#Full Service Long Distance Moving | Explore Tumblr posts and blogs

millers-girl · 14 days ago

Text

on the line

interconnected standalone/sequel-ish to bitter/sweet and fallout - a Dr. Jack Abbot (The Pitt) fanfic

pairing: Jack Abbot x f!reader

summary: Jack takes a six-week placement across the country. Four specific FaceTime calls—full of banter, longing, and everything unsaid—hold you two together until he comes home.

warnings/tags: grumpy x sunshine, age gap, long-distance relationship, mild language

word count: 5.0k

“What are you wearing?”

You cracked one eye open, squinting against the soft glow of your bedside lamp. Jack was staring at you through the screen of your phone, propped up on your nightstand. His image was bright against the dim lighting, accenting the sharp set of his jaw and the smirk playing at his lips.

“You know what I’m wearing – we’re on FaceTime,” you mumbled into your pillow, voice thick with sleep. Your limbs felt heavy under the familiar weight of your comforter. “When are you coming back?”

“You know when I’m coming back,” he echoed, mimicking your tone. “Why’re you asking – miss me?” His voice dropped an octave, teasing, and you saw his eyes flick down your form as you shifted to get more comfortable beneath the covers.

This had been an ongoing game for the last month – every time you talked, one of you tried to get the other to admit they missed them first. Neither of you had cracked.

Now, that didn’t mean you didn’t miss him. Quite the opposite, actually.

Jack had been gone for three weeks now, having been offered an intensive placement at UCLA Medical Center. You could still remember how he broke the news—quietly, nonchalantly, like he didn’t want to make a big deal out of it—and how you’d smiled widely and pushed him to take it even as something inside you fought every move.

This is UCLA, you told yourself. He has to take it; it’s an incredible opportunity. How many times does something like this come along?

But knowing it was the right decision didn’t make it easier.

Six weeks. Forty-two days. Nearly fifty sunsets without him.

After spending almost every day together, the sudden absence had carved out a hollow space in your chest.

The first week, you felt his absence immensely. But you figured, with time, it’d get easier.

Oh, how wrong you were.

The ache didn’t dull. It sharpened. Everything reminded you of him – how much he’d probably roll his eyes at a joke Eleni told during service, how he’d immediately get to cleaning your apartment if he saw how messy it had gotten, how he’d let you follow him around if he was back at the hospital when you were dropping dinner off for your sister.

Luckily, technology was on your side. While he was in California, you texted him constantly – mostly one-sided updates on your day, the chaos of the kitchen, the new weird thing your landlord did. He replied in his usual charming fashion: a “K” here, a thumbs-up emoji there.

FaceTime was more his speed. Every night, your phone took up its spot on your nightstand while you curled into bed, half-asleep before he even picked up. He was usually just getting ready for his shift – brushing his teeth, dressing in his scrubs, sometimes sitting in the car with one hand on the wheel.

“At least it’s regulating my sleep cycle,” you’d joked during one call, watching him frown in that subtle, concerned way he did.

“You love me doing night shifts,” he’d countered. “Said it keeps you on your toes, guessing.”

“Yeah, guessing how much sleep I’m gonna get that night,” you’d teased back, and he’d huffed a small laugh.

Now here he was, two weeks from coming home, asking you what you were wearing in that low, steady voice of his that always had knots forming in your stomach.

“You already know I’m wearing one of your hundred black tees,” you mumbled, cheek sinking deeper into your pillow.

“No panties?” he asked, a hint of a smirk at his lips as his eyes gleamed with mischief.

With minimal effort, you peeled back the duvet just enough for him to catch a glimpse of his boxers sitting low on your hips.

“You do miss me,” he grinned triumphantly, a quiet chuckle escaping him. You sighed through a small smile, eyes fluttering shut. His voice, even through the phone, grounded you. “Tell me what you did today.”

You took a moment to think, thoughts clouded by sleep and the warmth of your sheets. “Tried out a new truffle recipe,” you murmured.

Sure enough, you peeked an eye open just in time to catch his nose wrinkle in disgust. He hated truffles.

The sight made you smile – even 3,000 miles away, Jack was still so Jack.

“Dinner rush was crazy – some show was going on at the theatre down the block so we were packed. Almost ran into one of the sommeliers rushing out of the kitchen. Nicked my finger on the bottle opener he was holding.”

“Let me see,” he said immediately, and you pulled your hand from under the covers and held it up to the camera, watching his eyes narrow. “Did someone at the Pitt take a look?”

“My sister did,” you said, brushing it off. “It’s fine – just a scrape.”

He frowned that familiar, pinched-brow frown.

“You should keep it wrapped,” he muttered. “Could get infected.”

You mirrored his expression, this time out of something deeper – affection, mingled with longing. “I miss you medically scolding me.”

Jack paused a beat, then offered softly, “I can still do it over the phone. That’s why they invented FaceTime.”

“I’m pretty sure that’s not true,” you giggled sleepily, burrowing deeper into your sheets. The weight of him not being there settled over you again, dense and unrelenting.

Silence stretched for a moment before you opened your eyes again. Jack was still looking at you. “What?” you asked, your voice small.

He hesitated. “Nothing… you just look tired.”

But the way he said it—gentle, weighted—made your throat tighten.

You didn’t just look tired.

You missed him. You missed sleeping better when he was beside you, the steady rhythm of his breathing syncing with yours as your limbs tangled together. You missed the safety, the stillness. Without him, everything felt a little bit off.

Your hand drifted across the sheets, reaching for his side of the bed – cold, untouched. Your fingers curled into the empty space as if you could will it to hold his warmth. That familiar ache bloomed in your chest again, pressing hard against your ribs, forcing you to acknowledge it.

And the way he was looking at you right now—gaze just soft enough for you to see the emotion behind it—it made the distance hard to bear.

You wanted to ask him to come back early. Just say it. Just tell him.

But you didn’t.

He was doing something important – teaching residents, working alongside brilliant attendings, contributing to something meaningful. You couldn’t ask him to give that up. So you buried it, like always.

Instead, you asked, “Any exciting cases today?”

Jack blinked at you, then shrugged, his voice returning to that calm, clinical cadence. “Someone said a guy came in with third-degree burns from resting his hand on the grill – didn’t realize his wife had turned it on.”

You winced, turning your face into the pillow. “Ugh, Jack – that’s gross.”

He chuckled softly. “Reminds me of an old army buddy who met the wrong end of a crockpot once.”

You hummed, already drifting. “Tell me about it.”

You tried to stay awake, but the familiar and comforting tone of his low voice began to lull you to sleep. A few minutes into the story, Jack noticed your breathing had slowed.

You looked so peaceful.

He watched for a while, the silence between you warm and heavy, filled with all the things left unsaid.

Then, in a quiet voice that barely crossed the distance, he whispered a sweet good night to you and ended the call.

Four weeks into the placement, when Jack FaceTimed you and you answered with a deep-set frown and red-rimmed eyes, he could already tell it would be one of those days.

The hard days. The days one of you missed the other so much, it was impossible to ignore. The days your heart was three thousand miles away, tucked into the go-bag of your favorite ED attending, somewhere in a cramped locker room in Los Angeles.

“What’s wrong?” he immediately asked, making your frown deepen.

“Nothing,” you promised, setting the phone down on your nightstand as you began to get ready for bed. The camera angle wobbled as you moved – half of your frame disappearing, your voice muffled by distance and steam escaping from the open bathroom door behind you.

This was unusual. Whenever Jack called at this time, you were already tucked in bed, cozy and glowing, hair a little messy, a smile curling at the corners of your lips the moment you saw him.

And, you always showered in the mornings – you said showering at night would intervene with how much time you two got to spend on FaceTime.

Yet, here you were now – hair wet from the shower, curling at the ends as you moved about your room, distracted and quieter than usual. You pulled on a soft t-shirt, then wandered off-screen, brushing your teeth with a kind of mechanical rhythm.

Jack stayed silent, watching.

He could tell something was bothering you.

Your hands shook as you did your skincare – too much toner on the pad, moisturizer forgotten halfway through.

“How was your day?” Jack asked slowly, treading lightly, trying to gauge how you were actually feeling.

“Fine,” you mumbled, disappearing again. The faucet turned on in the background as you washed your hands, cool water grounding your overheated nerves before you slipped into bed wit a heavy sigh.

Jack’s voice came again, cautious, “Anything happen?” He tried to sound casual, but you weren’t in the mood for it now.

You glanced at the screen sharply. “Like what?”

“I don’t know, just… anything good? Or… something bad?”

Your jaw tensed as you looked past the phone, voice bitter. “A critic came in today.”

“Oh?”

You laughed humorlessly. “I didn’t even know who she was, and I told her to fuck off.”

Jack’s brow rose at that. “And why’d you do that?”

“Because she was being an asshole – and I didn’t recognize her and I was rushing and – and I was exhausted. I just snapped and – and it wasn’t even about her. It’s just… I’m tired. I’m so tired of pretending this isn’t hard.”

Jack paused, his face softening, the weight of your words hanging thickly between you.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were feeling like this?”

You shrugged, unwilling to meet his eyes. “Because it’s not your fault,” you finally said. “And I didn’t want to make it your problem.”

“You’re not a problem.”

His voice was quiet, thick with the guilt settling into his stomach.

You immediately noticed the shift in his tone – soft and frayed around the edges.

“I didn’t say it to make you feel guilty,” you said, gaze now locking onto his, unwavering.

“I know,” he replied, tiredly dragging a hand down his face, like he wanted to crawl through the screen and pull you into his arms.

“I just… I miss you.”

There it was.

You’d finally said it.

And yet, it didn’t make you feel like you’d lost the game – at least, not in the way you thought. And, it didn’t make Jack feel like he won, either.

“I miss you every day,” you continued. “I miss you so much I don’t know where to put it anymore. It’s just there. Always. Like a weight on my chest. And every day, you – you pick up the phone and I see your face and you’re fine. Smiling… Happy. And, it’s just – just… Don’t you miss me? Like, even a little?”

The moment you said it, you instantly regretted it.

