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Harry Castillo x sugar baby!reader

summary: Reader is an exhausted law student, delivering speeches about consent and society issues, who catches the attention of donor Harry Castillo. What starts as a professional sponsor ship, shifts into a sugar baby arrangement with late night calls and financial support, blurring the lines slowly.

reader has a strong political opinion about consent, reader is a bit stubborn, description of a life as a law student, partly legal jargon, way too many phone calls and dialogues

A/N: first of all: everything that is law related is from Europe/ the country I live in. Oh and I think I structured it a bit weirdly BUT I'M TIRED and we ignore typos-

second of all: the plan was to write a total amount of 3.6k words, divided evenly among 7 days, in the end they wrote (maybe I should stop the hamilton references lmao) 6k+

wc: 6.2

Just because an action is legally okay or a gray zone does not automatically mean it equals being morally okay to do.

If everything that is seen as okay because it is legal, someone could justify a lot of things. Child marriage, which is still a thing in some countries, is legally okay but obviously morally pretty much debatable if a child is able to consent to a marriage (the child doesn't even consent to, the parents do)

The society has a massive issue with consent in general. Legal arguments about whether someone can give their o consent when threatened or if the other person exploits a vulnerable moment. The concept of affirmative consent has already been embedded in numerous states, as it has gradually evolved. Yes means yes. Two issues still remain: Some people don't go to court because they don't have the emotional or financial strength to do so.

That is your current issue you are working on. You started a project of law students and lawyers who try to help those people legally. The only issue the project might have is money.

That is why you and some of your colleagues are doing a lot of events to gain awareness and new sponsors.

Currently you are at a networking event from the law department. It is unclear how your friend and coworker of the project,Anna, arranged for you to deliver a speech but currently you are sitting in a chair and listening to the dean expounding the meaning of this networking event.

Anna, who is sitting next to you is, is trying hard not to bite her nails, a habit she has developed since she began law because it helps her to focus on something else than the nervousness.

She knows every word you are going to deliver in that speech. Today you are not looking for sponsors but rather for awareness.

“I would especially like to thank Mr. Harry Castillo for stepping up to sponsor the event at such short notice.” The people are applauding.

“Our final speaker has become one of the strongest voices of this project she is will talk about now. Please welcome her to the stage“

People applauded once more, vut they were not sure what is you were going to talk about with that vague description.

„Greetings. Instead of talking about the project I'm part of, I would like to focus on what kind of issue we are facing. Our mankind has a lot of disputes about consent. Instead of teaching boys and men how they should behave and should not treat a woman like a property, like they are able to do as they please, we want to protect women and girls instead. Don't get me wrong, in our current society we, unfortunately, have to deal with that but if we, as a society, do not start teaching little boys about consent, they will assume they can harm especially girls or later women as they please without consequences. The legal consequence should not be the only one that changes, but it does need to. Those boys, later on man, learn that touching someone without their consent is passable. That they can take what they want without question if the other one is willing to give. That is why we need to establish the real issue. It is not the women who trusted someone with her drink, the real issue is not the women who trusted a friend not to kiss or touch them. The real issue is not a woman who got assaulted. The real issue is the society that immedialty starts blaming the victim instead of the perpetrator. Shifting the blame to prevent the victim to speak about it. To silence the victim and to either ignore the predator's actions or even defend him. There is a reason why the 'nice guy' thing often used in TV and films are catastrophic. They act nice, let the woman think they can trust them and abuse the trust. They act innocent around everyone so friends can say something like 'He is not like that. She is lying'. News flash, men are like that.“ You make an artistic pause before starting again.

“we as the society don't need to act surprised why women do not speak up. We as the society silence them. We need to address the issue. Men who think it is okay to assault women, men who get away with it because our society rather focuses on what the woman should have done than address the assault. And before someone starts with 'but not all men'. We are talking about men as a social construct. Men who got raised like that. Men who do not speak up when their male friends assault or laugh when they make a sexist joke. Thanks for listening. Normally we do not ask for sponsors at these events, but Mr Ashford said our contacts for the project are printed on the flyer you all were handed when you had entered the hall. We want to encourage women, but also men who were abused, to go to court and to show that the estimated number of unreported cases is much higher.“

You get off the stage when the audience starts applauding. Anna greets you with a smile when you sit down for a moment and sip a glass of water.

You are mingling around the people later on. A few women expressed gratitude for the topics you covered in the speech.

“Well“, a man says, extended his hand. “That was impressive.“

He was older – not old but established. Expensive watch, tailored suit and a kind of confidence that suggested people usually listened when he spoke.

“I'm Harry Castillo.” You shook his hand carefully. “Thank you.” “No, I mean it. Most speakers talked about statistics. You talked about the people that represent the statistics.”

His attention lingered a second too long, not inappropriately just enough to notice.

“I work with several nonprofit initiatives. Funding, legal support. What your organization or project is planning to do deserves more visibility.” That immediately catches your attention because the project needs money. “That would help a lot.” “I would like to discuss it properly.” Harry replies. “Maybe dinner sometime this week?”

At first it sounds professional.

Then:

“You are very persuasive when you care about something. That is rare.” Harry adds softly.

“I think people tend to sound convincing when the topic matters to them.”

“So, you basically mentioned funding.” That seemed to amuse him. “Straight back to business” “Well, the project needs it.” “And you?” he asked smoothly. The question caught you off guard. “What about me?” “What do you need?” For a second the atmosphere shifted, subtle. Less like a donor speaking to an advocate, more like something personal to disguise itself as professional.

You crossed your arms lightly. “Currently? Enough support to keep victims from having to choose between justice and survival.” Harry nodded slowly, though his eyes never left yours.

