiss you every single time I feel like it,” he went on, a small, crooked smile tugging at the corner of his mouth, though his eyes stayed serious. “Not just when it’s convenient, not when no one’s looking, but whenever it hits me how goddamn lucky, I am you even exist.”

You felt your breath catch, your heart stammer against your ribs.

“I want to spoil you rotten,” he added softly. “Take you out, bring you flowers for no reason, hold your hand at the movies, listen to you rant about work, kiss you stupid when you’re in a bad mood. I wanna be the one you call when you’re excited, when you’re scared, when you just need someone. I wanna be yours, if you’ll have me.”

The rain drummed gently around you, the world shrinking to the sound of his voice and the feel of his hands and the aching swell of your heart.

You smiled, a real one this time, wide and aching and a little disbelieving, and let your hand slide to the back of his neck, pulling him down just enough to close the last space between you.

“Then kiss me, Harry,” you whispered, your lips brushing his. “And don’t stop, please don’t.”

tags:

@jasminedragoon @stcrrjoon @sptbear @picketniffler @greenwitchfromthewoods @fallout-girl219 @suzysface @aomi-recs @capuccinodoll @fvispunk @orcasoul @joeldarling @mystickittytaco @onlythehobi @darkheartgatita @isabella-rose-trastamara @spencercmlover @brittmb115 @correapunk @aomi-nabi @annulmaelae @32-flavors @berriesarepunk @joelmillerpascal

@lotusbxtch @dean-and-baby343 @pedrofan @hisuccubus @daryltwdixon @sourrollercoaster @holholliday @loveisacowboyyy

@hhallefuckinglujahh @primadonnasdream @chewie-bars @starstriker027 @glitterspark @casualbananapatrol @06nasyrah13

@unicornsandpugs @orcasoul @grayandthyme @sincerelywithheartt @starstriker027 @poor-unfortunate-soul9927

@ro-nahime-things @kimi01985 @pastelpinkflowerlife @isabella-rose-trastamara @majuia

#harry castillo x f!reader #fic: whatever you'd like us to be

292 notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 2 days ago

Text

the tags,,, SO TRUE

Atta Girl

old jackson!joel miller x younger fem!reader

summary: joel miller discovers the world, yes, the same world that has gone (been for a while) to shit, can still have surprises. like you, his sweet naive unexperienced girlfriend, being everything but that.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap (old joel miller my GILF!), smut, sighs this is pwp who am i lying to, inexperienced!reader (yet for some reason she's a pro sucker lmao i'm a virgin don't come at me besides this is a fanfic who gives af if it's realistic or not), dirty talk, fingering, breast play, pussy pronouns, oral (m. receiving) (need that geriartric cock inside my mouth), some fluff bc we gotta balance this thing or i'm going to hell (okay he's not mean i baited y'all. mean jackson joel miller piece is still in draft dungeon)

word count: 4,722 words

side note: hell-fucking-o????? 2K CITIZENSHIPS APPROVED!?! ,, ok gonna be honest when i started writing in here and my first fic (an old man logan one, do u guys see a pattern?) i never thought i'd make it this far and it's all thanks to you my lovely citizens :,) you may think this is silly but your support means a lot to me (especially comments n' rb I'M A WHORE FOR THEM). now, yapping aside, as promised, this won the poll for the celebratory piece, so here you go !!! ദ്ദി ˉ͈̀꒳ˉ͈́ )✧

Joel Miller is a man hard to surprise.

Years of weariness, trust and spirit broken by things that would kill anyone else, and overall, just surviving, you'd think that a man that was hardened by a rough past and of his age had seen it all.

Joel liked to think he was prepared for whatever life threw at him. Enter Ellie: how she had managed to break his shell, from cargo to soothing balm to heal old open wounds he refused to even speak of. But he was ready to burn the world for her, picking guns and taking lives to bring her to a home. His home. He settled, filial terms silent but felt, ready to take the second chance life had given him. Until the bond that united them turned fragile, loose ends tensing the silver string of found family.

He fell down the path of a familiar ache he hadn't felt in a long time, dormant, waiting for him to fuck up to show again with it's dull and hollow torment. He always did. So now he's spending too much time at the Tipsy Bison nursing a glass that could have his name by now, all to avoid going to a eerily quiet home where the room at the end of the hallway lies empty.

And then life decides to startle his track, albeit destructive, with a third chance: you.

Just thinking about you brings a certain tingle that an old rugged man like him should be embarrased about. One he shouldn't even feel.

But Joel loves you, he thinks. From the moment you showed up on his front door, rambling about some reparations at the school, were you volunteered.

"They were all scared of you" your sweet voice had said, some of that unreasonable fear laced within it, "so I came"

He scoffed at Jackson's ridiculous antics. Rumors spread fast in the small town, and suddenly, the hanging threat of who he was followed him everywhere like a shadow, which, given the dark nature of his now put to rest violence, seemed a proper description.

"They sent 'cha?"

You were clearly intimidated, given your shaky frame despite spring and the light tremble in your tone. But you were still here, gaze set on him as a determined child who wants to win the best prize.

"No. I chose to come"

His stomach does a flip at the stillness of your words, security etched in the statement as if you hadn't been in the verge of stuttering seconds ago.

Like you wanted to show him this is what it is, and whatever that was, you weren't running. But he testes the water, skin prickling intensely.

"And you ain't scared, kid?"

He laughed, the type of laugh that shakes your body with unease, but the one that shot across you didn't come from a place of distress, rather a more hidden one, between a pulsing press between your ribs, like it'd swallow you whole if you kept thinking about it too much.

"I am" you answered truthfully.

Something about your quiet admission made him falter the tiniest bit. Maybe it was how you had no problem voicing out loud any of your thoughts, or how you weren't afraid to be seen for what you were, the quiet of your answer out of a gentle place and not dread.

"Then why are ya' still here?"

Brows furrowed, like he, for some reason, expected you to yell at him for all the sins that colored his calloused hands red. Instead, you had looked at him as if he had all the answers in the world, big sparkling eyes staring deep into his tainted soul.

"Because I need you"

Yet, when you said it, Joel felt you weren't talking about the creaky drawers and old stairs anymore, but of the anchor you just found for yourself in the shape of Jackson's most respected and troubled resident, unknowing that, in that moment, he had chosen you too.

So, Joel may have forgotten about what feelings that feel too before world-ly feel like, but the quiet steady beat of his heart, mingling into a peaceful symphony with each soft breath past your rosy lips, head laying over his rising and falling chest, warm, feels exactly like love is.

He knew from the very first time you were his. Yeah, he loves you.

Joel just wants to give you the world, his world: the quiet afternoons, his rough limbs and aching joints, his face covered by spots and sun kisses that compliment his wrinkles, hair that gets curlier and softer and greyer, every figure he makes in his little shop and, of course, his bed.

Your Joel isn't exactly a pleaser, used of doing what he deems best without asking, yet, the moment you uttered those three words, he knew it was because he hadn't met you.

"Be my first"

He remembers the surprise on his face, how it grew red as the silence stretched on. The door bursting open, bed creaking under combined weight and your giggles. He too remembers the sweet cries past your lips, your taut muscles, the little strained breath you let out when he slipped inside of you. It all belonged to him because you let him, and that day, Joel Miller became the luckiest man in the world.

And yet, he still hadn't been as surprised as he was today.

The routine was the same from the past year: pick you up from the school after he was done at the office, taking some minutes to watch you with the toddlers, making voices as the same tender hands you used to jerk him off booped noses and carried children who made him think of getting one of your own, one with your grace and beauty, getting him painfully hard at images of filling you silly and your body changing to carry his seed. Fuck. He was a psychopath for such lewd thoughts on a place destined for education and infancy innocence, and here he was, cock uncomfortable inside his pants.

But then your mouth gets too greedy when your sickenly honeyed voice whispers his name, robbing him of air and only pulling away when his lips get swollen and his face a little flustered.

"Need help down there?"

There's always that problem and you're always the solution.

"Let's go home, sugar. Then ya' can help 'tis ol' man fix it"

Walking back home is always a hassle, hands intertwined, Jackson seeing a cute couple. But you're both aware of the throb that settles in between you like the tension, nobody noticing how hard you're trying to not just fuck on the middle of the street like two eager bunnies.

It's his fault, he thinks as you push the door of his house open, for making you like this.

The truth is, after taking your virginity, Joel's taught you things your unexperienced mind couldn't even imagine, and this past six months, you've complied with that sweet disposition that clung to you like the floral of the soap you used. And Joel loved that: how, despite having his dick stretching your tight pussy, you looked at him with those big eyes from the very first night, still round and innocent, like a doe and not a siren.