Jack could tell – the way your eyes squeezed shut in regret, like you wished you could pull the words right back into your chest. It broke his heart even more than hearing the desperation in your voice.

He found himself looking away, swallowing hard. Then, finally, quietly, he said, “Of course I miss you. I miss you all the time. I just – I don’t let myself think about it too long. If I do, I can’t focus.”

You knew he’d never say anything hurtful on purpose but the comment still stung. A sharp pang, like a bruise pressed too hard.

If he missed you so much, how come it felt like you were the only one falling apart? If he missed you so much, why didn’t it seem like he felt it?

Before you could stop yourself, the words spilled out. “Right. Got it. I’m over here crying in the walk-in fridge like a lunatic and you get to compartmentalize.”

His eyes flinched shut, barely perceptible – but you saw it. Instantly regretted your words. And yet, you didn’t take it back.

And he didn’t push back either.

The silence grew too thick, claustrophobic.

After a beat, you shook your head, voice quieter now. “You’re running late – I should let you go. We can just… I’ll talk to you later, okay?”

Your hand reached for the screen, heart already retreating.

“Wait!” Jack’s voice rang out, startling you.

You hesitated, still refusing to meet his eyes, but something in you paused – your ribs tightened at the strain in his voice.

“I think about you all day,” he admitted. “I know I don’t say it enough, but I do. I make a list in my head of all the things to tell you when we finally talk, and then when you pick up and give me that smile, I forget how to say any of it.”

You blinked.

That wasn't what you expected at all.

Still, he kept going. “And I bought you this mug from the UCLA store, in the shape of a smiling sunny face. I keep it in my locker, drink coffee from it before the shift – and all the residents look at me like I’m crazy. But it just… it reminds me of you. Keeps me grounded. Gets me through the shift.

“And your voice notes – I save them all. I listen to one specific one whenever I miss you more than usual – the one where you called me a broody bastard and then basically told me you missed me in the same breath.”

That cracked something open in your chest. Like air rushing into lungs that had been holding their breath too long.

Soft tears lined your eyes. Not the frustrated kind. The aching, full-hearted kind.

You stared at the screen, heart thudding in your chest, throat thick with emotion. His face was still there – steady, honest, eyes staring back at yours, so full of you. Of all the missing he hadn’t said until now.

He missed you. Of course he missed you. Maybe not in the same noisy, unraveling way you did – but in the quiet, deliberate way only Jack could. Through mugs and voice notes. Through saved recordings and mental lists. Through showing up, every night, even when words failed.

Your lip trembled as a tear ran down your cheek.

“Jack…” you breathed, the apology catching somewhere between a sob and a sigh.

“I’m sorry,” you finally said, voice low and thick. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just – God – I feel everything right now, and I don’t know if it’s hormones or just the distance or – ”

That four-letter word was at the tip of your tongue, but it didn’t feel right to tell him over the phone. This deserved to be told in person. He deserved that.

Jack’s face softened, almost imperceptibly, but you caught it – the way his shoulders eased like something fragile in him had finally seemed to settle.

He didn’t answer right away. Instead, after a beat, he deadpanned, “It’s both. I checked the app earlier.”

You stared, stunned. Then, your eyes warmed, the corners crinkling as a small, disbelieving, shaky smile touched your lips. “You track my cycle on your phone?”

He shrugged, a little too casual. “Ever since the brownies incident – hell yeah.”

That conversation changed things – in the best way.

It made both you and Jack more intentional about the time apart. More creative, more present. FaceTimes evolved into something more sacred, more playful. You started doing virtual date nights, much to Jack’s technologically-deficient chagrin.

“I can barely work this FaceCall thing, you want me to do what now?”, to which you’d rolled your eyes and corrected, “FaceTime,” while suppressing a grin.

He’d grumbled, but you caught the way he cleared his evenings anyway – made sure he wasn’t on call any earlier than he needed to be, made sure his dinner (mediocre and suspiciously not homemade) was ready on time. Despite the mismatched time zones, you both made space. You’d end up eating hours apart, but “together” nonetheless. And that was what mattered.

Six days before Jack was set to fly home, you had another one of these date nights.

The screen flickered to life and there he was – tousled hair you wished you could run your fingers through, half-zipped hoodie you wished you could burrow into, sitting cross-legged on a too-modern couch that definitely didn’t belong to him. He held up a plastic takeout container like it was an offering.

“Dinner, courtesy of the fine culinary skills I’ve learned from you.”

You raised a brow. “That looks suspiciously like pad Thai.”

He shrugged. “Maybe I cooked. Maybe the DoorDash guy and I are becoming best friends.”

You snorted, curling deeper under your blanket as you reached for the remote. “What’d you do yesterday?”

Jack leaned back with a groan, the kind that said his spine hated him and the previous night had been long. “This guy came in with a ridiculous chest injury. We had to work carefully around the nerve endings in his nipple and – what?”

He paused mid-sentence, catching the grin spreading across your face.

“Should I be jealous by how excited you just got talking about someone else’s nipples?” you teased.

Jack coughed, nearly choking on his water. “Jesus. It was a very complicated procedure. We had to be extremely precise.”

“Oh, I’m sure his nipples were deeply moved by your devotion,” you grinned.

“You’re insufferable.”

“And you miss it.”

“Unfortunately,” he deadpanned, mouth twitching.

You smiled, feeling that familiar warmth settle into your chest. God, you missed his face. You missed his voice, his sarcasm, the way he looked at you like you hung up the moon.

You squinted at the screen. “Is it just me or are you getting a tan?”

Jack glanced down at his arms. “Well, the sun does shockingly exist here. Unlike your vampire den of a kitchen.”

“I work best when the lights are dim, and you know that!”

He smirked. “Sure. That explains why every time you call me from there, you look like you’re in a hostage video.”

You groaned, tossing a throw pillow off your bed. “Well, not all of us can soak up some West Coast rays while also being a nipple whisperer. Guess you’re just built different.”

“I regret telling you anything about that case.”

You smirked as The Bachelor theme started playing faintly from your TV. You both fell quiet for a beat, comfortable. It had become your ritual – playing the show in the background, pretending to care about the drama, when really, it was just an excuse to sit in each other’s orbit for a while.

Midway through the episode, Jack stood up and walked off-screen and came back holding something. You squinted.

“Is that… a bobblehead? Of an avocado… surfing?”

Jack held it up proudly toward the camera like it was fine art. “Picked it up at a roadside stand. Guy said it was hand-painted by his seven-year-old niece.”

“It’s so ugly,” you commented, grinning anyway. “I love it!”

He just laughed, setting it on the table behind him so its little bobblehead eyes stared into your soul for the rest of the call. And, his heart grew every time he caught you staring at it.

Later, you rolled onto your side, shifting your phone as you got more comfortable. The new angle must’ve shown more of the room, because Jack leaned in, eyes narrowing.

“You changed the bedroom.”

You panned the camera, shaking your head. “Just been sleeping on your side lately,” you admitted through flushed cheeks, before cutting him off when he smirked and parted his lips to speak. “Don’t! Don’t ask me why. Just helps me sleep better.”

He didn’t make a joke. Just stared at you with that soft, unreadable look that always made your chest feel like it was going to burst open.

“I missed this view,” he said gently. His voice was low, almost reverent. “That room. That bed. You in it.”

You fiddled with the comforter. “It misses you. The vibe’s been different, though. Less broody. No angry sighs every time the neighbor’s dog barks.”

“That dog is a demon,” Jack said, on instinct.

“You’re just grumpy when you’re tired,” you teased.

“And you’re grumpy when I’m not there for you to stick those frozen toes under my legs to warm them up.”

You opened your mouth to retort, paused, then nodded. “Okay, that’s true.”

Jack laughed.

The show was long forgotten now. All that mattered was the glow of your screens, the way his eyes didn’t leave yours, the way his voice softened like it always did when the night got quieter.

“What do you miss the most?” he asked, almost shy.

You hesitated, then said, “I miss you hogging the blanket.” That made Jack laugh, but you shook your head, insisting, “I’m serious. In like a stockholm syndrome-y way – I miss that. And other stuff, like you leaving all the lights on or waking me up at the stupid hours of dawn when you get back from a shift… The little stuff.”

Jack nodded, smiling in that slow, aching way. “You know what I miss?”

“What?”

“Sitting at the island, watching you test out new recipes – make a mess of the kitchen like you’re on some Food Network competition.”

You smiled, fond and aching. “That’s the only way I cook.”

“I know,” he said. “I miss it. Miss you.”

You let that settle between you. Let it warm you all the way through.

“In six days, I’m gonna be stuck to you like velcro,” you murmured.

He quirked a brow. “Is that so?”

You nodded. “And you’re not allowed to leave again, by the way. And if you do, you’re taking me in your go-bag.” You lifted your pinky finger toward the camera. “Promise.”

Without hesitation, Jack raised his pinky to match yours. “Promise, baby.”

And for a moment, across the glow of two tiny screens, it almost felt like he was already home.

“Are you here yet?” you asked the second you picked up the FaceTime, barely able to contain the grin stretching across your face. The sounds of the kitchen clattered behind you, but your focus remained on the screen. On him.

Today was the day Jack was coming home and you were giddy with anticipation.

“I am,” he replied, voice smooth, teasing, “but where are you?”

You groaned, “A last-minute catering order came in, so I had to stay late. Almost just brought the chef’s knife with me to work in the car and just sprint to Arrivals.”

Jack smirked, familiar and smug. “I don’t know how TSA would’ve taken that.”

“But, I sent a good backup, huh?”

Jack shifted the camera to the driver’s seat, where Robby sat, looking amused as he drove. “You’re lucky I’m easily bribable with food,” he said. “Picking him up on my day off was not part of the plan.”

“Yeah, but you’d do it for the filet mignon these magic hands can make, right?” You wiggled your fingers at the screen, and Jack snorted.

“Oh, any day of the week,” Robby agreed, his grin cracking wider.

Jack turned the camera back to himself. He looked tired from the long travel day, but the way he looked at you—like he’d been waiting all day, or rather, six weeks, to see your face—made your chest ache.