“I can help with that”, he said. “Significantly” The way he said it made it sound like more than money. Before you could answer, he reached into his pocket and pulled out a sleek card, holding it out between two fingers. “My number. Use it whenever you want to discuss the project.” You took the card. Fingers brushed briefly.

“As mentioned earlier, I would prefer it over dinner.“ “And if I only want to talk about the organization?“ Harry's smile deepened. “Then we will talk about the organization” He stepped back slowly. “But I have a feeling you already know I'm interested in more than that.”

When you get pulled away by Anna, who wants to introduce you to another potential sponsor, the meeting with Harry can't get out of your mind. You did not want to assume that the dinner suggestion was intended to be flirtatious. But it appeared like that. Besides that, you should focus on spreading the awareness than a man who was interested in the project and maybe also you.

The dinner with Harry went smoothly after you had agreed to it.

The restaurant was visually stunning and whoever had designed the interior decor had an exquisite taste. There were some plants that created a soft and relaxing ambiance. The colors were mainly soft and didn't distract from the art that was on display for customers to observe.

Harry and you have already ordered and were now talking about the project. Since he had asked how and when you and your friends had the idea, you were talking about it a lot.

Reasons, statistics, experiences and how the idea had formed in your heads.

“A big issue is that those acts of sexual violence are not as present in universities when teaching about criminal law. That was why we thought we need to spread awareness, help victims with their cases and especially teach other law students and already qualified lawyers.“

„And the money from donations is for what excactly?” He asked you.

“The money is for material costs when interested lawyers and students want to be thought and informed about the law and what someone has to deal with when their client was assaulted. Or for the material we use to inform on events like the lawyer department one. Like flyers, cards, costs for apps we have to use to present the project or spreading awareness. Other costs are rent for the law firm we are currently looking for. Obviously, there are also the personal costs of the lawyers and law students who work and want to work for the project.”

“So, on the website that was on the flyer from the event, it is stated that donations can be provided every month or every year. What would you prefer and how do other donors do it?” he asked.

“Well, that depends on the donor of course. People who donate less, either donate like a few dollars per month or a larger sum each year. But we noticed that a small donation every month was way more useful because we had more predictability. But in the end it is obviously your choice. Money is still money.”

While you were explaining he did not take his eyes off you, listened attentively, like he was genuinely interested and absorbed information that left your mouth. If you had paid attention, you would have seen his eyes drifting to your mouth for a second.

Finally, you noticed. “Do you always stare at the person you want to donate money to?”, you almost said teasingly. He cleared his throat and looks away for a moment. “It was not my intention to stare at you. Rather, I was absorbing the information to remember it when I'm going to donate my money.” “So you are concentrating?” “Mostly”

As a law student you were still in need of money. You were a working student, working for a law firm that paid students for gaining experience with actual cases. The pay was okay, but due to being a law student there were a lot of law related materials you had to buy. For example buying basic law texts. They are not expensive in general but not anyone lets you have to pay for additional deliveries as well.

When you have to do the internship required for a law student, at a law firm or state parliament, then you would not earn money and it was more difficult to calculate how much money you could spend that month. Also you need to be dressed for court occasions. So you might need a few new suits, a fitting shirt and you need to look presentable.

That were a few of many reasons you need enough money and sadly could not donate it to the project as well.

Several weeks after the gala, you answered a call while walking home from Campus. Backpack hanging from one shoulder as you navigated the sidewalks. Your phone vibrated in your pocket. You pulled it out.

Harry Castillo calling

For some reason seeing his name immediately loosed something tense in your chest. Which was probably unhealthy.

“Hi” “Rough day?“ Harry asked immediately. You frowned. “You always skip greetings now?”

“You sound irritated“ “I'm irritated” “That bad?” You exhaled sharply. “My professor decided humiliating me publicly would apparently build character.” Harry hummed thoughtfully on the other end. “And did it?” “Oh absolutely. I'm transformed” A soft laugh crackled through the speaker.

“What happened?” “He tore apart my argument in front of the entire lecture hall” you admitted. “Spent twenty minutes explaining why my case interpretation would not survive real litigation.” “And was he right?” You stopped walking and glared at the phone. “You are supposed to defend me first” “So he was right” “He was partially right.” you corrected defensively. “There it is.” he murmured. “There is what?” “The part where you hate admitting someone made a better argument.” “I hate how smug he looked about it.” “You hate loosing.” “I hate being corrected publicly.” “That too”

“You know”, you muttered “You analyse people way too much.” “Only interesting people.” That answer came effortlessly. Too effortlessly.

Heat crawled faintly up your neck despite the cold rain. “You flirt with all your business partners too?” Harry laughed softly. “That sounded jealous.” he murmurs. “It sounded observant.”

“Mhm”

You rolled your eyes, though you were smiling before you even realized it. Traffic hissed past you.

“You are walking home?” Harry asked after a moment. “How did you know?” “Traffic in the background” “That could mean anything.” “At this time?” “You pay too much attention” “I like paying attention to you” he corrects.

You nearly missed a step. It seemed like people were moving around in a blur of dark coats and umbrellas while Harry's voice seemed unnaturally clear through the speaker. “That is a very dangerous sentence to say at night.” “I did not realise it sounded dangerous.” “You did”, you counter. “You are deflecting.” “I'm not.” “You are avoiding talking about yourself.”

“You know. Normal sponsors usually send emails.” you switch the topic. “I send emails too.”

“You call more” “I prefer hearing your voice.” For a moment neither of them spoke.

“What are you doing right now?” Harry asked. “Trying not to drown, mostly.” “No umbrella?” “I had one.” “That sounds past tense.” “The wind last week disagreed with its structural integrity.”

Harry laughed softly again. “You are impossible.” “And yet you keep calling.”, you argue. “Mhm.”

“You still have classes tomorrow?” Harry asked after a moment. “Eight a.m”

“And you are just getting home now.”