Which was surprising, because Joel, in a way, had corrupted you. Tainted the naive angel. And still, it was like he couldn't get rid of quiet shy you. Worst of it all was, instead of filling him with shame from robbing pieces and pieces of your integrity everyday, the older man felt some wicked sense of satisfaction and pride, to see how, despite his age and your soft nature, he was yours as you were his, and that he had taught you exactly how to enjoy that.

He knows you like the palm of his hand and the littered scars across his chest. The pattern you call stars, holding into a beauty only you see in the ugly marks, yet make him feel with each delicate trace, making such blunt and rough marks a galaxy; exorbitant. The same ones he thinks hide behind your adoring warm eyes. Joel just knows you, so even when things go the same way they have for a while, he's aware something is different when your fingers fiddle with his belt, trembling hands now struggling to free his aching cock.

He knows better than to think it's your arousal and impatience. No, this is something else.

"Sweetheart..." he warns. "Somethin' wrong?"

You shake your head, hands ready to take his underwear down.

"I'm fine"

He won't take that clipped sentence for an answer. Instead, his hands slowly remove yours from his hips before going to grab you by your chin, fingers pressing not enough to bruise but to make a point. His thumb presses lightly over your mouth, your bottom lip tugged down, parting your lips. You let out a little sigh, closing your eyes, eyelashes kissing your cheekbones. What a damn sight, he thinks.

"Talk to me"

"I want to suck your cock"

He almost chokes on nothing. Joel coughs a little, red painting his cheeks as a surge of lust and desire crashes through him. His eyes go wide at your bold and eager request, because one: it wasn't like you to talk like this, and two, you had never done it before.

Sure, you had jerked him off so many times he's lost count, but your lips wrapped around his length, mouth swallowing his aching cock? Just the image of it going past your pretty lips, the sensation of your spit mixed with his liquids... He already has a special place in hell, the blood rushing to his already hard member.

"Fuck, sugar. You wanna have this dick 'nside y'r mouth so bad? That eager and needy y'are?" he asked, voice reduced to a low rumble.

You nod, a little too excited as he sits in the edge of your shared bed, letting out a huff of effort. Old man sounds, you would tease. But not today, it seems, when your eyes are too busy looking at the pulsating silhouette under the grey cloth. He smirks, removing the layer, and he swears you begin to salivate like a starving dog.

"Y' think y' can take it?" his hand wrapped around his sensitive cock, giving it a few slow pumps as he watches you with a drowsy gaze. "Ain't it too much for a pretty lil' thing like y'rself?"

Wordlessly, you fall to your knees, looking up to him with those eyes of yours that drove him crazy. You caress his thigh, and despite being the one in control, Joel's eyelids feel heavy, fluttering at your soft and tender touches on his thick muscle, every hair rising at the reverence of your every move. You leave a little kiss in his inner thigh, making his heart skip a beat, breath a little ragged.

"I can" sounding so sure. Oh, his little angel.

"You gon' be a good girl then?" he whispers, voice hoarse and thick, looking down at you.

You nod, slowly.

"Let me taste it" you murmur, voice soft and breathy.

Your tongue darts out, licking a slow stripe up his shaft. You savor the salty taste of his arousal, moaning softly at the flavor. Joel's brown eyes darken in seconds.

"Quit 'da teasin'. 'M too damn old for that"

You smile a bit. "Impatient"

"Minx" he replies, voice thick.

It is indeed big, especially now that it was hard, and you do wonder for a second if you're biting more than you can chew.

"Y'asked for 'tis" like he can read your mind, "don't grow shy on me, doll"

He groans when your hand wraps around his length, stroking him slowly, teasingly as you always do. He feels the heat building in his gut as you work him over, letting out a little groan.

"F-feels so good, sugar" he voices out, strained. "But I need'a know if y'r made fo' 'tis. C'mon, princess. Show me what'a good lil' cock slut y'are"

You lean in, warm breath ghosting over the sensitive head of his big cock, making him shudder.

"Let's see what y'r pretty mouth can do" while tracing your lips, idly.

For the first time ever, the warmth of your mouth takes him. He can see it dissapear past your lips, stretching around his girth. Joel can only watch with a breath he forgets to take how every inch of his thick cock is gone past your lips. Entranced, like this was a magic trick of some sorts.

"S' that all?" he lets out a tense chuckle. You narrow your eyes, feeling a bit of a gag and spit drool past your lips. "Don't worry, princess. I can be of help on that"

He moves a bit, groin almost on your face as he's dangerously close to fucking your face. Instead, you feel how it reaches the back of your throat, making you pause at the feeling of your eyes watering slightly as you adjust to the intrusion.

"S'okay, sweet girl. I know ya' can take it deeper" he encourages, one hand coming up to tangle in your hair. "Relax, baby. You're doing so good-" his voice cuts off with a strained grunt. Then, he voices out in a more huskier tone. "Use y'r throat and take my cock like'a good girl"

You push forward, taking him deeper until Joel feels the head of his cock bump the back of your throat. He throws his head back, curls combed slicked now starting to dampen and fall disheveled, drops of sweat sliding down his forehead, muscles of his thighs taut with trepidation.

You gag slightly yet quickly recover as if to prove something.

"That's right. Why did we wait s' long to do 'tis? Fuck, baby, ya' were born for 'tis. Keep goin'. Y' mouth's drivin' me crazy"

Joel groans as you take him deep, nose pressing against his groin, his fingers tightening in your hair. Your throat constricts around him all while you fight your gag reflex. Then slowly, you pull back, lips sliding along his shaft until just the tip remained in your warm mouth.

"Don't be such'a tease" his voice reduced to a hoarse rasp. You just give him what appears to be a shrug and an apologetic smile, right before diving back in, taking him to the hilt once more. His hips rock involuntarily at the feel, your head bobbing. A guttural moan cuts through his throat, the only other sound in the room aside the wet sounds of your suckling. "S' real bad girl, hun. Wouldn't think a docile lil' doll like ya' would be s' mean"

But he watches you with such adoration in his eyes, completely captivated as you work him over, that you know his words carry no malice behind them. Without a word, he takes your hands, guiding them to pump what you couldn't fit in your mouth.

"Let's give 'em somethin' to do, don't 'cha think?"

Suddenly, the pressure ties his stomach in knots, his belly strained under his flannel shirt, slightly protruding in the middle, buttons as tense as his muscles. Joel feels his legs become shaky, chest heaving as he catches his breath. He looks down at you, taking in the sight of your sweet disposition. If he wasn't one lucky man.

"Y/n" he gasps your name in a choked breath, followed by a strangled grunt, his release building fast as he doesn't dare to . "I'm gonna..."

Joel tries to pull off, thinking having you wrapped around his shaft is enough sin for the day, but then your hands find their way to his legs, keeping him grounded. His eyes widen slightly at the insistent glaze in your determined eyes.

"God damn, doll. What're ya'-"

He doesn't get to finish, his words dissolving into a low, animalistic growl as his orgasm crashes over him. His cock jerks and pulses in your waiting mouth, spilling thick ropes of hot, salty cum down your eager throat, painting its back white.

"Baby, don't" Joel says through a worn down rasp, trying to pull out, but you, his sweet little girlfriend, grips his thighs with an unknown force, keeping him buried deep as you greedily work to milk every last bit of his cum.

"'S 'tis what ya' want, huh? You dirty dirty girl" his voice grows lower, a filthy snarl as his eyes darken a bit more. "Swallow it, then. Take all ma' fucken seed"

He holds your head in place, fingers tangled in your damp hair as he rides out the intense waves of his release. Joel's so inside of you, he can feel your throat working, gulping down every drop he had to give.

Finally, as the last spurts of his climax taper off, he releases you, his chest heaving with exertion. You pull back, a strand of saliva and cum connecting your bottom lip to the tip of his spent cock.

"Like that, dirty girl?" he grabs you by your chin, thumb wiping some of your saliva and his cum off. "Did ya' like the taste f' ma' cum?"

You lick your lips, savoring the taste of him. "I did"

"'S that right? What happened to my angel?"

You laugh, the sound tired and hoarse. "I'm still here"

He pats his thigh, so you sit in there, wrapping your arms around his neck. With a free hand, you remove some curls that have fallen over his worn face.

"Hard'a believe"

You click your tongue. "You were never a believer, Miller"

He lets out an exhausted chuckle. "I believe in you"

Joel revels in the delicate pink hues coating your cheeks. He's so weak for you.

"Now, doll. Be honest with y'r ol' man" he brushes a stray strand off your face, tucking it behind your ear with a delicacy so contrary to the roughness of his hands. "I know when ma' girl's goin' through somethin'"

You seem to grow shy all of the sudden. "You'd be right"

Needless to say, he's intrigued now.