You drank him in. Stubble. Black tee. Soft warmth creeping onto his features as he looked at you.

“How was your flight?” you asked.

“You’re lucky I like you,” he replied, rubbing his jaw. “I just spent six hours sitting in front of a guy who kept stabbing at the screen like it wronged him personally. Kept me up the whole flight.”

From off-screen, Robby piped up, “Is that why you fell asleep on my shoulder in the first five minutes of the drive?”

“Aww, is that true?” you cooed, and Jack immediately frowned, shaking his head. “Liar,” you accused with a knowing smile, before asking, “Are you close?”

“To your place?” You nodded. “I was gonna head home first, shower, sleep for a bit – ”

You were already shaking your head, correcting him, “No. You’re coming here first; not allowed to shower before you see me.”

Robby snorted, and Jack sighed in that over-it-but-not-really way before turning to his friend. “Can you drop me off at hers?”

“Kinda already assumed,” Robby said, tapping the GPS. “Route’s set to her address.”

“How much longer?” you asked Robby, bouncing on your heels with impatient energy.

“Twenty-three minutes.”

You groaned, tugging off your apron. The clock on the wall ticked slowly, teasingly. “Can you be here already?” you whined at Jack, then paused as a mischievous glint sparked behind your eyes. “I’m ovulating and miss you being in my – ”

“Ohhhkay,” Robby cut in, clearly scarred and making your grin widen. Jack’s mouth twitched.

“I was going to say ‘arms.’ Sheesh, Jack, what kind of freaks do you work with?” you teased, grin widening as Jack broke into a full smile and aimed the camera at Robby, who groaned in defeat.

“You’re gonna get me kicked out of this car, trouble,” Jack said, warmth bleeding into his voice at the nickname. Your chest squeezed, missing him.

Eleni walked into the office a moment later, waving at the screen. “Hey, Eleni,” Jack greeted.

“Hey,” she said, squinting. “Was that groaning I heard just now? You guys doing phone sex again or just emotionally scarring Robby?”

“For the record, those things are not mutually exclusive,” Robby chimed in.

Eleni grinned, turning to you. “You heading out now?”

You nodded. “Unless there’s something else – ”

She was already shaking her head. “Go. Get out of here. You’ve already cleaned the walk-in twice just waiting for Jack to land.”

Jack perked up at that. “Aww, is that true?” he mocked, using your tone from earlier.

You glared at him, but before you could deny it, Eleni added, “She reorganized the grain bins, too!”

You were already grabbing your keys as Eleni ushered you toward the door. “Okay, I’ll see you when you get here,” you said to Jack.

In a rare moment of vulnerability, he puckered his lips and blew you a kiss goodbye. You flushed, heart stuttering.

“You’re getting soft on me, Abbot,” you teased.

“Pretty sure we’re way past that.”

The drive home was a blur; you could barely keep your concentration. Every red light felt like the universe was plotting against you; every slow pedestrian crossing the street made you want to scream.

Your heart was hammering in your ears. You didn’t even remember pulling into the driveway, adrenaline surging. But the moment you caught sight of the front door –

There he was.

Jack.

Standing at your front door in that familiar black tee, suitcase sitting on the porch as he fumbled with the spare key you’d given him. He was so focused on unlocking the door, he didn’t even hear your footsteps approaching.

“You know, for someone who saves lives for a living,” you called out, approaching him, “you’re really struggling with the concept of a lock.”

Jack froze, then turned.

And then, a slow-spreading, lopsided smile that had lived on your phone screen for far too long was finally gracing you in person.

“Well, maybe if someone didn’t have ten million locks on the door, we wouldn’t be in this situation,” he said, voice lower than usual, rougher in a way that made your stomach flip.

You crossed the distance in three strides. The key clattered onto his luggage as he let it fall.

And then you were in his arms.

Not the thought of him. Not his voice through a screen. Not his pixelated smile or sleepy texts or pictures of his takeout. Him. Warm and solid and real.

His arms wrapped so tightly around you, it felt like he wouldn’t ever let go. And you didn’t want him to. You buried your face in his chest, breathing him in.

“I forgot how good you smell,” you mumbled into his shirt. “Like middle seat and recycled plane air.”

He tugged playfully at your ear, leaning back just enough for you to get a good look at him. Sun-kissed skin. Slight scruff that made your fingertips itch to trace it.

“You got more handsome. That’s annoying.”

He raised a brow. “You’re only saying that because you’re ovulating.”

“No,” you promised. “If I did, I would’ve already dragged you inside and ripped your clothes off – ”

He kissed you mid-sentence. Not hurried. Not desperate. Just… steady. Like he had all the time in the world, because now, he did.

When you finally pulled back, breath short, he rested his forehead against yours. “Missed you,” you said softly.

“Yeah,” he whispered, almost like it hurt. “Me too.”

You leaned into him again, arms tightening, greedy now that you finally could be. “You’re never leaving again, right?”

He chuckled, voice cracking just a little. “You going to chain me to the radiator?”

You shrugged. “Tempting. I do own zip ties.”

His laugh was full, unguarded, the sound of it seeping into your skin like sunlight. “Why don’t we save those for the bedroom, huh?”

He leaned down again to kiss your cheek, your jaw, the corner of your mouth. And then he whispered, “Let’s go inside.”

But neither of you moved. Not yet.

You’d waited this long.

What was one more minute in each other’s arms?

827 notes · View notes

adelliet · 21 days ago

Text

Harry Castillo x f!reader

WORTH THE RISK

Summary: Your best friend offered you a job at the restaurant she worked at. It was your last chance to climb out of the hole you’d been stuck in for way too long. But along with the new job came someone new.

Warnings: 18+ MDNI, strong language, age gap, oral sex (f & m receiving), unprotected sex (p i v), nicknames, praise kink, aftercare, prejudices, reader is poor (sorry)

A/n: Hi! So, this is not that long (I hope) than my other fic's, but it's still good, trust me. Anyway if you have any ideas, suggestions, or anything else, feel free to text me. Also, I apologize for any grammar mistakes or phrases that might not make sense—English isn’t my first language :3 But I hope you enjoy the story! <3

Masterlist

“Can you take that guy’s order?” your friend asked, pointing discreetly at a man sitting alone at a round table draped in a crisp white tablecloth.

You raised an eyebrow, slightly caught off guard by the fact that he was sitting at a table meant for six, completely alone. But hey, this was a fancy place, and he looked like a fancy guy. What did you know about rich people and their habits anyway?

“Sure,” you muttered, grabbing your notepad in one hand and a pen in the other. As you approached, you put on your best customer-service smile, stopping at a polite distance, close enough to hear each other over the background noise, but not so close that it felt inappropriate.

“Good evening. What can I get you?”

The man was still holding the menu, one finger resting against his lips, visibly lost in thought. It took him a second to register your voice. When he did, his eyes flicked to yours, then did a quick double-take.

His pupils dilated slightly. His previously distant expression softened. And then, just the faintest curl of a smile at the corner of his lips.

You wouldn’t call him unattractive. Not at all. His sharp features were framed by a neatly trimmed brown mustache and slightly wavy hair that fell just past his ears. His eyes, deep and warm, like freshly brewed coffee, held a certain weight, an intensity that was hard to ignore. He looked like comfort. Like stability.

But you weren’t about to fall for that.

A man with money was a dangerous thing. You knew that all too well. So you pushed down any flutter of attraction, forced yourself to focus on what mattered.

He was just another customer.

“Oh, I’m not sure yet… Do you have any recommendations? Maybe the most expensive wine on the menu?”

Ah. There it was. The casual flex. You inhaled deeply, suppressing an eye roll.

“Yes, we have a few top selections. There’s the Château Margaux for $1,500, the Screaming Eagle Cabernet Sauvignon for $3,000, and—”

Before you could finish, he nodded, already deciding.

“I’ll take the Screaming Eagle.”

Of course he would.

You gave him a polite nod and jotted it down, knowing full well that this wouldn’t be the first or last time someone ordered it. Not because of the taste, but because of the price.

“Anything else?”

“Not for now, thank you.”

You nodded once more before walking away. The second you were out of his sight, you let out a deep breath, pulling a face, something between Are you kidding me? and Of course he did.

By the time you finally had the ridiculously expensive bottle of wine in your hands, you knew you had to be extra careful. One wrong move and you’d be responsible for spilling a small fortune onto the restaurant floor.

In one hand, you held the bottle. In the other, a wine glass, filled just about a quarter of the way, some weird restaurant tradition, offering a ‘preview’ sip before pouring the rest.

Anyways, you weren’t sure what did it.

Maybe it was the chaotic energy of the restaurant, the tension in the air. Maybe it was the way your manager had been snapping at everyone all night, dumping his stress onto the staff. Or maybe, maybe you were just having one of those days.

Either way, the second you opened your mouth to speak, the glass slipped from your fingers. And the wine? Right onto his lap.

“Oh, fuck—” you cursed, immediately realizing your mistake.

Not only had you just sworn, loudly, in a high-end restaurant, but you had also spilled a glass of the most expensive wine on a man who, with one phone call, could probably have you fired and blacklisted from every fine dining establishment in the city.

Oh, you were so getting fired.

“I—I am so sorry!”

In a rush, you set the now-empty glass and the bottle onto the table, grabbing the nearest napkin in sheer panic.

He just chuckled, shaking his head. “It’s okay,” he said, over and over. But it was definitely not okay.

Before your brain could fully process what you were doing, you had already dropped to your knees in front of him, frantically dabbing at the fabric of his pants with the napkin. It wasn’t until a second later that you realized how it looked.

How bad it looked. How absolutely, utterly humiliatingly wrong it looked. Oh, you were definitely getting fired.

“Sh— I am sorry, I—”

The panic in your voice was impossible to hide. He definitely noticed. But somehow, he didn’t seem the least bit upset. If anything, he looked… amused. Which he shouldn’t be. Not after getting drenched in the most expensive wine on the menu. Not after his server nearly touched his-

Oh god. You wanted to die.