It wasn't quite concern yet. More like an observation. “That is usually how university works.”

“You say that like its a personality trait.” “Its basically is at this point.” A brief pause. Rain drops falling. Traffic hissed. Then: “You sound tired.” “Long week.” “I figured.”

For a moment neither of you spoke.

“So, how many hours are you actually sleeping these days?” You laughed softly. “That sounds dangerously close to concern.” “It sounds like a question.” “Mhm”

“You know, most people your age are probably enjoying their evenings instead of interrogating law students.” “Most law students do not work three jobs.” “I do not!” “University, the project and the law firm.” “I get paid.” “How much?” “Experience is also payment!”

You hear him sigh on the other side. He seems like he is considering something.

Then: what would you do if money wasn't part of the equation?” “What kind of question is that?”

“A simple one.” “It is not simple.” “Why not?” “I would probably cut back some hours at the firm. At least during exams.” Harry hummed softly. “And sleep occasionally?” “That feels ambitious.”

“You joke every time something is actually difficult.” “Occupational hazard.” “No, defence mechanism.” “You always do that.” you said. “Do what?” “Figure people out like it is game.” The answer came immediately: “It's not a game”

You swallowed carefully. “Then what it is?” “I just don't like the idea of you struggling when you shouldn't have to.” “That is a very generous thing to say for a sponsor, Mr Castillo.” “You keep calling me that like we are strangers. Remember, you rambled about last weekend.” “Well what should I call you then?” A soft chuckle. “You already know the answer to that.”

Harry.

Just Harry.

“You talk like you can just fix things.” A soft exhale through the phone. “I'm not trying to fix everything. Just the parts that are weighting you down for no reason.”

“Harry...” “I mean it. I can help you with that, if you would let me.”

By the time you pushed open the apartment door, Harry's idea still lingered in your head.

I can help you with that, if you would let me.

The apartment slightly smelled like instant noodles and burned toast. Anna was sprawled across the couch beneath a blanket, instant noodles in a bowl standing on the coffee table. “You look compromised.” You dropped your bag near the door. You ignored her, toeing off wet shoes.

“That donor called again, didn't he?” “He has a name.” “Mhm. So I was right.”

“We were discussing the organization.” “At midnight.” “It is barley midnight.” “Its ten thirty”

“Exactly!” “We both know, most sponsors send emails.”, Anna said.

“He sends emails too.” “But he calls!” “He likes conversations!” “You are defending him!”, Anna called out. “That is because you make it sound like it is weird.” “Because it is weird.”

“He calls you constantly.” “He does not call me constantly!” Anna raised an eyebrow. “Frequently”

“Girl, that is not better!” You sank into the armchair across the couch. “He is involved into the project. We talk about that.” “Mhm” “We do, Anna!”

“And what exactly was tonights very professional conversation about?” You hesitated for a moment. That alone made Anna sit up straighter. “Oh my god!” “It wasn't like that!” “You hesitated!” You sighed. “We talked about the university” “And?” “And the firm.” “And?”

You frowned. Not Anna as well. “Why are you interrogating me like this?” “Because you look like something is messing with you.” You threw a pillow at her and she caught it easily.

“So, what did rich mysterious benefactor say this time?” “He asked if they paid me enough at the firm” “Ah” “It wasn't weird!” “That answer keeps making things worse!” “That man is not talking to you like a sponsor.”

“He is being nice!” “He is invested!” “That is dramatic” “What is dramatic is a wealthy older man calling a sleep deprived law student at night just to discuss whether she is overworking herself!”

“It is not like that!” “Then what it is?” You opened your mouth. Nothing came out. Because there was a problem. You were not entirely sure anymore. “You like him” “No” “That was everything but not convincing.” “He is just...” Attentive. Calm. Observant. “You are impossible!”

“No, he is impossible. You are predictable.” “That is offensive” “You are exhausted, overworked, emotionally isolated and suddenly there is this older rich guy who remembers a lot you say.” “What did he actually say tonight?” Anna adds. “He said he could help”, you murmur. Anna's voice softened. “And how did he mean it?” “That is the problem. I don't know.” “You do know” You swallowed. Because maybe you did. Maybe that was why Harry's sentence lingered.

If you would let me. Had not sounded professional. “He didn't say anything inappropriate”

“I did not say he did. I'm also not saying he is particularly dangerous. Maybe he does care about you. I mean, you are a big part in our project and he is invested in it. But there has to be a reason.” “You think he expects something?” “Possible, yes.”

“Would you say no to his offer?”

Say no to this no, no.

“That is not a fair question.” “But it is a real one”, Anna said. “It is hypothetically!”

“You are making it sound like he is offered me a contract with no strings attached!”

“He hasn't actually offered anything.” “He basically asked how much your life costs!”

“That is not what he said!” “It is what he meant!”, Anna corrected gently. Silence stretched for a few minutes.“I don't think he means it like that”, you said but it sounded less certain now.

“Then what do you think it means?” That was the problem. What did he mean?

“I think...he is just being nice.” Anna snorted. “Either it stays professional or it does not. And if you ask me, whatever he wants from you, it is giving sugar baby vibes!” “Anna!” “He wants to help but instead of speculating, ask him instead.”

Your phone buzzed.

Once.

Twice.

“Speak of the devil”

Harry: “You got home? It is late”

You were laying across the couch with a blanket tangled around your legs when the phone buzzed beside you.

Harry calling.

“Tell me you are not still working.” Harry's voice came smooth through the speaker. “That depends on what qualifies as work.” “A dangerous answer already.” You shifted slightly on the couch.

“I'm not doing law stuff, if that helps.””Oh?” “I'm pretending to have a hobby.” A quiet laugh.

“And what hobby are we pretending to have tonight?” “Film analysis.” Harry hummed softly.