"Care to tell?"

You hide your face on his shoulder, inhaling his sweat and natural odor, even the faint traces of soap. He combs through your hair, lazily.

"Promise you won't laugh" you say as you pull back, to face him.

He raises a hand, expression curious.

"I'd never make fun of 'cha, doll"

"I want you to cum inside me"

The room grows quiet for a minute, an by each second of silence that stretches so is the red across your face. Joel blinks slowly. Once and twice. By the third time, the crease between his brows has become prominent.

"What?"

Your face grows hot as you try to run away, but he stops you.

"Woah, hey. Where ya' goin'?"

"I told you you'd laugh" you pout your lips, flustered.

"I ain't even let out a goddam laugh" he defends himself. "'M just tryna process in here"

You huff. "What's so hard to understand?"

Joel looks at you like you've grown a second head. "Y' really gon' ask me that?"

"Maybe I want to try different things" you play with your fingers, avoiding his gaze.

He obligues you to look by taking you by your chin, gently. A small warm smile adorns his face.

"Different's good"

You reciprocate his smile. Maybe it's that or the fact he can still see his cum glistening your lips, or the thrill of his seed seeping out of your tight walls. Either way, Joel surrenders.

"Ya' know I'll give 'cha anythin' you want" he says, voice low. "Just say da' word"

You gulp. "Yes"

Joel lets out a low, animalistic growl at your breathy acceptance. It was all the permission he needed. He crashes his lips against yours in a hungry, desperate kiss, pouring every ounce of his pent-up desire as he grabs you by your hair, right at the nape of your neck, pulling you closer and tighter. His other hand roams your body greedily, slipping under your shirt to caress the smooth, warm skin beneath.

"We gotta take 'tis out"

He shoves the fabric up and off, breaking the kiss just long enough to pull it over your head and toss it aside.

"It's my shirt"

"It's a nuissance"

He pauses for a moment, drinking in the sight of your naked torso, the swell of your breasts rising and falling with each anticipating breath.

"Told ya'" he murmurs, voice rough with desire. "'S fuckin' perfect to be hidin' all that"

Joel leans down, capturing one rosy peak in his mouth. He swirls his tongue around the sensitive bud, suckling and teasing until it pebbles under his touch. You let out a breathy choked moan, loving the wet of his tongue against your warm skin. Then, his hot breath ghosts over as he utters a simple word that has your core clenching at nothing.

"Mine"

His hand slide down your stomach, slipping under the waistband of your jeans. Joel can feel the heat of you, the damp patch that had formed on the fabric of your panties. He groans against your breast, his fingers sliding lower, brushing against your clothed sex.

"Can tell she missed me. That ya' weren't lyin', baby. She's fucken wet" he rasps, his voice muffled against your skin.

Joel's fingers slip under the fabric of your panties, feeling the slick heat of your arousal coating his fingertips. He groans, his cock hard again, throbbing almost painfully against the confines of his jeans.

"Fuck, sugar" he mutte4red, his voice rough and low. "S' ready for me already"

He circles your clit with the pad of his thumb, feeling it swell under his touch.

"Ain't she know me s' goddam well..."

Then, he dips a finger inside your tight, clutching heat, groaning at the way your walls flutter around the intrusion.

"God, you feel s' good" Joel says, voice strained. "S' fucking tight and perfect. I can't wait to feel ya' wrapped 'round my cock, doll. Can't wait any damn longer fo' y'r sweet lil' cunt"

He pumps his finger in and out, thumb still circling your clit. He can feel you getting closer, your hips starting to buck against his hand.

"That's it, baby" he encourages, his voice a low, filthy rumble. "Fuck yourself on ma' fingers. Show me how much ya' want it"

He adds a second finger, then a third, making you yelp as he stretches you open.

"Relax, doll. We've done 'tis before. 'M just preparing her to take ma' dick. You gon' be a good girl and stop fucken squirmin'?"

You nod, pliant, your body starting to tense.

"'Tis ya' reward. Come on ma' fingers like a good girl, and then I'll give 'cha what ya' really want. I'm gon' fill 'tis greedy cunt with my cum an' pump 'cha s' full of it 'til 's drippin' outta ya'"

Joel curls his fingers inside you, rubbing that all too well spot that brings you to tears. He feels you clench down hard, crying out as you come undone. Your orgasm crashes over, body convulsing as your pussy clenches rhythmically around his fingers. When he pulls his fingers out, he's bringing them to his lips, sucking off your essence from the digits, groaning at the taste of you.

"'S sweet as always"

After that, Joel is quick to shed what's left of his clothing, nearly tearing the old flannel in his haste. He lays you down on the bed, covering your body with his own, his tummy pressing lightly over your abdomen, his weight sinking you down on the mattress.

He then looks down at you, taking in the sight of your flushed cheeks, glistening parted kiss-swollen lips, and heaving chest.

"I love ya', sweet girl" Joel blurts out, eyes are dark and intense.

He settles between your thighs, the thick head of his cock nudging against your slick entrance.

"Say y'are mine" voice a low, demanding growl. "Say ya' belong to me, y/n, baby. Say it"

He pushes forward slightly, just the tip of him slipping inside your tight heat. He groans at the feel of you, at how your walls stretch to accommodate him. You let out a small whimper, yet still unable to form coherent sentences.

"I want to hear you say it, angel" Joel presses nonetheless, his voice strained.

He rocks his hips slowly, pushing a little more of his thick length inside you with each thrust. He can feel you getting wetter, core glistening as if your body yielded to his.

"Please, y/n" he begs, voice rough and desperate. "Please, baby... say it. That 'am your first an' last. The only man who ever fucks 'tis sweet cunt"

"I'm yours, Joel" you choke out. "Only yours"

With a final, hard thrust, he buries himself to the hilt, his eyes nearly rolling back in his head at the feel of you, letting out a long low groan.

"Fuck, doll" he gasps, hips starting to move, pistoning in and out of you. "She's just made f'me, ain't she? Gon' make ya' feel good. Give ya' what y'asked for. Lemme take care of it. I like to take care of's mine"

He hooks your legs over his shoulders, nearly bending you in half as he pounds into you. The bed creaks under you, headboard slamming against the wall with each thrust.

"Take it, sugar. Just like ya' wanted. 'Tis dirty mouth n' greedy pussy" Joel growls. "Take ma' cock like a good little girl. Fuck, y' were made f'r 'tis. Made't be fucked hard and deep and full of my cum"

He feels the tight coil of heat in his gut winding tighter and tighter; knows he won't last long.

"Please, Joel" you mewl, desperately clinging to him.

Joel lets out a feral growl at your plea, hips snapping forward with renewed vigor. He can feel you clenching down around him, body trembling as another orgasm builds deep inside you.

"Ya' want my cum, baby?" he snarls. "Want me t' fill her 'til it's drippin' down y'r legs?"

You nod, too eager.

"Look at that" he chuckles, pounding harder into you, forgetting for a moment he's sixty one. "Such a slut, beggin' for me to flood 'tis sweet pussy with ma' load. 'M gon' give ya' s' much you'll be leakin' for days. Gon' fill her up nicely. I know you gon' make sure not'a single drop goes to waste"

Joel reaches down, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing the sensitive nub in tight circles.

"Come with me, doll" he demands, growling. "Come on my cock like a good girl n' milk every last drop 'f cum. Show me just how much ya' want it"

With a final, brutal thrust, Joel buries himself balls deep inside you. He throws his head back, a guttural roar tearing from his throat as his orgasm rips through him.

"Take it, baby. Let me make ya' mine" His cock jerks and pulses inside you, spurt after spurt of hot, thick cum painting your insides. "Atta girl"

He collapses against you, hips still rocking slightly as the aftershocks of his release roll through him. He can feel you coming around him, pussy clenching and milking his spent cock, trying to pull every last drop of his seed deep inside you, just like you asked for.

Joel's chest heaves as he struggles to catch his breath, heart pounding against yours as he cradles you close.

"Not so bad for an old man"

He snickers, rolling onto his side, pulling you with him until you're tucked against his chest, head pillowed on his arm.

"Brat"

He wraps his other arm around your waist, holding you close as he nuzzles into your hair, traces of lavender up his nose.

"But you love me"

Joel sighs softly, pressing a tender kiss to your forehead, then temple and finally shell of your ear. In that moment, he knows he'll never let you go.

"That I do"

You softly comb his hair, his eyelids fluttering.

"I love you too, Joel"

A beat of silence goes by.

"So..."

"So?"

Joel offers a tired smile, glint of mischief laced somewhere.