You shot up from your knees so fast, you nearly lost your balance. Your face was burning. Absolutely on fire from the sheer humiliation of it all.

But no. You were not about to let your embarrassment control the situation. It was time to act like a real server. A professional. Definitely not a panicked, flustered mess.

“Sir, I am so, so sorry,” you started, quickly pulling out your notebook and pen, trying desperately to salvage the situation. “As compensation for this incident, you have the right to order anything on the menu, completely free of charge.”

Before you could jot anything down, you suddenly felt his hand on your wrist, stopping you.

“Sweetheart, it’s fine. I don’t want anything.”

He looked like he didn’t want anything. Unlike you, who was still visibly spiraling, he seemed completely unfazed. Relaxed, even.

“Sir, it’s my responsibility to—”

“Really, it’s nothing,” he interrupted smoothly, his voice carrying that effortless confidence. “Money’s not an issue for me.”

Well, that was obvious.

His face held that same unwavering calm, like he could simply talk his way out of this, and honestly? He probably could. But your conscience wouldn’t let you walk away that easily. You had ruined his expensive suit pants. An apology alone didn’t feel like enough.

“Alright, sir, but there must be something I can offer you. I can’t just—”

“You know what? There is something,” he leaned back in his chair, resting his arm on the backrest as a slow, knowing smile curled at his lips. A smile that was dangerous. A smile that could strip a woman down to her lingerie with just a single glance. And god, you were so close to being one of them.

But no, you held your ground. Barely.

“Dinner,” he finally said, his voice smooth as silk. “That’ll make up for it.”

You froze. Like, actually froze. Did you hear him right? You blinked, still frozen. Did you understand him right? But when he kept looking at you with that same flirtatious expression, you realized. Oh, you definitely understood him right.

“Oh—no, no, that’s—”

“It’s the only offer I’ll accept,” he cut in, leaving you zero room to argue. Which made this so much harder. On one hand, this man, this incredibly rich, insanely attractive man, had just asked you out.

On the other hand, he was a customer. A snob. And men with money? They were dangerous. And yet against your better judgment, your head gave the tiniest nod.

“Alright,” you said hesitantly. His eyes lit up. His smile stretched wider. Still confident. Still composed. Still oozing wealth and charm.

“Great. Tomorrow, 8:00 PM. Dinner at this place. Don’t be late.” He reached into his pocket, pulling out a small card, which he handed to you. You took it carefully. It was fancy. Even the texture of it felt expensive. A white business card with bold, black print, the name of a restaurant you had never even heard of.

You stared at it for a second, studying it. Then, finally, you nodded, shifting your eyes back to him.

“Harry, by the way. Harry Castillo,” he introduced himself, offering his hand. You quickly tucked the card, your notepad, and pen into the pocket around your waist before shaking his hand in return. It was more out of politeness than interest.

Or at least, that’s what you told yourself.

The moment your hand slipped from his, you practically fled from his presence. And judging by the heat in your cheeks, you were definitely as red as a tomato.

“Hey, what the hell just happened out there?”

The moment you stepped into the kitchen, your friend was on you. She looked way too eager, like she was dying to hear whatever mess you’d gotten yourself into, just so she could laugh in your face. Honestly? You couldn’t even blame her. If the roles were reversed, you’d laugh at her too.

“That guy just asked me out to dinner,” you admitted, breathless but also, exasperated. Your tone completely threw her off.

She glanced back through the small window in the kitchen door, looking at the man in question before turning back to you, eyebrows furrowed.

“You’re joking, right?”

You shook your head, leaning back against the nearest table. She let out a short huff, then took a step closer. “Him? He asked you out?” There was a clear emphasis on who asked who, and that, unsettled you.

“I can’t believe it either—”

“So why aren’t you screaming right now?! He’s probably a multimillionaire, and instead of jumping for joy, you’re—what? Having a meltdown?” She grabbed your shoulders, looking way more excited about this than you were.

You just sighed, shaking your head, eyes dropping to the floor. “I don’t know… it doesn’t feel real.”

You shrugged, finally meeting her eyes. And she got it. She understood why you weren’t letting yourself be excited. Because you’d been broken one too many times. And if you just expected nothing, you wouldn’t be disappointed.

“I get it,” she said, softer now. “But listen to me-he means it. That guy comes here all the time, and not once has he asked a server out before.”

You raised an eyebrow, skeptical.

“I’m serious!” she insisted, turning you toward the door, both of you peeking through the window. “And, ugh, god, he’s so sexy.”

You nudged her playfully with your shoulder, but deep down? Yeah. You agreed, he was sexy. Maybe a little older than what you’d typically go for, but still, workable.

The two of you watched him, not-so-subtly, until more men approached his table. Black suits. Slicked-back hair. Money so rich you could smell it all the way from the kitchen.

And just like that, the excitement. That tiny flicker of hope. Gone. Your stomach dropped. You turned away immediately. Your friend lingered at the window for a second longer before following after you, now completely confused.

“Hey, what’s wrong?”

You shook your head. Frustrated. “I knew this was bullshit,” you muttered, adjusting your uniform, glancing at her again. But she still didn’t get it.

“The guys sitting with him,” you nodded toward the door. “I guarantee he made a bet with them. A bet to see if he could land the most pathetic desperate whore in the area.”

Your friend’s face went blank before she groaned, rubbing her hands down her face in pure frustration. Then, she fixed you with a deadpan stare. “You cannot be serious right now.”

You stared at the floor, still fussing with your uniform, still seething.

“Oh my god. Do you have to overthink everything? Babe, that definitely didn’t happen—”

“You don’t know that.” You cut her off. She could see how pissed off you were. But more than the anger, it was fear showing in your eyes. Fear of another failure. Another rejection. And whether she believed it or not, you just didn’t have the capacity for that.

Not again.

She sighed, then pulled you into a comforting hug. She didn’t say anything at first. Just held you, tightly. Then, when she finally pulled back, she started speaking.

“Listen. Go to that dinner. Take the opportunity. And if that asshole hurts you in any way? I swear to god, I will break his fucking face.”

You laughed, even though you knew she meant every word.

“Thanks,” you murmured, smiling as the two of you hugged again. And despite the doubt clawing at the back of your mind, despite wanting to pretend like you never even got that stupid little card, you decided to take her advice.

To ‘Take the opportunity’ or however she said it.

The evening air was cool, streetlights flickered to life one by one, casting a warm golden glow over the quiet city. The sky was a deep navy blue, speckled with the first few stars peeking through the clouds. A gentle breeze kissed your skin as you stepped out, the distant hum of traffic blending into the soft rustling of leaves.

You looked breathtaking.

The black dress you wore wasn’t anything extravagant, but god, did it know how to hug your body in all the right places. The way it shaped your waist, the way it flowed down your thighs, teasing just enough skin to be dangerous. Every curve was perfectly framed, every movement of yours had a new level of grace and temptation.

And your makeup? Flawless.

Even after all the failed attempts, the frustrated groans, the “I’m not going!” breakdowns, the questioning-your-entire-life-choices moment, you pulled through. And damn, you looked stunning. Before stepping out, there was one last thing left to do. Selfie, and a private one for your best friend.

Her reply never miss.

A text so filthy you nearly threw your phone across the room. Something about how she’d absolutely devour you if she were into women. You gagged. You laughed. You loved her.

But right now, it was 7:50. According to Google Maps, the restaurant wasn’t too far. Except, you didn’t have a car. And a taxi? With what money? So, your only option was to power-walk like your life depended on it and pray you’d make it in ten minutes.

Even though you felt like every second of running had stripped away another layer of makeup and drained the last bit of life from your body, you made it.

You stood before the entrance. And yes, this was the place. And damn, it looked the part.

Marble stairs. Massive wooden doors that looked like they belonged in a palace. Golden accents along the walls. Flower-shaped lamps. A fountain right at the entrance. It was the kind of detail that made you feel both impressed and slightly terrified.

With a small stumble in your heels, which thankfully, no one seemed to notice, you approached the reception desk.

“Reservation under… Castillo,” you said softly.

The receptionist smiled, as if he’d been expecting you all along.

“Of course. Table fifteen. He’s already here.”

“Thank you,” you murmured before making a sharp turn toward the restroom. A quick pit stop was absolutely necessary.

Facing the mirror, you launched into full recovery mode. Fixing makeup, fluffing your hair, making sure you didn’t look like you had sprinted here. A touch of gloss, a final tug at your dress, and there you were again. Put together. Ready.

Then you stepped inside the dining hall and everything shimmered.

The chandeliers sparkled like frozen light. The pristine white tablecloths, the waiters in their spotless uniforms, the golden silverware—it was overwhelming in the best and worst way. Moving carefully, like someone who both belonged and absolutely did not, you scanned the room. Searching.

And then, there he was. Harry Castillo.

Sitting effortlessly poised, elbow resting on the table, finger near his lips, just like yesterday. He looked composed. Unreadable. Devastatingly attractive. You inhaled deeply and walked toward him.

“Hey! Sorry I hope I’m not late,” you said, voice softer than you intended. It took him a second to register your presence. But when he did…

His entire demeanor shifted.

The moment his gaze landed on you, his thoughts simply ceased to function. That dress. The way it sculpted around your curves. The delicate line of your neck. The subtle, hypnotizing sway of your chest as you moved, yes, he noticed. It was right then that he realized: keeping his thoughts entirely proper tonight? Yeah. Not happening.

Fuck. If this was your backup outfit, he'd kill to see what plan A looked like… without the dress.

“You look stunning,” he murmured, standing immediately like a gentleman from another era. Taking your hand, he pressed a soft kiss to the back of it. A shiver ran down your spine.

For a fraction of a second, you forgot how to breathe, and when you finally managed words, they came out in a breathless, “Thank you.”

You settled into your seat, praying the chair wouldn’t make an awkward screech, and picked up the menu, doing your absolute best to not embarrass yourself in the first five minutes.

“Was it a long trip?” he asked, reaching for his glass of water.

“Uh… no,” you lied smoothly. Absolutely no way you were going to tell him you walked here, face half-melting and muttering curses under your breath.