“That sounds unexpected normal.” “I'm offended by how surprised you sound.”

“You spend most of your time discussing legal systems and failure.”

“That doesn't mean I can't appreciate cinema.” “Mhm” You narrowed your eyes.

“What was that supposed to mean?” “It means I'm trying to picture you relaxing voluntarily.”

“That's rude.” “Its accurate.” “You are strangely in a better mood tonight.” “Am I?”, he asked.

“You are teasing me more.” “Maybe I'm relaxed.” “But you had a long day?” you asked.

“A few meetings. Nothing particularly interesting.” “You always say that about work.”

“Because most of it is repetitive.” “And talking to me?” The question slipped out before you could stop it. “No”

“That sounds very intentional.” “It was” “You know, Anna thinks you flirt with me.” Harry laughed softly. “Does she?” “Yes” “And what do you think?” “That is a trap.” “It is a question.”

“It is a manipulative question.” “Interesting choice of wording.” You groaned quietly.

“You do this on purpose.” “Do what?” “Make people say things first so you don't have to.”

“You think very highly of my social abilities.” “I do” “Hm”

It was just after midnight when you finally made it back to your apartment. Inside everything was quiet. You stared at the dark kitchen counter for a moment like it might explain something.

Your phone buzzed. Of course it did.

Harry.

“You are late.” he started. You let out a short laugh that didn't sound like amusement.

“Hi to you too” There was a silence. Not the comfortable kind. “You sound off” Harry said.

“I'm fine” Immediate answer. “I didn't ask if you were fine.” he replied. You leaned back against a wall near the door, eyes closing for a second. “I just had a long day.” you added. “Long how?”

“Just everything. Lectures, library, I had to rewrite half a paper because my citations were wrong and I didn't notice until I was almost done.” You stopped and pressed your fingers to your forehead, is if it would fix it. “Its stupid. I'm just tired.” You laughed once. “I can't even do basic formatting properly apparently. Which is great. Really assuring for my future career.”

It wasn't one thing. It was: too many deadlines, too little sleep, too many nights ending like this.

You slid down the wall slowly until you were sitting on the floor.

“Where are you right now?” he suddenly asked. “At home.” “Are you sitting down?” “Yeah”

“I'm just being dramatic, ignore me.”, you murmured. “I'm not.”, he replied. And that was the problem. He didn't since they started getting to know each other. “I don't have time to fall behind. I can't afford-“ your voice broke.

“You are not supposed to carry all of this alone.” “That is not how it works.” “I know how it works. I also know it doesn't have to be like this for you.” You didn't answer. “You are overwhelmed.” You swallowed hard. “Let me help you with that.”

You stayed on the floor. The words settled slowly, like something slowly sinking through water.

Let me help you with that. Not a suggestion. Not an observation. “You already do.” “I call” A faint humorless breath left you. “That counts for something.” “It is not what I meant.” Silence again.

“I don|'t know what you want me to say. You keep saying things like that” “Like what?”

“That you can help. That I don't have to do everything alone.”

“You are already behind on sleep.” he said gently. “That is not helpful.” “It is true.” A pause.

“But it is fixable.” Fixable

“I don't want to depend on anyone.” “I'm not asking you to be.” “Then what are you asking?”

“I'm saying you shouldn't have to keep doing this at this level without support. And if there is a way to reduce that pressure for you, I would rather you take it.” “You mean like what?” you asked carefully. “Like letting me take care of some of the financial pressure you are carrying.”

“You don't have to answer now.” he added. He was serious. It wasn't an impulsive idea.

“What exactly are you suggesting?” “Exactly?” “Yes, Harry. Exactly” A faint pause followed like he was choosing his words deliberately...

“I'm suggesting that some of the pressure you are under is unnecessary and I have the ability to remove part of it.”

...He failed.

“That is not an answer.” “I know.” “Then answer properly, Harry”

“I could cover your living expenses or part of them. Enough that you could reduce hours at the firm and actually focus on finishing your degree without running yourself into the ground.”

It very much sounded transactional.

“And what would that mean for me?” “It would mean I would help you, More directly than I am now.” “Harry, you know that is not what I meant.”

“I enjoy talking to you. You are intelligent, exhausting, ambitious and pardon me but far too comfortable with suffering through things alone.”

Despite everything, a small breath of laughter escaped you. He was insane.

“And yes, if I'm helping you like this, I would expect you in my life. More than just these calls.”

“There it is” you murmured. “There is what?” “The catch” you heard him chuckle.

“What does “in your life” mean exactly?” “Time together, dinners occasionally. Events when it makes sense.” “So what, I become your charity case that attends galas?” “No. I would never reduce you to that” Harry said calmly. “But I do think you would be very good beside me in those spaces.” he added. You didn't answer for a moment, processing. “You could talk about the project there if you wanted. Half those events are filled with people who throw money at causes they barely understand.”

So the idea shifts. Not being bought (although partly because of the money he offered). But being pulled into his world and maybe using it. You leaned back against the wall again.

“This sounds dangerously close to you trying to integrate me into your life.”

“that is because I am” Silence stretched again.

“What happens if I say yes to something like this?”

“First you hopefully sleep more than four hours a night.” You let out another small breath of laugher. “I'm serious.” “I know” “You cut back your hours at the firm during exam periods instead of pretending exhaustion is a personality trait.” “That one sounded targeted.” “It is.” “Oh and books.” he added. “Books?” you asked. “You spend ridiculous amounts on legal textbooks.”

“That is unfortunately accurate.” “Clothes for events as well” “Are you insulting my wardrobe?” “Unfortunately, yes. You have some good outfits I assume but some more wouldn't be bad.”

“And the other part?” “The part where you spend time with me?” That sounded like it was the most natural thing in the world. “Yes”

“Okay” you said. “Okay?” “Yes, okay.”