"Any other ideas ya' wanna say outloud?"

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @iamasaddie

#dilftown #reviewss #sleepykitten444

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dilf-docs · 3 days ago

Text

is this me recklessly posting another harry fic while being the most uncommitted and procrastinating author ever???

well, yes 🙂‍↕️🫵🏽

series masterlist. +18 (minors dni). reposting and/or translating is not allowed.

Reckless choices. Emotional baggage for a lifetime inside suitcases for a week. A ticket to Iceland. Strangers connected by bad luck, heartache and... a little room mishap. Forced to share space and secrets during a one-week stay in the middle of nowhere.

Two New Yorkers who've never crossed paths in their bustling Manhattan lives find themselves caught in between the ice and that in their blue borrowed hearts.

Chapter Index:

I. Day One: Arrival (16/06/2025)

II. Day Two: Shared

III. Day Three: Nightlife

IV. Day Four: Waterfall

V. Day Five: Volcanoes

VI. Day Six: Whales and Parks

VII. Day Seven: Departure

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dilf-docs · 3 days ago

Text

series masterlist. +18 (minors dni). reposting and/or translating is not allowed.

Or,

Two New Yorkers who've never crossed paths in their bustling Manhattan lives find themselves caught in between the ice and that in their blue borrowed hearts.

Chapter Index:

I. Day One: Arrival

II. Day Two: Shared

III. Day Three: Nightlife

IV. Day Four: Waterfall

V. Day Five: Volcanoes

VI. Day Six: Whales and Parks

VII. Day Seven: Departure

117 notes · View notes

dilf-docs · 6 days ago

Text

did y'all know i beta'd this? YEEHAW 🤠 i'm so excited for this YESSIRRRR 🙂‍↕️

Soft Reins — Day One

Series Masterlist | Next Chapter

Pairing: Groundskeeper/Rancher! Joel Miller x City Girl! Reader

Summary: Her family made her want to leave, Joel made her want to stay.

Tags: Age Gap (50s/20s), No Outbreak, Familial Tension, Mentions of infidelity, Snobby and judgy family

Word count: 3.6k

a/n: HELLOOOO okay so this is my second fic heheh and i’m hoping i can stick with it and actually finish it because its definitely a huge learning curve for me lol. i’ve had this idea brewing in my head for months and i’ve gotten to the point where i just gotta write it. tysm for my beta readers ily all and also ty for reading this!

Summer 2025

You're behind the wheel, cruising down a winding road framed by towering pine trees—a striking contrast to the usual backdrop of glass and steel skyscrapers. Ahead of you, a line of sleek, high-end cars snakes along the road, unmistakably belonging to your wealthy, highbrow extended family.

Jackson Hole, Wyoming isn’t the kind of place you'd expect to find people like them—it’s a little too middle-of-nowhere America. And yet, that’s exactly what draws them in.

Nestled in the valley is a ranch—but not your typical one. This is a luxury dude ranch, “Silver Spur Ranch” where the wealthy come to sample the Western lifestyle. Well, sort of. The real West usually doesn’t come with spa treatments and gourmet meals. Still, there are horses, rustic cabins, and sweeping mountain views which are pretty close enough for them.

“Noah would love this,” your mother sighed, gazing out at the sweeping valley.

Your neck stiffened at the mention of his name.

“Can you not bring him up, please, Mom?” you murmured, eyes locked on the winding road ahead.

“I can’t help it, hun. He became the son I never had,” she replied, throwing up her hands in mock surrender.

“Well, he’s not. And we’re not together anymore,” you said, sharper now. “So I’d really appreciate it if you could just... let it go.”

She fell silent—not in compliance, but in calculation. You knew her too well to believe otherwise. She was building her next line, rehearsing it in her head like a lawyer preparing closing arguments.

“I just don’t get it,” she finally said, her voice soft but edged. “You were with him for what, five years?” A beat passed before she pushed forward again, “Have your father and I not set a good example for you? Even your grandparents—fifty years, happy as ever! And you gave that good man up just because—”

“Cheating is not a just because reason, Mom,” you snapped, gripping the steering wheel until your knuckles went white.

She waved her hand like she was swatting a fly. “Well, no, of course not. But Noah is a good man. He just made a... lapse in judgment.”

You laughed once, hollow and humorless. “A lapse in judgement? A lapse is forgetting an anniversary. Not sleeping with someone else. For months.”

Your mother looked away, lips pursed, like she couldn’t quite argue but still didn’t agree. The silence between you thickened, stretching across the cabin of the car and the valley beyond.

“I’m just saying, honey, a man like Noah—he’s hard to come by.”

You grimaced inwardly. Of course she’d say that. You still couldn’t quite wrap your head around your mother’s unwavering loyalty to him.

Sure, he was polished. He came from old money—more than your family ever had. He knew how to dress, how to charm your mother with just the right words at just the right moments. He wasn’t bad looking either. On paper, he was perfect.

But inside? He was hollow. And for the last stretch of your relationship, so were you.

The rot had been setting in for months, invisible at first, until it was all you could feel. Then came the final blow: you found out he had been cheating. Days before he proposed.

And still—he did it. With your entire family watching, he dropped to one knee, smiling like nothing was wrong. A last-ditch effort to lock you in before the truth could catch up to him.

But you said no.

And you walked away.

It hadn’t gone over well. There were whispers, long stares, your father refusing to speak to you for weeks. Your mother never stopped calling it a “mistake” you’d made in the heat of emotion.

But it wasn’t emotion. It was clarity. Maybe for the first time.

The trip was meant to celebrate your grandparents’ anniversary—fifty years together. A milestone that, given what you knew about how awful men could be, felt almost impossible to grasp.

The entire extended family would be there, and you could hardly wait to be cornered with questions about your recent breakup and failed engagement. For seven whole days. A real vacation.

To say the timing was less than ideal would be generous. You could’ve opted out—God knows you wanted to—but that would’ve only fueled the whispers. And despite everything, under different circumstances, you would have wanted to be there. You loved your grandparents. They were the rare ones in your family who didn’t judge, didn’t press. Maybe it was because, unlike their children and grandchildren, they hadn’t grown up with money. There was a softness to them that hadn’t been bred out by status or social games.

They were the reason you came. Not the charade. Just them.

The ranch finally came into view, peeking through the tall trees like something out of a movie. It had a rustic charm, but you could tell it had been carefully renovated—polished just enough to suit the tastes of its upscale clientele.

Your car slowed as you passed through the front gate and followed the long gravel driveway toward the main cabin. The second your tires came to a stop, you were already reaching for the door handle, eager to escape the tension that had been simmering in the car with your mother.

You stepped out and made a beeline for the trunk, popping it open and reaching for your suitcase. But just as your hand closed around the handle, another—larger—hand landed over it.

“I got this, sugar,” came a warm, slow drawl, thick with a Texas accent.

You froze.

He was close—close enough for you to catch the scent of sandalwood, sun, and flannel. You instinctively stepped back, your eyes scanning upward.

Tall. Broad-shouldered. The kind of man who looked like he actually belonged on a ranch. You caught a glimpse of his profile: strong nose, weathered skin, hair streaked with silver that matched the salt-and-pepper scruff along his jaw and mustache.

“Long drive?” his voice broke through your thoughts, low and easy.

“Huh? Oh—yeah. It’s, uh... pretty far from, well—everywhere,” you said with an awkward chuckle.

He didn’t laugh, but his eyes lingered on you for a beat—curious, unreadable. Then, without a word, he reached down and hoisted your bags, one in each hand like they weighed nothing.

“Welcome to Silver Spur,” he said with a small, polite smile.

And just like that, he turned and walked off, disappearing with your luggage before you could even think of a reply.

The main lounge buzzed with the energy of your entire family gathered together. The interior was stunning—tall ceilings draped in dark wood, a grand stone fireplace, and expansive floor-to-ceiling windows that framed a breathtaking view of the land. You stood by your cousin Amy, the one you were closest to growing up. You’d shared so many memories, but things had shifted a bit since she married and had a baby. You were still close, just not as much as before.

One of the staff passed around welcome drinks—icy cold lemonade. You accepted with a grateful smile.

“How are you holding up?” Amy asked, her voice full of concern. You sighed. “So far, so good. You?”

Amy leaned in closer, lowering her voice. “Lily wouldn’t stop fussing the entire way here, and Justin was no help,” she murmured, glancing over at her husband, who was bouncing their three-year-old daughter on his lap. “He somehow always appears to be there when she’s calm, though.” Amy chuckled softly, and you followed suit, shaking your head.

A sound of glass clinking drew everyone's attention to the man standing on the small stage by the piano. He looked strikingly similar to the guy who’d taken your luggage earlier—maybe a bit younger. Next to him stood a stunning woman with dark skin and a warm, radiant smile.