“And you?” you asked in return.

He chuckled, shaking his head.

“Nah, I live just around the corner. I know most of the restaurants around here.”

“I believe that. This place is… a different level.”

He nodded, leaning in just slightly. “Yeah, but you know what? People forget that food is just food. Great company is what makes it unforgettable, even in the smallest, messiest little pizza joint.”

That was surprisingly sweet. And unexpected.

“So you’re telling me you could’ve taken me to a kebab place by the train station?”

“Exactly. And if I’d known you’d show up looking like my most expensive investment, I’d have worn a tux.”

You laughed, glancing down at the menu. The tension in your shoulders was starting to ease. For the first time tonight, you felt… comfortable.

“I swear the food here’s good,” he added. “But if you ever want real pizza—I know a guy. One tooth, slaps the dough with his bare hands.”

“That sounds… hygienic.”

“It’s the best pizza in the city. But yeah, I only take people there if I know they’ve got a strong immune system.”

You laughed again. And for the first time in a long while, you didn’t feel the need to play a role. To impress, to overthink, to be perfect. You just felt like yourself. And that was refreshing in a way you hadn’t expected.

“Have you decided yet?”

You shook your head, lips pressed into a tight line. The menu was a battlefield of options. So many dishes, so many exotic names, and those prices? Just looking at them made your stomach twist. You didn’t want to come across as some broke girl who had no idea what foie gras was, but also not like a high-maintenance snob who’d order truffle oil on a toothpick just to impress.

Making a good first impression was hard, though technically, you already blew it the moment you spilled wine on his very expensive pants and ended up scrubbing his legs like some panicked Cinderella with a death wish.

“I get it,” he said with a slight nod. After a few seconds, you let out a quiet sigh and finally gave up. “Pick for me. I’m sure you know what’s good way better than I do.”

He looked up at you with the sweetest puppy eyes you’d ever seen, and your heart melted.

“Are you sure? It’s only polite to let the lady choose.”

“I’m sure, Mr. Castillo,” you said with a soft smile and a small tilt of your head.

“Well then,” he replied, closing his menu with a confident snap, “let’s hope you won’t regret it.” And just like that, he turned his full attention to you.

The dinner went surprisingly normal. Actually, scratch that—wonderfully.

Harry wasn’t the snob you half expected him to be. He didn’t name-drop luxury brands every two sentences, didn’t mention his bank account once. In fact, he didn’t flaunt anything at all, except maybe the way he actually listened to you.

Of course, you couldn’t tell him everything.

Like the fact that your restaurant job was the only thing keeping you from ending up on the street. Or that your family had basically washed their hands of you. Or that you’d once come dangerously close to selling weed just to afford rent.

Those charming little details didn’t need to make it to the dinner table.

But your favorite color? Rose type? Chocolate preference? You gave him those happily.

By the time you were halfway through your second glass of wine, your tongue was definitely loosening up. Your boldness had grown legs and was strutting confidently across the room.

“Mr. Castillo,” you said, setting your glass down, eyes twinkling. “I have a question for you.”

Harry turned toward you instantly, his posture subtly shifting as if bracing for something wild.

“This…” —you made a slow circle with your finger, gesturing at everything around you— “this whole thing. Is it… a bet?”

He blinked a few times, clearly not expecting that. Then a slow smile curled on his lips. But when he saw how serious your expression was, his smile faded slightly. “No… Why would you think that?”

You hesitated, then shook your head and waved it off. “Never mind, it’s nothing—”

“No, wait. If something made you think that, I want to know.” He wasn’t letting it slide. And honestly? That little fire in his eyes? Kind of hot.

You paused. Should you say it and sound like a complete idiot? The wine in your bloodstream whispered, screw it.

“I saw you yesterday. With a couple of guys. And I just… thought maybe you bet with them about this. About… me.”

Harry laughed. Not just a polite chuckle, he actually laughed. It wasn’t loud, but it was deep, warm, and ridiculously contagious.

You couldn’t help it, you started laughing too. Not at the situation, but because his laugh was so good, it practically reached inside you and pulled it out of you.

“Oh no,” he said, still smiling, “those were some of my coworkers. And I promise you, we don’t do things like that.”

The relief hit you like a wave, and you nodded slowly. Sure, he could be lying. He could be playing a game. But in that moment, you chose to believe him. No overthinking. No spiraling.

Just a beautiful dinner with a man who made you laugh, who looked at you like you mattered, who, somehow, made you feel like the main character in a life that wasn’t always kind.

And tonight? Tonight felt like it was finally giving you a break.

You laughed. You weren’t even sure what at anymore, but laughter had become the most natural reaction to anything that came out of his mouth.

Harry was… different. Unpredictable. Smart. And most of all, he listened. Not the fake ‘I’m nodding but thinking about steak’ kind of listening. No. He actually paid attention. Remembered things. Asked follow-up questions.

And the more you opened up, the easier it felt. Like you didn’t have to be anyone else to be enough.

You laughed at your own awkward moments, told him stories from your childhood, even admitted you used to eat sand when you were little, with chocolate ice cream, of course.

And he listened like it was the most fascinating thing he’d ever heard.

And one thing you had to admit, throughout the whole dinner, you caught him stealing glances at your chest more than once. At first, he tried to be discreet, quick flicks of the eyes when you were sipping wine or looking at the menu. But later on? Yeah, he didn’t even pretend anymore.

But it wasn’t a gross, sleazy kind of stare. No. It was something else entirely. It was elegant, intense… reverent. Like he admired you, every curve, every breath, the way your collarbones caught the light, the subtle movement of your chest when you laughed.

It didn’t make you shrink. It made you pulse. Around nothing, yet. And if something shifted down there, let’s just say a full-blown waterfall was now a national emergency.

“Excuse me,” a voice interrupted you gently. “But we’re closing in ten minutes.”

One of the waiters had appeared beside your table. He spoke softly, his voice almost trembling. You didn’t blame him. You were, in a way, just like him, same position, same nervous awe around someone like Harry.

“Oh!” you gasped. “God, we’re so sorry! We totally lost track of time.”

Harry looked at you with a smile. But not the usual charming, practiced one. No, this one was warm. Genuine. The kind that makes your heart flutter… and maybe something else too.

You both started gathering your things. Harry reached into his coat, pulled out a wad of bills and tossed them on the table, no counting, no hesitation.

You almost choked. What you’d give for that amount of money? Better left unsaid.

“Thank you. Keep the change,” Harry said, patting the waiter gently on the shoulder.

You gave the poor guy a quick smile and followed your dinner date like he was leading you into battle… or heaven.

He walked with ease. Command. Confidence. You? You felt like a princess being led by her knight out of the ballroom. Maybe it was the wine. Or maybe it was the fact that, for the first time in ages, you actually felt like you yourself.

The moment you stepped outside, cold air slapped your skin.

“Are you cold? Where’s your coat?” Harry asked, brow slightly furrowed.

You wrapped your arms around yourself, unintentionally pushing your boobs up a bit more in the process, bonus points, apparently.

“Oh… I forgot it at home,” you said innocently. Truth was, you didn’t own one. Couldn’t afford it. But he didn’t need to know that.

Harry gave you a look. The kind that didn’t need words. Then, like a man on a mission, he took off his jacket.

“Oh wait, you really don’t have to—”

“Yes I do,” he cut in gently. “Can’t have you freezing, can we?”

Before you could argue, he was already draping the warm fabric over your shoulders. No asking. No drama. Just… doing.

And suddenly, you were warmer. Not just from the jacket, but from the man himself. And yeah, another point for Harry Castillo. And damn, was he stacking them up fast.

You pulled your phone out of your purse, pretending to check the time, but in truth, you were stalling. “I should probably go,” you murmured, still a little breathless from the whole evening.

Harry tilted his head. “Let me take you home. I’ve got a car waiting.”

Shit.

Panic crawled up your spine like a vine. You couldn’t let him see where you lived. It wasn’t horrible, but it also wasn’t this. Not this golden-drenched world of chandeliers and silk napkins. You bit your lip.

“Actually,” you blurted before you could stop yourself, “what if we went to yours instead?”

His eyebrows lifted slightly—just a flicker—but enough for your face to burst into flames.

“Wait, no—I didn’t mean it like that!” you rushed out. “I mean—God, I’m not trying to come off like… like one of those girls. I’m not, I swear, I just…” Your words tangled into a panicked mess. “It’s just complicated. My place is, well, complicated.”

Harry blinked once, then twice, and slowly, smiled. The kind of smile that made your stomach dip and your pulse skip a beat.

“I get it,” he said softly. “Believe me, I’m not one of those guys either. I don’t usually bring someone over after the first night.”

You exhaled in relief, feeling like your entire soul unclenched.

“That’s why,” he continued, stepping closer, “I booked us a suite for the night. Neutral territory.”

Your heart did a front flip.

It sounded crazy, no, was crazy, but in that moment, it somehow made sense. Maybe it was the wine. Maybe it was the way he said it with zero pressure in his tone, like it was just a comfortable, no-expectations solution.

The drive was smooth and silent, your heart hammering against your ribs the closer you got. And then the hotel. Oh. My. God.

From the outside, the hotel didn’t just whisper wealth, it screamed it, elegantly. The building towered above the street, wrapped in sleek black glass that reflected the city lights like diamonds scattered across velvet. The entrance was framed by golden accents that shimmered under the glow of artfully placed spotlights, and a long crimson carpet stretched from the sidewalk all the way to the rotating glass doors, guarded by men in tailored suits and pristine gloves.

It wasn’t just a hotel. It was an experience. And you were suddenly part of it.

As soon as you stepped inside, you were swallowed by soft lighting and opulence. The marble floors gleamed under your heels, catching little stars from the massive crystal chandelier that cascaded from the ceiling like frozen rain. There were velvet armchairs in deep emerald green, tall indoor plants trimmed like they belonged in a palace, and staff that glided across the space like well-trained shadows, every movement graceful and hushed.