“Do we celebrate this life altering financial arrangement or is that too emotionally honest for you?”

A quiet laugh came through the phone. “Id prefer you eat something first.” “...romantic”

“I'm learning. Oh and send me your bank details.” “That was efficient “Sleep now” he murmured.

“Bossy already” you murmur but chuckle.

After the call you called Anna.

“I said yes to something” “Hello too you too. What is it?” “It is financial helpful.” you added. “Oh? From your mysterious rich man donor, who is way too much invested?” “It is not like that!” “Mhm” “He suggested helping with books, clothes for events oh and very important for both of us: rent!”

“So you got yourself a sugar daddy?”

“Anna, NO!

Over the newt few weeks, things did not change all at once. They just...accumulated. It started with evenings. Like the time you would be sitting in library, long after you meant to leave. Your phone would vibrate once on the table.

Harry.

He had send a screenshot of a delivery with food you had mentioned a few times.

Another message:

Harry: "Will arrive at yours in 30 minutes, you should probably hurry home if you don't want your roommate eating everything."

Since this started he became a bit bossy when you still forgot to eat at some point.

You packed your things while murmuring “bossy” a few times.

Another time, you complained, casually about needing to replace a blazer for an upcoming moot court. It was just frustration is passing but that night he sent a short message:

Harry: "There is a store on Hamiltons way. I have arranged something. Appointment is this week."

You stared at the phone for a long time.

You also kept doing small things. For example you brought him food you knew he would skip meals due to a meeting as well. Always reminding him that he could not lecture you about eating if he also forgot it occasionally.

At some point you saw each other as well. Not just a few texts or longer calls or emails. Mainly sitting in a cafe, slightly scolding each other when noticing lack of sleep. Today was such a meeting. But after the scolding the topics switched to your degree, seminars, his work and hobbies. At some point you planned going to an art gallery to do something else then work. Time passed while getting to know each other. Most funniest moment at a gala, favourite travel location but also more about food, books in general and childhood stories.

The dress arrived two days before one of the few galas they had agreed to attend. You almost missed the delivery entirely because you were buried in case notes when the doorbell rang downstairs. The box alone looked expensive enough to make you suspicious. It was minimal packaging, your name neatly on it. “Oh my god! He sent you rich people packaging!” “Shut up”

Inside was a garment bag. Black. Simple. You pulled the zipper down slowly. The dress inside was elegant. Dark fabric, clean lines and nothing too flashy.

Inside was a folded card:

the dress is simple because you don't need a flashy dress to outshine everyone.

– H

One moment you stared at the note, the other your phone buzzed.

Harry.

“Speaker!” “No” “Coward!” you ignored her and answered normally. “You are ridiculous.”

“Good afternoon to you too” “You sent me a dress!” “I did” “You can not casually send people things that probably require insurance.” A soft laugh came through the speaker.

“You are exaggerating” “You didn't have to do this.” “I know. I'll see you at the gala.” he says.

Getting ready took longer than expected. Each step felt like a decision you couldn't undo. Dress on. Zipper halfway stuck, then cooperating. Fabric settling into place like it had been waiting. You did a blow out style and did not ruin it (thanks to Anna).

Harry: "car arriving in ten"

The car outside was subtle. The driver greeted you politely, opening the door with practised ease. You slid inside, Harry was already seated. For a moment, neither of them spoke. The city moved outside the window, traffic, people. “This feels strange.” you murmured. “Which part?” “All of it. You are very calm about all of this.” “I'm used to it.“ They finally arrived and approached the venue. The building was already alive, lights, movement, people arriving. You stepped out beside Harry. Then Harry's hand hovered near the small of your back, not pushing or guiding. Just there.

“Stay with me.” You glanced at him“I thought I was already doing that.”

As they moved deeper into the gala, people approached. Greetings. Name exchanged. Interest. Move on. Some also talked a bit about businesses as well.

“Harry”, one approached. “Didn't expect you tonight.” “I said I might come.”, he replied evenly.

“And you must be...” But before you could talk, Harry introduced you. Also mentioning your project. “She is involved in a project focused on supporting victims navigating court and reducing stigma around reporting.” You blinked at him. That was very intentional. “Oh, that is a difficult area of work.” the woman said. “It is” you replied. They started talking about the process of the project, focal subjects.

That is how most conversations continued. Harry introducing you and you talking about the project. And he was right, some just wanted to throw money on projects, others were not as happy about the idea (mostly men).

Music carried through the space, glass clinked somewhere, voice blurred into background noises.

“You look like you actually enjoy this”, you said at some point. “I don't“ he replied immediately. “That was fast.” “Habit to correct assumptions.” Expect when the assumption is if he flirts with you, apparently. “But I enjoy this part more than most of it.” “Which part?” “Right now.” That landed differently. “You realize you are becoming oddly good at this whole emotional reassurance thing?” you suddenly asked. A faint smile appeared. “I am adapting.” “Terrifying” you said teasingly. “Noted. Are you enjoying tonight at all?“ “More than I thought I would.” “Because of the event. Do not get ideas” you added quickly. “I would not dare” But the way he looked at you made it clear he already had.

You ended up stepping away. The balcony doors opened. The cool air hit immediately, cutting through the warm. “I needed that” you said after exhaling. Harry stepped out beside you, closing the door behind you two. “Too much?” “People.” A faint understanding hum. You leaned your forearms on the railing. The silence felt charged in a way you could not ignore anymore. When you glanzed sideways, Harry was already looking at you. “What?” “Nothing.” “That is a lie” A pause. “I was just thinking.” “Dangerous habit.” “Only sometimes.” “About what?” you asked. Harry did not answer immediately. “I keep telling myself this is manageable.”, he said finally. “That sounds like something you say when it is not.” “Possibly” “Harry” “yes?” “What does it mean?” He exhaled once, twice. “It means that I started this with a very clear idea of what this is.”You did not interrupt.