“Howdy, y’all! Welcome to Silver Spurs Ranch!” he called out, his voice smooth and welcoming. “I’m Tommy, and this is my wife, Maria,” he gestured to the woman beside him, who waved her hand in greeting. “We’ll be your ranch hosts during your stay.”

Out of the corner of your eye, you noticed the man from earlier walking toward the stage and standing right next to it on the corner. You couldn’t tear your eyes away once you realized he was there.

“You like him too, huh?” Amy whispered, leaning closer.

“What are you talking about?” you whispered back, your voice a mix of surprise and mock offense.

Amy giggled, eyes twinkling. “What? You’re free now!” She gestured to her family with a smirk. “I, on the other hand…” She trailed off, pointing to her husband and daughter.

“You’re being ridiculous. We just got here,” you scolded playfully, rolling your eyes.

“Hey, he’s hot, so…” Amy teased.

You cut her off, whispering, “Amy, shut up.”

She laughed quietly. “Alright, alright!” she relented.

After a brief pause, as everyone focused on the ranch hosts listing activities for the stay, Amy leaned in again. “I didn’t know Silver Spurs Ranch came with a silver fox cowboy,” she whispered.

You bit back a laugh. “I hate you,” you muttered under your breath.

“That one over there is my brother, Joel,” Tommy said, pointing to the man standing a little off to the side. Joel. The name felt just right for him. He offered a small wave before slipping his hands back into his pockets, his gaze scanning the room.

“You’ll be seeing a lot of him,” Tommy continued, a proud smile on his face. “He takes care of the land and will be leading some of your excursion activities.”

You couldn’t help but watch Joel for a moment longer. There was something about him—steady, grounded.

Amy leaned in, her voice barely above a whisper. “I gotta admit, he’s got that ‘I work with my hands’ kind of charm.”

You raised an eyebrow, glancing at her. “You mean he’s got the ‘I wake up at 5 a.m. to ride horses and shovel dirt’ look?”

Amy grinned. “Exactly.” She looked back at Joel, her gaze lingering for a moment too long. “He’s definitely got that whole ‘silent, mysterious cowboy’ thing going on.”

You rolled your eyes, but couldn’t deny that there was something magnetic about him. Not in a typical ‘movie star’ way, but in a way that made you want to know more. Maybe it was the confidence that seemed to radiate from him without ever needing to say much.

At that moment, Joel turned his head and caught your eye. His gaze flickered toward you briefly, almost like he was assessing you. It wasn’t a stare, just a quiet acknowledgment, but it still sent a little pulse of awareness through you.

Amy caught it too, her smirk widening. “Uh-huh. I see that look. He noticed you.”

“What look?” you asked, feigning innocence. You turned back toward the stage as Tommy and Maria continued talking, but your mind kept wandering back to Joel.

“Don’t act coy. He definitely noticed you,” Amy teased. “You’re going to have fun here, I can tell.”

You glared playfully at her. “Just because I glanced at him doesn’t mean I’m about to go on a horseback ride into the sunset with him.”

Amy let out a short laugh. “Not yet, anyway.”

Maria's voice cut through the conversation, bringing everyone's attention back to the front. "Alright, everyone, feel free to explore the ranch, or just take in the view. We know it's a long journey to get here so your rooms is ready, and dinner will be served in an hour."

As the crowd began to move in different directions, you felt a strange mix of anticipation and curiosity swirling inside you. You were supposed to be here to relax, but for some reason, everything—especially Joel—seemed to be pulling you in.

Amy nudged you with her elbow again. "So... what's the plan? You gonna go for it or just pretend you're not interested?"

You sighed, trying to hide your grin. "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Sure, sure," Amy teased, "keep telling yourself that."

Dinner was set like something out of a magazine. A long, weathered farm table stretched down the center of the dining hall, dressed in ivory linens, wildflowers, and flickering candles that made the roasted dishes gleam like still life paintings. Your grandparents sat proudly at the head, fingers intertwined, laughing like they hadn’t seen fifty years go by. The rest of the family filled the table in loud, familiar clusters, the wine flowing too easily, the conversations layered over one another.

You were somewhere in the middle, boxed in by a distant cousin on one side and a sea of aunts and uncles on the other. You kept your head down, halfheartedly pushing food around your plate, bracing for the inevitable.

It didn’t take long.

“So… no Noah this year?” Aunt Debby asked, tilting her head with feigned casualness.

“Nope,” you replied, stabbing a perfectly innocent carrot.

“I figured we’d see him again. Didn’t you two usually take trips like this together?” someone else chimed in. A cousin’s wife, maybe—you didn’t bother to look.

“Not anymore,” you hummed, your hand curling into a fist beneath the table.

“That’s a shame. I really thought we’d be getting a wedding invite this year,” Aunt Debby said, swirling her wine with theatrical sadness.

“Well, there won’t be one anytime soon.”

Uncle Rick joined in without looking up. “Still can’t believe you let that one go. Good job, good family, good-looking.”

“Not good at staying faithful,” you muttered.

“What was that, sweetheart?” Aunt Debby asked, all syrup and fake concern.

You didn’t think before the following words that came from your mouth, you’re fed up by all the judgement coated with faux sugar coated concerns, You looked up. “I said, he cheated. For months. Before he proposed.”

The table fell quiet. Someone clinked their fork against a plate, a few chairs shifted.

Aunt Margaret recovered first. “Well... relationships are complicated. Everyone makes mistakes. Your mother and I both—”

“I know,” you cut in, turning your gaze to your mom. “You’ve made that very clear.”

The silence was heavier this time.

You folded your napkin, set it on your plate, and stood. The scrape of your chair on the wooden floor sounded louder than it should have.

“I’m gonna get some air,” you murmured.

“Oh honey, don’t be dramatic—” your mother sighed.

“I’m not. I just need air,” you said, sharper now, and without waiting for a response, walked out into the night.

The door swung shut behind you with a quiet thud.

You slipped off into the dark, wandering past the edge of the cabins until you found a quiet spot beside what looked like the horse stables. You needed to be somewhere out of sight—far from the dining hall, far from your family. Because after all that, you needed a smoke. And if anyone in your family ever found out, it’d be a full-blown intervention before sunrise.

From your pocket, you pulled out a small tin, flipping it open with muscle memory and placing a cigarette between your lips. You were just about to flick your lighter when—

“You know smokin’ ain’t allowed on this property.”

You jumped so hard the cigarette nearly fell from your mouth. “Jesus—fuck!”

You turned and saw him. Joel. Standing half in shadow, half lit by moonlight, looking more amused than stern.

“Didn’t mean to startle you,” he said, chuckling.

You let out a breath, your hand over your heart. “Yeah, well, you did.”

He nodded toward the cigarette. “You still gonna light that?”

You hesitated. “Can I?”

Without answering, Joel reached out and gently took hold of your arm, guiding you farther back into the shadows—near a thick row of bushes. Your heart stuttered a bit from the contact, the feel of his large calloused hand against your soft skin, and you were suddenly glad it was too dark for him to see the way your face flushed.

“Cameras,” he murmured. “You’re safe here. Go on.”

“Thanks,” you exhaled, grateful, and finally lit the cigarette. You took a long drag, the smoke easing something tight in your chest.

The night wrapped around you, quiet and still, save for the soft hum of cicadas and the slow rhythm of your breath. Joel didn’t move far—he stayed just a few feet away, hands in his pockets, watching the horizon like he had nowhere else to be.

“You okay?” he asked, voice low, gentle. “Saw you stompin’ out here like you were fixin’ to do some damage.”

You laughed under your breath. “Might’ve, if someone hadn’t stopped me.”

He didn’t say anything, just looked at you in that steady way that invited you to keep going.

You sighed, watching the smoke curl upward. “They think I ruined my perfect life. That I threw it all away because I said no to a proposal.”

Joel tilted his head slightly, listening.

“He cheated on me,” you murmured. “For months. And then had the nerve to propose like nothing happened.”

Joel let out a low whistle. “Sounds like a real catch.”

You barked a laugh. “Yeah. All sunshine and rainbows, that one.”

Silence settled again, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. There was a steadiness to him—like he knew how to be still in a way most people didn’t.

After a moment, he shifted. “Listen, uh… it ain’t really my business, but—sounds to me like you dodged a bullet.”

You nodded slowly. “Yeah. I think so too.”

Joel looked at you, earnest beneath all the roughness. “You did the right thing.”

You glanced over at him. “Thanks… Joel, right?” you asked as if his name hasn’t been echoing in your head eversince Tommy said them.