The scent of expensive perfume lingered in the air, sweet, musky, seductive. Even the air conditioning felt richer here.

You couldn’t help but glance at Harry, who walked beside you with that calm confidence like he owned the whole damn place. And honestly? He might as well have. And of course, everyone at the front desk knew him. Knew his name, his favorite drink, his room preference. Harry Castillo wasn’t just rich. He was a regular.

When you reached the elevator, the doors opened with a soft chime, revealing an interior wrapped in mirrored gold and black marble. You stepped in first, and the second the doors slid shut, something shifted.

The air between you thickened, like velvet, like smoke, like something unnamed but entirely understood. It was silent, except for the hum of the elevator. And yet your heart beat like a drum.

Harry stood next to you, close but not touching, his cologne crawling over your skin like a secret. His reflection in the mirror caught yours. He smirked slightly, nothing cocky, just that quiet kind of power that says I know exactly what I’m doing to you. You could feel it in your chest, in your stomach, between your thighs.

The elevator didn’t just take you up floors. It lifted something else. Something electric. Something that buzzed under your skin and begged to unravel.

As the elevator doors slid open with a soft ding, Harry stepped forward, pulling a sleek black card from his wallet. In one smooth, practiced motion, he swiped it through the lock. There was a quiet click, and the door unlocked.

“Ladies first,” he said, voice low and velvety. You stepped inside and your jaw nearly hit the floor.

The suite was massive. Not just hotel-room massive, penthouse massive. The kind of place you only see in movies or on Instagram when influencers casually spend the night with billionaires.

Floor-to-ceiling windows stretched across the far wall, revealing the glowing skyline of the city. Thick ivory curtains were pulled back like theater drapes. The bed wasn’t just king-sized—it looked like it belonged in a palace. Silk sheets, a gold-accented headboard, and pillows that probably cost more than your entire rent.

A marble bar gleamed in the corner with tiny gold bottles lined up like jewelry. Plush velvet sofas sat near a sleek fireplace, and a massive flat screen was mounted on the wall. There was even a balcony, shimmering with the reflection of city lights.

Jesus Christ.

You turned slowly, breath caught in your throat. “This place… I don’t think I could afford it even if I lived five lives.”

Harry stepped in behind you, quietly shutting the door. He leaned against it with that signature casual confidence. “Do you like it?” he asked, watching you, not the room.

You turned to face him, still half in disbelief. “I mean, yeah. It’s like stepping into a dream. I didn’t even know places like this existed outside of Pinterest.”

He chuckled, stepping further inside. “I figured if we’re not going home, we might as well do it right.”

You nodded, heart fluttering in your chest like it had a mind of its own. “You really know how to set the mood, Mr. Castillo.”

“Well,” he said, smirking, “I try.”

You both wandered through the space, giggling and pointing at ridiculous features like the heated floors or remote-controlled curtains. He poured you both glasses of champagne from the minibar, something expensive you couldn’t pronounce, and you toasted to, whatever this night had become.

Then it happened.

You turned too quickly mid-laugh, champagne in hand, and your heel caught the edge of the rug. You stumbled, not dramatically, but enough to make your stomach lurch. You gasped and instinctively reached out for balance. Harry was already there.

One hand caught your wrist, the other your champagne glass, and in the span of a breath, your bodies were inches apart. Close enough to feel his warmth. Close enough to smell his cologne. Your laughter faded.

The air between you thickened. Your heart thudded in your chest as your eyes met his. Time slowed, or maybe just stopped. You weren’t thinking anymore. You weren’t nervous. You weren’t holding back.

You leaned in.

So did he.

The kiss was slow at first, gentle, uncertain. But it deepened quickly, growing warmer, more assured. It wasn’t reckless. It wasn’t rushed. It felt like everything that had been building between you had finally reached its breaking point.

It wasn’t just a kiss.

It was release. Tension melting. Electricity sparking. Breath shared between two people who, for some reason neither of you could explain, felt like they needed this moment. And maybe each other.

The kiss deepened with every passing second, slow and simmering, yet charged with a hunger you hadn’t realized was burning under your skin all night. His lips were soft but confident, like he’d been waiting for this as long as you had, maybe longer.

His hands slid to your waist, holding you gently but firmly, and yours found their way to the collar of his shirt, fingers curling into the fabric as if to anchor yourself.

There was no fumbling. No rush. Just the smooth, dangerous rhythm of something that felt inevitable.

He pulled you closer, guiding your body against his with a quiet, reverent care. You could feel his heartbeat through his shirt, or maybe it was your own pulse echoing everywhere, especially in places it had no business being so loud.

It was too much. Too good. Too fast.

You pulled back suddenly, breathing hard, your fingertips pressing lightly against his chest. He looked at you immediately, concerned, respectful, but still burning.

“I—I can’t,” you whispered, your voice shaking slightly. “I mean… I don’t sleep with someone on the first date. That’s not… me.”

His expression didn’t falter. He didn’t pout or try to convince you. Instead, he smiled, a slow, genuine smile that made your knees weak all over again.

“I don’t either,” he said softly. “Which is probably why I don’t go on dates often.”

You let out a breathy laugh, your nerves starting to untangle. Then he leaned in, kissed your forehead gently, and looked into your eyes like he was seeing straight through you.

“But… maybe tonight we both break a rule.”

You didn’t answer, not with words. Instead, your hands found the hem of his shirt and pulled him in, youd lips met again, hungrier, messier. Passion had cracked open the surface, and now it poured out like wildfire.

You felt wanted. Desired. Seen. And above all—you felt alive. Tonight wasn’t just a night. It was a beginning you hadn’t expected. And it was burning.

Your heels tapped softly against the polished floor, the long black dress hugging every curve as you let him guide you toward the bedroom. His grip was firm but reverent—like he couldn’t believe you were real, and didn’t want to risk you slipping away.

He guided you backwards, one slow step at a time and you let him lead.

The soft lighting from the minibar flickered behind him as you moved through the luxurious apartment, every step closer to the bedroom thickening the air between you. Your hand slid up to his chest, feeling the warmth through his shirt as your fingers moved to the buttons, undoing them one by one, never breaking the kiss.

One hand tangled in your hair and the other settled firmly on your waist, fingertips pressing into the silk of your dress. You gasped softly, and he took the chance to deepen the kiss, growling just enough against your lips to send a jolt straight through you.

“Fuck, you taste so good,” he muttered between kisses. You smiled into his mouth, pulling him closer.

“I could worship this mouth all night,” he whispered, lips brushing your jaw, “and still not get enough of you.”

With each step back, your bodies collided, heat to heat, and he couldn’t stop touching you. His hand slipped behind you, running down your spine as the zipper of your dress gave way under his fingers.

“You’re stunning,” he breathed, his voice lower now, thicker. “Do you even realize what you’re doing to me?”

His hand slid down to your hip, gripping it just enough to make you bite your lip, and his mouth moved to your neck, kissing and grazing teeth just enough to pull a shaky moan from you.

“I want to ruin you,” he whispered, “let me take care of you.” Every word made your knees weaker, every kiss made your pulse wilder.

Your dress slipped off one shoulder. His bowtie came undone and fell somewhere behind you. Buttons popped open under your fingers as you walked, kissed, stumbled your way to the bedroom.

And just before the bed, he paused. Pulled back. Looked at you like you were carved out of stardust.

“You have no idea how good you look right now,” he said, his hands gliding down your waist, then gripping your thighs. “So fucking good. Like a dream I didn’t know I had.”

You barely had time to catch your breath before he kissed you again and lifted you effortlessly into his arms. The world tilted, and the next second, you landed on the bed in a pool of silk sheets and undone kisses.

Looking up at him, shirt halfway open, hair slightly messed, and desire radiating off his skin, you knew. You weren’t just about to be touched. You were about to be fucked, in the most sweetest way possible.

You still technically had your dress on, but it was a complete mess by now—half-unzipped, one strap hanging loosely off your shoulder. Harry didn’t look much better; his usually perfect hair was tousled, and a few buttons of his shirt had been undone, revealing a teasing glimpse of his toned chest.

But what truly caught your attention was the undeniable evidence of his arousal pressing against the front of his tailored pants. It knocked the air right out of your lungs.

Your pulse stumbled, your breath hitched, and you felt your mouth go dry, yet somehow flood with need at the same time. You tried to say something, anything, but words failed you. You were completely overwhelmed by the intensity of the moment.

Harry caught your stunned expression and simply smiled, a quiet, knowing smile that made your core pulsating ever more. He didn’t say a word. Instead, he leaned closer, his fingers brushing against your skin as he carefully slipped the rest of your dress down. The fabric pooled silently around your ankles, forgotten.

The moment you laid there, almost fully exposed to him, he dropped to his knees without hesitation. Soft, open-mouthed kisses landed against your legs first—hot, wet, and breathtaking. His lips traveled up slowly, lingering in places that made your whole body shiver and gasp. Some kisses were featherlight and ticklish, others deep and lingering, stealing the breath straight from your lungs.

By the time he reached your hips, your entire body was burning, vibrating with anticipation, and you realized just how desperately you craved every single touch he gave you.

As his mouth traveled over your body, Harry’s hands didn’t stay idle. They roamed your curves with a deliberate, possessive touch, sometimes gliding smoothly, other times gripping firmly enough to make you gasp his name and let out a soft, high-pitched squeal that made him chuckle low in his throat. Every reaction you gave him only seemed to encourage him more, fueling a dark gleam in his eyes.

Every so often, he murmured things against your skin, his voice rough with arousal.

“You’re unbelievable… so damn beautiful,” he whispered into the hollow of your hip, sending shivers rippling up your spine.

“I wanted this the moment I saw you.” His words fell like hot velvet, wrapping around you and making you feel even more helpless under his touch.

After what felt like an eternity of teasing and worshipping your skin with kisses, he leaned in again, his eyes never leaving yours as he slowly reached behind you to unhook your bra.

The moment he threw it away, he let out a low, appreciative breath. His hands immediately found your breasts, cupping and caressing them with a mixture of reverence and hunger, his thumbs brushing over your sensitive peaks until you whimpered and arched into him, desperate for more.