“And I still can explain the idea. Financial support, structure, something that makes your life easier.” A beat. “But I do not think that is the part I am focused on.” “So what are you focused on?”

“You.” That was it. “That is very direct for you. And you realize what that changes.” “I do.”

The space between them felt smaller than it already was.“You are impossible.” “I've been told“

“You can not just say things like that and just stand there like it is normal.” “It is not normal.”

“Not comforting, Harry.” “It is honest.” You pulled on his sleeve, space narrowing, “This is a bad idea.” “I know” The kiss that followed was not hesitant. Harry's hand lifted, just resting at the side of your waist. Like he was confirming you were actually there. They pulled away.

“Do you want to leave?“ you asked. “Yes, with you.“

“By the way that is the worst way annyone has ever gotten a sugar daddy.“ “The worst?”

“Yes, other people get jewelery, money, expensive dinner and way too many clothes. I got emotionally analysed and teased into kissing you.”

"luxury problem" Harry Castillo x f!sugar baby!reader, in which reader needs financial stability and Harry is more than willing to provide it.

And I realised, it might be a bit political lmao

Johnny x Simon x reader!

Summary: Soap starts noticing you in every room before he means to. Laughing a little too easily, watching a little too closely. And then he notices Ghost doing the same thing, quiet, controlled but impossible to ignore once you notice.

Soap tells himself its nothing.

Until he realizes he's not just watching you anymore – he is watching Ghost watch you too.

masterlist prev next

Joel Miller x f!reader

summary: In the quiet town of Jackson, Reader and Joel are inseparable – friends who share everything, yet neither realizes how close they’ve really become. When someone from Joel’s past comes back into town, their easy rhythm is disrupted, and feelings neither expected begin to surface. As jealousy, secrets, and unspoken attraction weave through their days, Reader starts to wonder if friendship has always been something more.

reader and joel being oblivious, everyone knows, pinning for each other, flirting, tension, side eyes, small town, gossip

A/N: I'm back, yay. Sorry for postponing the chapter but I was ill- Oh and another hamilton reference in the title, yay

wc: 2.5k

Joel starts coming in earlier than before, but it doesn’t look like a decision he announces to himself. It looks more like something that happened once, then again, and then quietly turned into habit without asking permission. First it’s a quarter past opening. Then it’s right as you’re still setting up the pastry trays and the machine is warming through its first uneasy sputters. Then it’s before you’ve even finished counting the till.

The café itself is small in a way that makes presence feel louder than it should. Every sound has a surface to bounce off. The grinder is too sharp in the mornings, almost aggressive. The door chimes with a thin metallic insistence every time it opens, like it’s trying to remind everyone that something has entered. Joel stops just inside that threshold more often now, as if he’s learned the timing of the room.

At first, it was easy to categorize him. A regular. Then a familiar regular. Then someone who tips well and doesn’t make a mess of the space. But now there’s a gap in that classification that keeps widening.

He leans against the counter while you work, not in the way people do when they’re waiting, but in the way people do when they’re staying. One elbow on the wood, weight distributed as if he’s not planning to move anytime soon. His eyes don’t travel the room the way most customers’ do. They don’t check exits or glance at other patrons or drift toward the pastry case. They stay on you. Not intensely, not in a way that would make it easy to call it out but steadily, like a point of reference he’s quietly decided on.

You notice it in fragments. When you’re steaming milk and hear him ask something that takes you a second too long to parse because it isn’t really about coffee. When you’re wiping the counter and realize he’s waiting for you to finish the motion before he continues speaking. When he remembers something you said weeks ago, something you barely registered saying out loud yourself, and brings it back into the present without ceremony.

“You said you don’t like cinnamon in flat whites,” he mentions one morning, like it’s a passing thought, not a retrieval.

You pause for half a second too long. You don’t remember saying it. Or maybe you do, but it wasn’t important enough to store.

He notices that pause. Doesn’t comment on it. Just waits.

There’s something about the way he waits that makes silence feel like part of his conversation style, not an absence of it.

Behind you, the café keeps moving. Cups clink. The grinder kicks on again. Someone laughs near the window seat and then lowers their voice like they’ve been reminded they’re in public. But at the counter, the pace feels different. Narrowed. Like the rest of the room has been pushed slightly out of focus.

Alice starts to notice before you do, or at least she starts reacting before anything is fully visible.

At first, it’s subtle. She adjusts her timing. Comes in earlier on the days he usually appears. Not dramatically – just enough that it’s noticeable if you’re paying attention to patterns.

But when you stack them together, they form a shape.

She starts positioning herself closer to the counter. Not constantly, not in a way that would look territorial from the outside. Just enough that when Joel arrives, she’s already within the orbit of the interaction. Ready. Available. Present.

Joel still talks to you first. That’s the part that doesn’t shift.

Even when Alice is the one to greet him, his attention doesn’t settle on her for long. It passes through her and returns to you like it’s following something more stable than politeness.

Alice doesn’t react in obvious ways. She’s too controlled for that. But there are micro adjustments that accumulate if you know her well enough. A slightly longer pause before she walks away. A glance that lingers half a second longer than necessary. The way she stops asking him casual questions and starts asking ones that require answers, not openings.

You feel it most when you’re not directly involved in the exchange. When you’re restocking lids or wiping down tables and you catch fragments of their interaction at the edge of your attention. It’s not confrontation. Not yet. It doesn’t have that clarity. It’s more like adjustment, three people recalibrating themselves around something nobody has defined.

Joel brings things now. Small things at first. Nothing that looks meaningful on its own.