He smiled, soft and crooked. “Yeah.”

“And I’m—” you said your name, almost shyly.

He repeated it back to you, the sound of it low and unhurried as it rolled off his tongue.

You gaze up at the sky, the stars shining much clearer here than in the city. It’s mesmerizing—you can’t remember the last time you saw more than two tiny dots scattered above.

Slowly, you sit down on the grass, and Joel lets out a soft chuckle. “You’re gonna ruin that pretty dress,” he teases.

You smile up at him. “I don’t really give a damn.”

He grins at that, then joins you, sitting down beside you.

“You don’t have to stay here, you know,” you murmur.

He shakes his head. “Nah, I’m actually obligated to keep an eye on troublesome guests.”

You turn to look at him. His serious face slowly breaks into a smirk, and you chuckle softly. “Asshole,” you murmur.

Taking another drag of your cigarette, you sigh. “Must be nice, living out here, huh?”

Joel nods, eyes still fixed on the stars. “Gets real quiet. Makes it easier to think.”

You glance down, voice soft. “I could use a little of that.”

He looks over at you, expression unreadable for a moment. Then, quietly: “Then stay a while.”

You smiled to yourself and kept your eyes on the stars. The silence between you and Joel was comfortable, but there was something simmering beneath it—something you weren’t sure you wanted to acknowledge just yet.

“The stars are beautiful out here,” you murmured.

Joel let out a quiet chuckle. “Bet you don’t see many of those back in the city, huh?”

You shook your head with a faint smile. “Kind of forgot how many there actually are.”

“They’ve always been there,” you said softly, more to yourself than him. “Just hard to see when the sky’s all polluted.”

Joel hummed low in his throat. “That sounds like a metaphor for a lotta things in life.”

You turned your head toward him, a light laugh escaping you. “You always been this wise?” He grinned, subtle and a little self-deprecating, eyes still on the sky. “Nah. Just old.”

That made you giggle, the sound easy and real, and something in Joel’s expression softened. Then, without a word, he pushes himself to his feet and holds out a hand.

“Come on,” he says gently. “Let’s get you back before they send a search party.”

You hesitate, just for a second, then take his hand. His grip is solid and warm, and when he helps you up, he doesn’t let go right away.

You both stand there for a moment—closer than before, still caught in that soft, uncertain pull—before he clears his throat and lets his hand fall away.

“This way,” he murmurs, nodding toward the path.

You follow him into the quiet dark, heart beating a little louder than before.

Joel walked with you back toward the main cabin where the guest rooms were. You led him through the quiet hallways, the old wood creaking underfoot, until you stopped in front of your door.

“Well, uh… this is me,” you said, a little awkwardly, your hand hovering near the doorknob.

Joel nodded, slipping his hands into his pockets. “Get some rest. Breakfast’s at seven,” he said, then added, almost hesitantly, “Me and Tommy are leading a horseback ride along the river tomorrow. If you feel like joining.” His eyes flicked from the floor up to yours, and for a moment, you swore he looked almost nervous.

You smiled. “I’d like that.”

A small smile tugged at the corner of his mouth. “Alright then. See you tomorrow, city girl.” He started backing away, slow and casual, and you turned to open your door. “See you tomorrow,” you murmured.

Just as he turned the corner, you called out softly, “Joel?”

He stopped and looked back, quick like he’d been waiting for it.

“Thank you… for tonight,” you said, meaning it.

He nodded once, that same quiet smile still on his face. “Anytime, sugar.”

Then he disappeared down the hall, and you stood there for a moment longer, heart just a little too full.

a/n: thank you so much for reading guys <3 i know its a short one but i’m just laying out the vibes and tone of the series before we get to the good stuff on the upcoming chapters!! your feedback is greatly appreciated!! ily all

#dilfistyapping #joel miller x reader #softer reins fic

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dilf-docs · 6 days ago

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U SHOULD MAKE AN AO3 ACCOUNT!!!! ALSO UR WRITING IS FABULOUS

hello and thank u dear anon!!! :') ♡♡

the thing is idk how to use ao3 😭 when i read fics from there i usually just rawdog it and open different tabs without having an account LMAO

unless someone teaches me💔💔💔

#dilftown #ask #anon

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dilf-docs · 10 days ago

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NEW PART IS UP (finally)

series masterlist. +18 (minors dni). reposting and/or translating is not allowed.

There's only two things you know: money and heartbreak.

Born into New York's posh society, all your life you've been surrounded by the lavish of the elite world.

It is this why you meet him: Harry Castillo, the only person in the whole world to get under your skin, enough to know the mask you wear akin to those of the masquerade balls you've attended since twelve.

It is too the reason why you despise him.

Is it too the reason you happen to fall on his bed?

Or, alternatively, the one where you, New York's top divorce lawyer, tries to break off a couple that isn't even married, and that may or may not involve a certain million dollar man whose name you'd said before in a shaky plea.

Chapter Index

I: Strobbing Lights, Circled Calendars

II: Champagne Symphony, Caviar Dreams

III: Foul Promises, Forbidden Games

🔗: main masterlist / tlyitky: the mixtape / wattpad ver.

IV: High Heels, Hushed Whispers

V: Terrible Pretenses, Trembling Hands

🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco (comment if u wanna be tagged!)

#dilfistwrites #pedro pascal x reader #harry castillo #harry castillo x reader #harry castillo x you #harry castillo fic #harry castillo fanfic #harry castillo smut #harry castillo materialists #materialists fanfic #materialists #materialists fic #a24 #to love you is to know you series #jose pedro balmaceda pascal #josé pedro balmaceda pascal

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dilf-docs · 10 days ago

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High Heels, Hushed Whispers

harry castillo x younger fem!reader

summary: a black dress, high heels and a fancy dinner. that's all it takes for you to fall into harry's scheme. or, better said, trap.

warnings: 18+ (minors dni), age gap, (eventual) smut, foes to hoes, (one sided) enemies to lovers, angst, rich ppl (yes that's a warning), slowburn, reader may be a bit of a cunt (sorry if this x reader fic is mischaracterizing u), ft. dbf!harry (love this trope so much and had to squeeze it in, my bad)

word count: 3,562 words

side note: i'm lowkey crashing out in FOMO so bad bc materialists won't release in my country until july 31th💔 the need to move to US for my master's just to inherit a lifelong debt but never missing out as a cinephile again,,, HhmmM also, streets saying we're getting the gladiator II treatment in the marketing sense💔💔 UGH WHY WON'T YOU CHOOSE BILLIONARE IN THIS ECONOMY? PEDRO PASCAL FACED BILLIONARIE??!! tbh i'm a hypocrite bc if pedro was poor i'd still chose him anyway... this is in honor of materialists NYC premiere today, hope my man goes 🕯🕯

part: prev | masterlist | next

Picking up calls you shouldn't pick up is a lesson you've yet to learn. Damned be your work habits slipping up into your personal life.

"Let's see if I understand" from the other line.

You take a deep breath, pausing. "Yes?"

"You're going on a date and didn't tell me"

You roll your eyes, looking out the window.

"I would've told you if it was a date, Rach"

You were always a good liar.

"At least I could helped you pick your outfit" she whines. "Like old times!"

It's almost as if you can see her pouting through the phone.

"I would've let you" you concede, "but I already chose the dress you gave me last Christmas"

A fine red garment tailored in authentic silk that hugged your body just right.

"Great choice. That's a killer" then, there's silence, followed by a loud gasp that elicits another eye roll from you. "Wait. Don't tell me- You're already there!"

Your lips quirk up in a smirk. "Maybe"

"You are a terrible friend" but Rachel's words carry no real weight. "At least give me a clue?"

You remember the address, marked in the GPS screen in front of you.

"Boring"

"That's not a clue" she huffs, "everything's boring to you"

You look out the window, the mansion coming into your view.

"Extra boring"

"It's a social gathering, then. You hate those" and you hate how much she's right. Probably knows you better than your dad. Yourself even.

"Your silence proves I'm right" and again, you roll your eyes.

"Goodbye, Rach"

"At least find someone to take home. Your house reeks of loneliness"

It's a joke, but there's a weird pit in your stomach when you hang up. It shouldn't matter that much, but you can't keep pretending you are choosing to spend more time at the office, because going back to a place where the only sound is that of your own steps, echoing back to you, the surface and space looking so artificial, like a hotel room, has become some sort of torture.

Your driver, Joaquín, parks right in front of the entrance. Before he moves, you raise your hand.

"I can do this by myself. Thanks"

He knows better to contradict you and you don't know if you are convincing him or yourself.

"Have a nice night, Ms. y/n"

You open the door, sighing as the heels dig into the pebbled road. I'll try.