Harry took his time, lavishing attention on every inch of you like you were the most exquisite treasure he’d ever laid eyes on. His kisses grew hungrier, his hands a little rougher, but always careful, always worshipful.

When he knelt again to hook his fingers into the waistband of your panties, his gaze flicked down and caught sight of the wet patch soaking through the delicate fabric. A wicked smirk curled his lips.

“Already this wet for me, darling?” he murmured, the teasing lilt in his voice making your cheeks burn with embarrassment and excitement all at once.

He peeled the panties down torturously slow, making you shudder with anticipation. Once they hit the floor, you were completely bare for him, trembling under the weight of his gaze. Harry looked at you like you were something rare, precious, something he could never get enough of.

And despite how exposed you were, you had never felt more wanted, more craved, than you did in that moment, laying there trembling, your skin marked with his kisses and your heart racing wildly in your chest.

“You have the most beautiful pussy I've ever seen,” Harry’s eyes locked onto yours, dark and molten with desire, as his hands slid slowly up from your ankles, gliding along your calves and thighs. His touch was firm, claiming, yet never rough. When he reached your inner thighs, he gripped them tightly, split them, grounding you, holding you exactly where he wanted you.

It wasn’t painful—far from it. It was commanding, reassuring, a silent way of saying you’re mine right now. Your breath hitched, your body trembling with anticipation. You were already so sensitive, so worked up, that even the brush of his fingers made you whimper.

Soft, desperate sounds slipped from your parted lips almost constantly now, tiny moans and gasps that Harry drank in like a man starved. His smirk deepened, pride flickering in his gaze at just how undone you were under his touch.

He gave you one last, heated look, a look so intense it made your stomach flip, before lowering himself between your thighs, disappearing beneath you with a predatory grace.

The moment his mouth met you, you nearly sobbed. His tongue was hot, deliberate, and devastatingly slow. He tasted you with a reverence that made your head spin, his hands squeezing your thighs tighter whenever you tried to move away from the overwhelming pleasure.

“F-fuck Harry—“ one hand of yours flying to his hair, gripping it as if it was the only thing anchoring you to reality.

Harry wasn’t in a hurry. He explored you like he had all the time in the world, dragging his tongue through your folds, pausing only to plant slow, sucking kisses that left you panting his name. When you cried out particularly loud, his hands tightened just a little more, keeping you firmly against his mouth.

His tongue was thorough, not missing a tiny spot, licking all your juices from just the surface of your labia. From time to time, he looked at your expression, at your tightly shut eyes, eyebrows furrowed upwards, how hard you were trying to be quiet by biting your lower lip, and how you were trembling under his touch.

You could feel his pleased growl vibrate against you, the sound shooting straight through your core and making you arch off the bed. The world blurred around you, your only focus the man between your thighs, the relentless, exquisite way he worshipped you with his mouth.

Harry groaned low in his throat as he pressed his mouth harder against you, his tongue slipping inside you with a slow, deliberate thrust that made your entire body jolt.

You let out a desperate, broken moan, as he moved his tongue deep and slow at first, teasing, exploring, savoring every reaction he dragged out of you.

Every time he curled his tongue just right, your hips bucked involuntarily against his mouth. His hands on your thighs tightened their hold, keeping you exactly where he wanted you, utterly at his mercy.

“That’s it, baby,” he murmured against you between strokes of his tongue, the vibration of his voice sending new waves of pleasure coursing through your veins. “You’re doing so fucking good for me. Tasting so sweet…”

You couldn’t even form words. Only desperate whimpers and high, keening moans fell from your lips, one after another, growing louder the deeper he went. Your whole body trembled beneath him, your fingers tugging harder at his hair in a silent plea for more, for everything.

Harry’s cock strained painfully against his trousers, throbbing with need, but he didn’t stop. No, he couldn’t stop, even if he wanted to. Watching you fall apart under him, hearing those beautiful sounds pouring from your mouth, feeling the way you clenched around his tongue—it was better than any release he could imagine.

His tongue moved faster now, plunging and flicking, occasionally circling your clit just to hear the wrecked cries it tore from you.

“Fuck, you’re so good, you know that?” he panted between kisses, his voice rough with hunger and awe. “So fucking perfect for me, angel. Look at you…”

You glanced down through heavy, lidded eyes and the sight of him between your thighs—his dark hair tousled, his lips slick and red, his eyes burning with adoration and hunger—nearly broke you.

The pressure in your core tightened unbearably. Every stroke of his tongue, every graze of his teeth against your sensitive skin, every whispered praise in that low, sinful voice pushed you closer and closer to the edge.

Your moans turned into cries, your body tensing, hips rocking against his face as pleasure coiled tighter, hotter, until you were right there, teetering on the brink, completely and utterly lost in him.

It was messy. It was wet. It was dizzyingly perfect. And Harry seemed addicted to every second of it.

Your body was trembling uncontrollably, every muscle tight, every nerve alight with pure, overwhelming pleasure. With a final, deep stroke of his tongue, Harry sent you flying over the edge.

You cried out his name, back arching off the bed, fingers tangling in his hair. Waves of ecstasy crashed through you, one after another, leaving you gasping, moaning, trembling beneath him.

Harry didn’t stop. He slowed, soothing you through the aftershocks with soft kisses and gentle strokes of his hands along your thighs, grounding you, worshipping you.

“There you go, beautiful,” he whispered, voice wrecked but so full of love. “Tasted even better than I though… fuck, you’re everything.”

You could barely catch your breath, your entire body humming, still quivering. Harry pressed a few more soft kisses to your thighs before slowly rising, a soft smile tugging at his lips.

It was only then that he began undoing the rest of his shirt, shrugging it off his shoulders with slow, deliberate movements. His skin was flushed, muscles flexing under the low light, and you couldn’t look away.

When he kicked off his pants too, leaving himself in nothing but his boxers, the sight of him nearly made your heart stop. Something primal lit up inside you.

The exhaustion from before was gone, replaced with a burning need so fierce you didn’t even recognize yourself. Hormones raged through you, clouding every thought except for him.

When he crawled on top of you, you barely gave him a chance to react before you grabbed him and flipped him onto his back, your body moving on pure instinct.

Harry let out a surprised, delighted laugh. “Oh, so I’ve got a little dragoness here, huh?”

You just smirked down at him, your eyes dark with lust, and then you began your own form of sweet revenge.

You kissed down his chest slowly, teasingly, making sure your lips barely brushed his skin, feeling him shiver under you. You trailed even lower, biting gently at his hipbone, smiling when he let out a low, desperate groan.

His hands fisted the sheets, muscles straining as he tried to keep himself still for you.

“Tease,” he rasped, but there was nothing but pure worship in his voice. “Fuck, you’re driving me insane, baby.”

You hooked your fingers into the waistband of his boxers, pulling them down, painfuly slow. His cock sprang free, heavy and flushed and so ready for you, making your mouth water.

You took your time, pressing soft kisses along his thighs first, deliberately avoiding where he needed you most. He kept murmuring under his breath, calling you “so good,” “so beautiful,” “my perfect girl,” between ragged breaths.

Finally, finally, you let your mouth wrap around him, slow and deep. But only at his pink tip, already leaking with pre-cum.

Harry threw his head back with a broken moan, one hand flying to your hair but not forcing, just holding, like he needed you to stay connected.

Then you went deeper, making him hissed and jolt. You moved at your own pace, swirling your tongue, hollowing your cheeks, occasionally pulling off just to tease him with slow licks along his length. Every time you did, he cursed under his breath, voice rough and needy.

“You’re gonna be the death of me, sweetheart… fuck, keep going,” he gasped, hips trembling as he fought not to thrust into your mouth.

You loved it. How undone he was for you, how he melted under your touch, how every sound he made was raw and real and just for you. The more you moved, the louder his breathing grew, the more his thighs tensed under your hands. His praise became broken, desperate:

“So good… my good girl… my sweet, sweet girl—ah, fuck—don’t stop—”

You could feel him getting closer, every muscle in his body pulled taut like a bowstring, his dick twitching inside your spongy mouth. His hands gripped you tighter, his voice wrecked and pleading.

“D-darlin' I am gonna cu—“ but before he could finish his warning, he threw his head all the way back and with every force in his body he tried not to move his hips upwards and pushed himself deeper into your mouth.

When he finally came, it was with a loud, wrecked cry of your name, his whole body shuddering violently beneath you.

It was messy and hot and overwhelming, and you didn’t mind it one bit. You stayed there, swallowing every bit of him. He tasted sweet yet bitterly, but the combination itself was tasty. You felt his fingers stroke through your hair in shaky, adoring motions as he tried to catch his breath.

“Jesus Christ, baby…” he panted when he finally managed words, looking down at you with a gaze so full of love and awe it made your heart ache. “You were absolutely insane…” you chuckled, before pulling him out of your mouth, slowly, but he still groans. The sudden cold air touching his swollen tip, it's always a shock.

You slowly licked your lips and fingers clean, tasting him, savoring the salty, intoxicating flavor of him. Harry’s gaze darkened instantly. He looked absolutely wrecked, completely undone by the sight of you. Wild, messy, glistening just for him.

Without warning, he couldn't help himself and he surged forward, grabbing your face and kissing you hard.

The kiss was filthy and desperate, your mouths colliding, teeth clashing, tongues tangling as you both tasted each other fully, the unique mixture of your essences fueling the fire even higher.

Harry groaned low in his chest, pulling you against him like he couldn’t get enough. His dominance returned in full force, his hands strong and sure as he rolled you onto your back, covering your body with his own.

His eyes locked with yours, burning with love and raw hunger. He cupped your cheek, breathing heavily, giving you a moment.

“Are you ready, beautiful?” he murmured against your lips, voice low and rough. “You’re doing so good for me. I'm so proud of you.”

You nodded breathlessly, heart hammering so loud you were sure he could hear it. He kissed you once more, softer now, full of unspoken promises, before positioning himself carefully at your entrance.