A pastry from the bakery two streets down, the one you once mentioned had better croissants than this place. A coffee blend he says he “thought you might want to try,” though you don’t remember expressing curiosity about it. A book, once, left on the counter without explanation, just slid into the space beside the register like it already belonged there.

Each item is careful. Not extravagant. Not performative in the obvious sense. That’s what makes it harder to place.

He remembers details without making a show of remembering them. He doesn’t say “I remembered this for you,” or wait for acknowledgment. He just places things into the world as if they were always going to end up there.

Alice notices all of it.

She starts watching him more directly when she thinks no one is looking. Not openly suspicious, not confrontational. More like she’s trying to solve a problem whose rules keep changing. When she talks to him, her tone stays light, but the structure of her sentences tightens. Fewer openings. More control over direction.

“You’re here early again,” she says one morning, almost conversational.

Joel shrugs slightly. “It’s quieter.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

A pause. Not defensive. Just measured.

“I like it better this way,” he says eventually.

It doesn’t clarify anything. But it doesn’t close anything either.

The café keeps its routine around them like it’s trying to pretend nothing has shifted. Orders still stack up. The rush still arrives with its familiar pressure. Someone always burns milk at least once a day. But under all of it, there’s a second layer now, subtle, continuous, like a frequency just beneath hearing range.

Joel’s attention remains the consistent variable. That’s what makes it noticeable. It doesn’t scatter. It doesn’t dilute. Even when he’s speaking to Alice, even when he’s ordering, even when the café is crowded and noise should fracture focus, it returns. Quietly. Repeatedly. To you.

It isn’t loud enough to accuse. But it’s steady enough to register.

Showing up on a day you weren’t expecting him, just as you’re opening alone and not acting surprised to see you there.

Or saying your name in conversation in a way that doesn’t feel necessary but feels intentional.

Alice stops pretending she isn’t tracking these things.

She starts arriving not just earlier, but more aligned with his timing. As if she’s trying to meet a pattern that keeps slipping just out of reach. When Joel is there, she stays closer. When he leaves, she lingers longer.

There’s a kind of geometry forming in the space between the three of you, though no one acknowledges it directly. Lines of attention that cross more often than they should. Points of focus that keep reassigning themselves without agreement.

It’s not dramatic. That’s what makes it harder to dismiss.

One afternoon, the café is unusually quiet. A lull between lunch and the late crowd. Sunlight comes in at a low angle through the front window, catching dust in the air and making everything look briefly suspended.

Joel is at the counter. You’re behind the machine, doing maintenance you’ve already done twice this week.

Joel speaks first, like he often does, but softer this time.

“You ever feel like a place starts recognizing you before you do?”

Then, after a pause, “Like it adjusts around you.”

You don’t respond right away. The machine hum fills the space instead. A small mechanical insistence that feels, oddly, like it’s giving you time to think.

The moment passes without resolution. It just folds back into the room.

But afterward, things don’t fully return to how they were.

They never do, really. That’s the part nobody says out loud.

Joel keeps coming in. Alice keeps adjusting. You keep working in the middle of it, noticing more than you want to and naming less than you could. The café stays the same size. The counter stays the same length. The door still chimes when it opens.

But the space between people, the part that used to be simple, has started to hold something else.

Not confrontation.

Not yet.

Just awareness, stretched thin enough that it changes how every small movement lands.

The café’s gone soft around the edges by late afternoon.

The rush is over. No grinder screaming, no line curling toward the door, no half heard conversations piling over each other. Just the low hum of the fridge behind the counter and the occasional clink of dishes from the sink in the back. Sunlight stretches across the floorboards in long amber stripes, catching on chair legs and the little scratches worn into the wood from years of people dragging stools around without thinking about it.

You’re standing on one of those stools now, balancing badly.

One arm is full of ceramic cups pressed against your chest while you reach up with the other hand for the last jar of sugar shoved all the way to the back of the top shelf. Your fingertips barely brush the lid.

“Come on,” you mutter under your breath, stretching farther.

The stool wobbles a little.

Then a voice, low and close enough to make your stomach tighten before your brain catches up.

“Careful.”

Joel.

You glance sideways just as he steps in beside you. Close. Closer than you expected.

“Lemme.”

Before you can answer, his hand reaches past yours, fingers grazing lightly over your wrist as he grabs the jar with almost no effort at all. It’s such a small touch you probably shouldn’t notice it.

You do anyway.

His skin is warm. Rough at the fingertips. Familiar in a way that sneaks up on you.

He sets the sugar jar down on the counter beside your hip, but he doesn’t immediately step back. You’re still half turned toward him, cups trapped awkwardly against your chest, and suddenly there’s barely any space left between you at all.

You can feel the heat coming off him.

Soap. Coffee. Cedar, maybe, faint on his jacket.

It hits you all at once.

Joel looks up at you from under the brim of his faded cap, one hand still resting on the edge of the counter beside you. Steadying the stool, you realize a second later.

Like he thought you might actually fall.

“You know,” you say quietly, “I could’ve gotten that.”

A soft sound leaves him. Almost a laugh. Almost.

“Yeah?” he says.

“Yes.”

His eyes flick down briefly to the way you’re still balancing like your life choices brought you to this exact moment. Then back up again.

“You were about one bad decision away from breaking every cup in your arms.”

“That feels dramatic.”

“It feels accurate.”

You huff out a laugh despite yourself, and his mouth twitches at the corner. Tiny thing. Barely there. Somehow worse than a full smile.

Because Joel smiling always feels earned.

You finally climb down from the stool, and for a second you end up directly in front of him. Close enough that if either of you moved even a little-

Neither of you does.

The café suddenly feels very quiet.

Outside, somebody passes the window. A car rolls slowly through the intersection. Somewhere in the back, the dishwasher clicks loudly as it finishes its cycle.