As he drives away, you can't help but think again what were you really doing here. It's not like you needed the money, so, again, why did you agree? Willingly accepting to help Harry and his friend, people who you could care less, the first even nearing enemy territory. But for some reason, the moment those brown eyes landed on you, it felt like yes was the only correct answer.

"Welcome, Miss. Can I see your invitation?"

You think it's pointless: would you've driven all the way here if you weren't invited?

"Here"

You don't know why but the moment you step in, your eyes search for him, Harry, as if your body moved on instinct. Betraying.

A waiter walks by and you take whatever it's on his tray, downing the liquid with a gulp. Once the small tingling buzz settles into your system, you find that easy practiced smile of yours: cold enough to be polite but not warm enough to be confused for anything more.

"Having fun?"

You spin, dress doing a little reveal of your bare legs, yet he doesn't even look your way, that kind of silent promises and respect faithful men hold onto when they've swore their heart to only one woman.

"I'm trying"

"That's the spirit" he chuckles, lowly. "Is there anything I can do to make your night better?"

You fake a pondering gesture.

"Maybe get you another drink?"

"Thanks, but I want to walk straight when I exit through that door"

"Smart girl" he quips, "but I hope you don't plan on leaving soon"

You take the time to look at him under the chandeliers.

"I have manners"

This man has a kind smile that reaches his eyes, a dark grey but still holding onto a spark for life, not dull at all. His hair matches his gaze, and so does his neatly trimmed beard. His face is aged, probably about the same age as Harry, if you were to take a guess.

"Paul" you recognize. "Paul Lauder"

Lauder offers his hand and a charming smile, like all the men from his circle have been cut from the same cloth: gentleman manners that hide calculating characters. Still, there was something about the man and owner of the house standing before you, that seemed genuine.

"Am I that easy to recognize or has my friend already talked about me?"

A million questions raise through your head. If he was talking about him, how did he know you knew each other? It was a given in your society, yes, but to speak about you both in such friendly terms? Or worse: had Harry spoken of you to his friends?

"Forgive me. I talk nineteen to the dozen"

Your body tenses at just the sound of his voice, and there he is, the man of the hour.

"Harry" Paul calls him, another gentle smile making its way to his face.

"The one and only. Don't tell me you know another one" he jokes.

He still hasn't looked your way, and you don't know why that makes your skin hot.

"You're irreplaceable, my friend"

Now you see why he insisted on helping him. Paul's a true friend: a rare gem, especially in New York's elite.

"This is y/n" Harry introduces you, "David's daughter"

Its only then that Harry looks at you. A fast up and down, barely noticeable, but you were an observer, always. Part of your work and charm, just what made you perceptive and deadly enough. His eyes linger on the open skin, in the cut of your leg, and then move to your face, gaze holding. Daring, almost. And the he chuckles. Harry fucking chuckles, the sound low and grave. A fuzz settles in your cheeks and you choose to blame the alcohol rush.

You desperately wish to know what Harry's thinking.

"Ah. So this is she" a knowing smirk makes its way into his mouth. Then, his eyes widen. "Wait, David? Oh, haven't you grown? Into an extraordinarily beautiful woman, nonetheless. You sure look like your mother"

The compliment feels paternal at best, but a knife slowly twists into your ribs at the last sentence. None of the men seem to catch this.

"She has" and Harry takes your hand from seemingly nowhere, body closer than you anticipated. Grabs your hand and kisses it like he means it. The other man observes it all in silence. "The belle of the ball"

"Except this is my birthday, not a dance" Paul banters, nudging the billionaire gently on his side, as if you hadn't gone completely at loss for words. You hated to be unprepared, yet Harry always seemed to turn you into a house of cards, his wind sweeping you off your feet.

"There's music" Castillo is quick to reply. "That has to count for"

Paul lets out an easy laugh. Then, looks over his shoulder, and you don't miss the way his eyes light up, unaware adoring smile on his face, the rest of the world reduced to a meaningless blur.

"It's my turn, I suppose" you don't understand what he means. "I want to introduce you to my wife"

You see Harry's body tense and smile falter by centimeters, barely noticeable.

So this is it. This is the part where you meet her. Your newest job.

Your eyes follow Paul's direction, only to be knocked breathless.

Her beauty is obvious, insulting even, making you uncomfortable in your own skin. It's in the way she carries herself, smiles all white, her teeth perfectly lined; blinding. Dress ivory and clean, making your red one feel vulgar in comparison.

You wait for the cold to hit you, but when Paul slides a hand across her back, resting behind not to claim nor brag, but to belong and feel her warmth, she smiles, not for the room, but to the man who looks at her like she makes life worth living.

You're confused.

"This is Grace" he introduces her, proud.

The woman shakes your hand. Even her gestures seem the perfect mixture of delicate and proud. You tell her your name and suddenly, she's smiling again.

"Pleased to finally meet you. Harry has talked so much about you"

His stare burns from your side. So he has indeed talked about you before. You decide not to dwelve too much on how that makes you feel.

"Alright, that's enough" he laughs, clipped. A hand slides across your back, and it feels deliberate.

An instrumental cover of an old 90s ballad you can't quite place begins to play.

"This is my favorite" Grace beams, green eyes sparkling with joy.

"I know. That's why I asked it to be played"

She swats his chest playfully while yours aches with a silent press. Grace links her arm with Paul and gives you a goodbye smile.

"I'll leave you two alone. I have an important dance to attend"

Before going, Paul gives Harry one last look, one you can't decipher. Your breath feels oddly constricted.

"Just us again. Is this perhaps fate telling us something?"

You scoff.

"That I should go home"

"Is that so? Didn't take you for a downer" Harry laughs.

"I'm not" you protest like a child, embarrased.

He's enjoying this, by the way he smirks. "I don't believe you"

"I don't care" but you keep looking on his direction.

"Fine. How about this? Give me a dance and I'll believe you"

You face him, annoyed.

"Do you ever stop doing business?"

He just offers his hand.

"Quick. Offer's expiring and everyone's staring"

Harry's right, though. You hate their whispers and looks, so, be it the pressure or way your heart beats when his fingers slip between your own, you concede.

"Just one. You're lucky I don't like unwarranted attention"

He guides you to the center.

"You better get used to it. You're a natural"

The soft strings and notes of a saxophone waft through the air. Grace and Paul laugh somewhere to your side.

"But I hardly know this beauty by my side"

You might break your neck with how fast you raise your view, stuck before on the sway of your feet.

"Huh?"

"Lady in red?"

His hand softly caresses the silk of your dress, like a wind breeze.

"Me?" you ask, voice caught in your throat.

Harry laughs. With or at you.

"No, the song"

That's why it was vaguely familiar.

He quirks an eyebrow. "Don't you know Chris de Burgh?"

"All I know is my feet are killing me"

"So dramatic" yet his voice is soft. As the cello hidden behind drums and bass. Too soft. Stable as the Roland TR-808 drum machine for the drum pattern. Tension hanging like the synthesizer, acknowledged but not spoken of.

Harry had this effect on you. He just brought this side of you, a more unguarded side no one saw or dared to search for. Not even Rachel, who you spoke to. You talked to Harry. Because he looked past your walls. He tried. Took the time to pluck brick by brick. Like it mattered. You weren't New York's most sought-after divorce lawyer nor David Beaumont's daughter, just a girl who tried too much and is tired of doing so, and had finally been seen: the eyebags and the pleading eyes. The yearn for something she would never say outloud, between pride and the refusal to name something she can't even name.

"We always end up dancing" you comment, hand firmly holding his. Because it has become too much, and you'd rather go back to the light swimming than the drowning.

"We always end up doing the same things"

You think about the first time you met him. Not the very first, but the one you saw Harry Castillo for the first time.

It was at your father's fourth wedding, with a woman you can't seem to remember by face nor name.

"I hate weddings" you had said, not expecting to be heard but to be understood; the entlitement of your silver spoon was inherit. You felt as if you were wearing a costume of some sorts: a polished aspect that hid that bitter taste of seeing your father's failure and betrayal all over again, front row. You saw by the corner of your sharp eyes the way Harry tensed, unsure if he should even acknowledge you. So you sat in silence for the rest of the ceremony, answer hanging in the air, and when your father swore an expiring love again, you walked out, not before sparing one last glance his way.

He did too.

It made you falter a bit, unsure, almost tripping on the bench. For a moment, it seemed like he could see what you hid: the light tremble in your hands, the unopened invitations yet showing up at the last minute because you had no one else in this life, and how, despite your cruel jokes and harsh words, your eyes turned glassy when you allowed yourself to look at the bride as a kid looks at the shiniest toy behind the display, forbidden to be touched. For a moment, Harry Castillo saw the little girl who wore the heavy crown of a last name, words and grown face like an armour.