His tip brushed youe folds, your juices served as a natural lubricant, so it wasn't really hard for Harry to go in. The first push was slow, cautious, his body trembling with restraint. You whimpered at the initial stretch, clinging to his shoulders.

Harry immediately started stroking your cheek, murmuring against your skin. “That’s it, sweetheart. Doing so good for me. Let me in, yeah? Breathe, baby… I’ve got you.”

Tears pricked at the corners of your eyes, from the intensity, from the overwhelming feeling of being so close to him. He moved slowly, giving you time, whispering soft encouragements, letting you adjust to the fullness of him.

You felt like he was endless. He kept pushing deeper and deeper, reaching places you could only dream of, stretching you out so much, that he left no room for anything else, barely for air.

When he was fully inside, he stilled, pressing kisses along your jaw and neck, both of you panting heavily, your bodies trembling from the connection. For a moment, it was pure intimacy, your bodies fitting together perfectly, hearts beating wildly against each other, soft whimpers escaping both your mouths.

Harry rocked into you with slow, shallow thrusts, just enough to keep you connected, to let you feel every inch of him.

“You’re perfect,” he breathed, resting his forehead against yours. “You’re mine.”

But as the minutes passed and your body relaxed around him, the pace shifted.

Harry’s movements became deeper, stronger, pulling moans from your throat you couldn’t have held back if you tried. The bed began to creak with the force of his thrusts, the sound of skin slapping against skin filling the room alongside your gasps and desperate cries.

Harry didn’t let up with the sweet words. If anything, he poured them over you even more, his voice hoarse and wrecked with feeling.

“My beautiful girl… so tight, so good for me… fuck, taking me so well.”

Inside, you felt completely lost—lost in him, in the pleasure, in the overwhelming love radiating from every touch, every thrust. You clung to him like a lifeline, nails digging into his back, head thrown back in ecstasy as he hit deeper, harder, dragging whimpers and desperate moans from you.

Then, just when you thought you couldn’t take any more, Harry shifted one hand between your bodies, expertly finding your clit with his fingers. You gasped, your body jolting under him, the added stimulation sending electric shocks of pleasure through your entire being.

“That’s it, baby… let go for me,” he murmured against your neck, his voice shaking with how close he was too. You were spiraling fast, the pleasure building higher and higher, unstoppable.

But then Harry suddenly slowed, breathing heavily, and with a gentle grip on your hips, he flipped you over onto him, guiding you into his lap.

“You’re so amazing,” he said, smiling up at you, still breathless. “Ride me, sweetheart. I’ve got you.”

You were shaky, overwhelmed, but Harry’s hands on your hips steadied you, supporting you as you sank down onto him again.

The new angle was deeper, more intense, and when he reached down and found your clit again with his fingers, you nearly sobbed from how good it felt. He was doing regular circles, at the same speed as you were bouncing on him, creating a perfect balance that won't hold you back for too long.

You moved together, messy and desperate, the sounds of wet skin and desperate gasps filling the room. Harry’s praises continued, slurred and broken with pleasure:

“So good… so fucking beautiful… look at you, riding me like a goddess.”

You clung to him, barely able to keep moving as the pleasure built to an unbearable peak. Your nails dug deeply into his shoulders, definitely leaving a bruise there, but he didn't care. He takes it as a souvenir from this night. You screamed so loudly, your core clenching around his twitching dick, every muscle, every nerve in your body tensed and you swear in one particular moment, you saw white stars.

When you finally came, your entire body locked up as you shattered around him. The clenching of your walls around him pulled Harry over the edge right after, his hips jerking up into you, his arms wrapping tightly around your trembling form. He buried his head in your shoulder and growled loudly, his voice stammering and jerky.

He held you close in a bear hug, not letting go, grounding you as you both rode out the aftershocks together. Breathless, sweaty and completely ruined.

Your body feels like it’s melting into his. The aftershocks are still rippling through you both, and neither of you moves for a long moment. Harry’s chest rises and falls against yours, his forehead pressed to your shoulder, his breathing uneven.

Slowly, he lifts his head to look at you. His eyes are soft, a little dazed, full of something so raw it makes your heart ache.

“Hi,” he whispers, a lazy smile tugging at his lips. You laugh quietly, feeling shy and overwhelmed all at once. You reach up and brush a strand of hair off his forehead.

Harry kisses your fingers and then, with a soft grunt, carefully pulls out of you, making sure he’s gentle, murmuring soft apologies against your skin when you wince at the sensitivity.

Before you can even blink, he’s scooping you up into his arms, carrying you like a princess, strong and secure. You squeal softly, burying your face against his neck, and he chuckles, the sound vibrating through his chest.

The bathroom is warm and steamy within seconds. You step into the shower together, the hot water raining down, and he pulls you back against his chest, wrapping his arms tightly around you. He treats you like you’re made of glass, tender, slow, patient.

Neither of you says much.

It’s just quiet touches, soft kisses along your damp skin, the shared breaths between you. He washes you gently, his hands steady, his touch reverent. You tilt your head back against him, letting your eyes close, feeling completely weightless in his care.

Every once in a while, he whispers something into your ear. Sweet things, praises, promises you can barely catch over the sound of the water. You feel worshipped. Safe.

When you’re both clean, Harry grabs a towel and dries you off himself, smiling softly the entire time like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. Without a word, he lifts you into his arms again, carrying you back to the bed.

He lays you down gently, crawling in next to you immediately, not letting you go for even a second. He pulls the covers over both of you, wrapping himself around you like a protective shield.

Your head rests against his chest, and you listen to the steady thump of his heartbeat, feeling your eyelids grow heavier and heavier. Harry’s fingers trace lazy patterns along your back.

“I’ve got you.” he whispers against your hair and without minutes, you fall asleep wrapped in him, both naked, both tired but both happy.

The morning sun beamed into your room, which still smelled like sex. It hit you right in the face, so you had no choice but to wake up. You opened your eyes, sunlight spills across the room, highlighting every little detail: Harry’s messy hair, his relaxed face, the way he’s still smiling even in sleep.

And suddenly, the guilt hits you like a tidal wave and you can't breath. You slept with him. On the first night. Harry Castillo.

He belongs to a different world—wealth, fame, endless connections—and you’re barely scraping by, struggling just to keep up with bills. What if he wakes up and realizes? What if he thinks you used him?

Your chest tightens painfully. You need to leave. Before you ruin everything. Slowly, carefully, you begin to untangle yourself from his arms. The cool air prickles against your bare skin as you quietly pick up your clothes from the floor, trying not to make a sound.

Just as you slip into your dress, you hear his sleepy voice behind you:

“Where are you going?”

You freeze. Turning around, you see him blinking up at you, completely disheveled and adorably confused, reaching out a hand to pull you back into bed.

“I… I have to go,” you whisper.

He frowns, sitting up, the blanket pooling around his waist. His bare chest is bathed in the soft morning light, and he looks almost too good to be real.

“Don’t go,” he mumbles, still half-asleep. “Just stay…”

You want to. God, you want to. But the guilt is too heavy. It weighs down your every breath.

“I… I have to,” you say again, voice shaking. You grab your heels with trembling fingers, your heart breaking with every step away from him. But Harry is already getting out of bed. He walks straight to you, no hesitation, and cups your face in his hands, forcing you to look into his eyes.

“Hey,” he says softly. “Talk to me. What’s wrong?”

Tears well up in your eyes before you can stop them.

“I feel awful,” you manage to say. “I feel like… like I used you. I don’t want you to think I’m only here because of who you are, because of your money, your name, your connections. I don’t want to be that person.”

For a long, terrifying second, he says nothing. And then Harry smiles. A soft, heart-melting smile.

“I would never think that about you,” he murmurs. “Not for a second.” His thumbs brush away your tears, his touch achingly tender.

“From the moment I saw you — messy apron, tired smile, kind eyes — I knew you were different. I knew you were good. You have no idea how rare that is.”

He pulls you into his arms again, holding you tightly, as if he’s afraid you’ll disappear if he lets go.

“I’m not letting you go just because you’re scared,” he says quietly, meaning every word. And this time, you let yourself stay. You bury your face into his warm skin, feeling his heartbeat against your cheek, and you finally allow yourself to exhale, to trust.

When he finally pulls back a little, his smile is soft and teasing.

“You’re not seriously thinking about sleeping in that, are you?” he says, glancing pointedly at your half-buttoned shirt and crumpled jeans.

You let out a breathy laugh, feeling your cheeks flush. “No,” you murmur.

“Good,” he grins as you drop your things on the floor, not caring where they land. Holding intense eye contact, you start removing your dress.

He helps you, his face once again filled with surprise as he sees you bare—like it’s the very first time all over again.

“You’re gorgeous,” he whimpers, brushing his nose against your neck and making you laugh.

Before you can even catch your breath, he lifts you up and throws you both back onto the bed, your laughter echoing through the room.

When you wake up, again, you blink sleepily and stretch, only to find Harry already awake, propped up on one elbow, smiling down at you like you’re the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen.

“Morning, gorgeous,” he says, voice still rough from sleep. You can’t help but smile back. He leans down and kisses you, slow and sweet.

“Come on,” he says, tilting his head. “I’m making you breakfast.”

You pad after him into the kitchen, wrapped in nothing but his white shirt, that hangs down to your thighs. Harry looks completely at home, hair messy, only wearing boxers, barefoot on the cool floor.

He moves around the kitchen like he’s done it a thousand times, making pancakes from scratch, humming under his breath. Every so often he steals a glance at you and smirks when he catches you staring. You sit on the counter, legs swinging, watching him.

And somehow, sitting there in his kitchen, wearing his clothes, laughing with him like you’ve known him forever, you realize you’re exactly where you’re supposed to be.

With him.

Hi!! Thank you so much for reading!

I hope you guys enjoyed it! This was my very first fic about Harry Castillo and I’m absolutely freaking out because he’s just so RAAA. Anyway, if you have any suggestions, don’t hesitate to let me know! I’d also be super happy for any feedback; whether it’s a reblog, comment, like, or even a follow.

Have a beautiful day,

Love ya🦋🩵

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