"I hate you"

Or maybe you fear him and the way he picks the scabs of your best hidden wounds, searching for the meaning of you past the shells of healed by force scrapes.

He closes his eyes, feigning hurt. "And here I thought we've gotten past base one"

"I hate you" this time sharper. You wish you could mean every ounce of venom laced within.

"You don't mean that" softly, like his gentle tug on your dress. Like the calm of your storms.

No answer, but the tiniest phantom of a smile graces your lips.

"Tell me about Grace"

Harry's grip tightens on your hands. "What about her?"

"I don't think she's the villain you're trying to make her be"

He narrows his eyes. "Give it a few days. She's just a pretty face"

"You say it like that's all there is"

"No" he's quick to answer. Then pauses, probably pondering. "But it certainly helps"

He looks at your lips. Under the lights, it's hard to distinguish if the red across your face is of anger or just a blush.

"Harry-" you beg without knowing why. A greater woman wouldn't.

"What?" like he's dealing with a naive kid.

"Don't lie to me" you seethe.

Not you. Everyone but you.

The song keeps playing in the distance, yet all you can hear is the ringing of your ears.

"I'm not"

It's pathetic to care this much about someone you claim to despise, finding hurt in a rift across the laces of trust in such strange interwoven bond. A phantom thread.

"Where are you going?"

Your feet develop a mind of it's own. You don't spare him a glance, breathing suddenly a difficult task.

"Outside"

The cool evening breeze hits you. So does the smell of water, the soft sounds of a fountain in the background.

"At least this time it's a garden"

You and balconies. Another of your rules broken. By Harry, again.

"What are you doing?"

You admire his persistance. With shaky fingers, you reach for one of your dress' pockets.

"Thinking"

"It's such a nice evening to be doing that" as if nothing happened.

You roll your eyes, pulling out the lighter with your mother's initials.

"I'm trying to think who is lying to me"

His face falls.

"Y/n" as a warning, maybe a plea. "The answer is obvious. You don't know her, but you know me"

"I don't" you cut, harsh. "As you don't know me either"

You keep saying the same words, as if they were a shield of some sorts, to protect you from falling under his spell.

Harry Castillo scoffs.

"I'm trying, trust me. But you never make it easy" then, his charming smile is back on, slipping on it like a costume of some sorts. Tailored suit: just for him. "Lucky for you, I'm not a quitter"

"Do you have a cigarette?"

His face betrays surprise. Still, he pulls a Marlboro Gold and hands it like a peace offering.

"You said you quit"

The light flickers, smell of nicotine mixed with that of the flowers of the night garden.

You hold his gaze. "I'm not a quitter"

Harry pulls one of his own too. Takes a long drag, tired, before asking.

"Do you want the truth?"

You face him, expression unreadable. A weak smoke cloud billows over your eyes, masking their shine.

"I don't care"

"Don't lie to me" he repeats your words, but instead of the severity of your own, his are laced with benignity.

"I don't care"

"I didn't want to be alone"

You take another drag, silent, wishing for louder words and not spaces of silence that leave your mind restless.

"Harry Castillo, who could buy all of Manhattan, can't find a simple escort?"

He scoffs, seemingly offended. "That's not what I meant"

But not for the accusation at his expense, rather at your lack of (or lack of wanting to) understand.

"Too low for you, I get it. Where all your model friends busy?"

"One, they're not my friends. I can count those with my fingers" he lifts six. "Besides, I doubt twenty something year olds would be friends with a forty-seven year old finance guy"

You take a drag. "What does that make us then, Harry?"

Harry exhales. "We aren't friends"

Your lips curve up. "And two?"

It's his turn to smile.

"I doubt they would choose to accompany me to an old people dinner instead of a night clubbing with their age appropriate friends" he casts you a look, deliberate. "What would you do?"

"I'm here, aren't I?"

His smile widens.

"Tricked, but you are"

You smash the half burnt cigarette against a stone statue next to you.

"Grace isn't the problem"

"Sweet Grace may be eleven years younger, and we know what that means in our world, but God, doesn't that woman love Paul?"

You chuckle, lowly.

"Jealous?" you find yourself teasing him.

He casts you a quick look. "Of course I am"

Even if his tone is light and playful, there is a quiet longing laced within. You gulp harshly.

"Why me?"

"Because you're you"

Your heart shouldn't beat this fast. You chuckle, weakly.

"Elaborate"

"Of course you have to know everything, don't you? You can't help but want to understand it all"

You laugh. "Is that so bad?"

"It's very... you"

"Got it. I'm the bad I was asking about"

For the first time, you both join in laughter. It's so easy feeling this comfortable with Harry, you think. Like it's meant to be. All pretenses left behind for a moment of too loud unguarded laughs.

When the laughter dies, he takes one last drag before putting his cigarette out.

"It's because you're the only one who could play along and not make more out of it"

You're not sure you want to face him. Still, you do, offering a tight lipped smile his way.

"Because I'm smart"

"Of course, you're a Beaumont"

A beat.

"You could've told me"

He shots a look your way, eyebrow arched.

"Would've you accepted if I told you the truth?"

You ponder for a moment before answering.

"No"

"Be honest"

"No, but I would've told you to fuck yourself"

Harry smiles. "That's better"

You join him. "I could send a lawsuit your way for lying"

"I doubt that, divorce lawyer"

You let out a dramatic gasp.

"I went to law school. I know this things"

"I'd like to see you try"

"Are you challenging me, Mr. Castillo?" you dare, mischievous.

"Please, don't call me that. You make me feel old"

"That you are"

"You're impossible" he sighs. "Older, then"

The wind blows your hair a little wild. It gets on your face.

"We should go inside" you say.

"Yeah. We should"

You feel a hot rush through your face when his fingers remove the loose strands, touch delicate. His gentle ministrations find a way inside your tense heart, nesting inside in a pulsating soft ache.

He offers his hand. "Dance with me. As an apology"

"That sounds like another favor"

"Yeah. So we get more prying and envious glances thrown our way"

"I feel I'm getting the short end of the stick here"

Harry laughs. "I'm the old man with a pretty lady on my arm"

"The lady in red" and the color matches your cheeks and dress.

"Is dancing with me"

You take his arm. "Lyric?"

"Truth as well"

When you get back inside, Paul's eyes find you soon enough. You try not to think too much about the meaning behind his smile.

"So..."

"So?"

You take his hands first, diving in. They're warm, holding yours back without second thoughts.

"Let's dance"

And you do, trying not to feel special for being the one Harry Castillo chose.

cr: divider @kodaswrld / gif @a7estrellas / 🏷: @io12n @dowscal @oscar-isaac @joelscowgirl @jxvipike @klarkapascal @lostinmyownmaze @folklore-barnes @alinacecee @sukitruqui @youusunshineyoutemptress @hermionelove @noisynightmarepoetry @ann-gell @suzysface @joelmillerpascal @ennvsco @not-the-teen-witch (comment if u wanna be added!)

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dilf-docs · 11 days ago

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ﾟ𓏸 𔓕 getting to know my moots '╱ ◌ ׅ

੭ tagged by: @joelmillerpascal love u . ୨୧

favorite color: black & white 🎱

last song: please please please, sabrina carpenter ft. dolly parton

reading: last book i read was un día en la vida (a day in the life) by manlio argueta. i used to read more but i'm broke and lack time so no new books for me,,, i am a fanfic junkie tho

watching: the bear s2 (gotta catch up) and many so many movies! (letterboxd is filmflo if y'all wanna be moots)

currently craving: tacos 🌮

coffee or tea: coffee 24/7/365,, actually i'm craving a cold brew coffee as well

tags: @io12n @joelscowgirl @oscar-isaac @ann-gell @amyispxnk @shahabaqsa0310 and anyone who wants to do it!

#dilfistyapping #tag game #get to know me #a bit but #yeah 😭#i like doing these tho💔

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dilf-docs · 12 days ago

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you guys have no respect for fanfic writers.

yes, we do this for fun and free, but that doesn't mean you get to exploit the hard work of others that comes from a place of love and creativity. this are pieces of our time and us, yet you choose to feed it to AI or plagarize it??? fuck u

it's deeply unsettling to be taken less seriously or be made fun of.

it's heartbreaking how spaces meant to be oneself and enjoy stain those things you love the most about yourself.

fuck everyone who contributed to such loss in the fandom. i'm sad and sick

#dilfistyapping #im heartbroken #its a huge loss for this community #💔💔💔

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dilf-docs · 13 days ago

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beautiful and hot???? sTOPPDODK

do u want me to marry u 🫣