But right here, between you and Joel, everything goes still.

“You ever stop moving?” he asks after a moment.

You blink. “What?”

“You’re always doing something.” His gaze drifts toward the stack of menus waiting to be cleaned, the towel hanging from your apron string, the half finished prep list near the register. “Every time I come in here, you’re working.”

“I work here,” you point out.

“Mhm.”

“That’s kind of the job.”

Joel leans back against the counter then, arms folding loosely across his chest. The movement finally gives you enough air to breathe properly again, though not by much.

“I mean really stop,” he says.

There’s no teasing in it now.

You look at him for a second too long before glancing away. “I take breaks.”

“When somebody forces you to.”

“That is not true.”

His silence says otherwise.

You busy your hands with the cups because suddenly you need something to do. Wiping down already clean ceramic is ridiculous, but it’s better than standing there wondering why one quiet conversation feels more intimate than it should.

Joel watches you for another second.

Not intense. Not pushy.

Just... attentive.

Like he notices things he doesn’t talk about.

“I like it here when it’s like this,” he says eventually.

You glance over. “Slow?”

“Quiet.”

A pause.

Then, softer, almost distracted, like the thought slipped out before he could stop it:

“Feels different when it’s just you here.”

Your breath catches a little on that.

Joel seems to realize what he said a second after it leaves his mouth, because his jaw tightens faintly, eyes dropping toward the counter. But he doesn’t take it back.

Doesn’t joke.

Doesn’t soften it into something easier.

And somehow that makes it worse.

Or better.

You honestly can’t tell anymore.

“So,” you say, because the silence is starting to feel dangerous now, “you saving me from airborne sugar jars part of your daily routine?”

That gets another almost smile from him.

“Somebody’s gotta keep you alive.”

“I was never in danger.”

“The stool disagreed.”

You shake your head, laughing under your breath, and when you look back at him he’s already watching you again. Quietly. Steadily.

The kind of look that lingers.

Not touching. Not crossing a line. Joel’s too careful for that.

But the space between you feels thin now. Like something’s wearing through it little by little, every quiet afternoon, every lingering glance, every excuse he finds to stay five minutes longer after finishing his coffee.

And the worst part is.

You’re starting to wait for it too.

masterlist

Simon Riley x f!reader

summary: You are not dating but after every deployment, Simon comes back to you. Nothing is defined but but it's already too intimate to call it nothing.

cw: smut, pussy talking, making out

A/N: not completely satisfied with the smut but I hope you'll still like it

wc: 2k

It starts casually enough that neither of you notices when it stops being casual.

A shirt left behind after a rushed morning.

Sweatpants hooked over the end of his bed because Simon likes you in his clothes more than he’ll ever admit out loud.

A hoodie abandoned on his bedroom floor for three straight weeks that he never tells you to take home.

The arrangement between you has always been messy by design.

No labels.

No expectations.

Just late nights and rough kisses and Simon Riley opening his apartment door already knowing exactly why you came over. Sometimes you disappear before sunrise. Sometimes you stay three days. Sometimes he comes back from deployment and shows up at your place without warning, exhausted and touch starved, and you let him in without a word.

It works because neither of you asks for more.

At least that’s the lie.

Because Simon starts memorizing things.

Which side of the bed you unconsciously drift toward.

Which shirts you steal most often.

The fact you hate wearing jeans the morning after staying over.

And slowly, without discussion, pieces of you begin appearing inside his room like evidence.

Hair ties around his lamp.

Your moisturizer beside his sink.

A pair of shorts folded at the end of his bed.

You expect him to eventually get irritated by it. Simon likes order. Clean spaces. Everything controlled.

Instead, he starts making room.

Literally.

The door barely shuts before Simon’s hands are on you.

Rough palms sliding under your coat, dragging you against him hard enough to knock the breath from your lungs. Rainwater still clings to your coat. He tug your coat off your shoulders.

Three weeks gone.

Three weeks with barely any contact beyond short texts sent at impossible hours.

alive.

home tomorrow.

miss the way you sound.

And now he’s here, standing in the middle of his flat looking exhausted enough to collapse but still kissing you like he’s starving.

“Missed me that bad?” you murmur against his mouth.

Simon answers by gripping your jaw and kissing you deeper.

That’s enough of an answer.

You stumble backward together through the apartment, half laughing when your hip bumps the kitchen counter. Simon doesn’t laugh. He just stares at you with those dark, heavy eyes like he’s still trying to convince himself you’re actually here.

His thumb brushes under your lower lip.

“You cut your hair.”

“You noticed?”

“'Course I noticed.”

The words come out almost offended.

Something twists low in your stomach.

Then his mouth is back on yours before you can answer, all heat and desperation and restrained aggression. Simon kisses like a man trying not to lose control entirely. Every movement feels deliberate. Tight with restraint.

Which only makes it worse when that restraint slips.

He immediately crowds into you again, large body forcing you back toward the hallway wall.

“Simon-”

“Been thinkin’ about this all week,” he mutters against your throat.

His voice is wrecked. Deep. Honest in a way he never is outside moments like this.

You feel his hand slide beneath your shirt, rough fingertips dragging slowly over bare skin like he needs the reminder.

Still here.

Still real.

Your fingers hook into the front of his shirt, pulling him closer until there’s no space left between you at all.

“Bedroom,” you whisper.

Simon exhales sharply through his nose, almost a laugh.

“Yeah.”

But neither of you makes it there gracefully.

Halfway down the hall he kisses you again and suddenly you’re both distracted, tangled, bumping into walls and furniture while trying to pull clothes off each other.

“You’re impatient,” you breathe.

“You’re talkin’ too much.”

“You like when I talk.”

A dark look flashes across his face at that.

Then he grips the back of your thighs and lifts you effortlessly, pinning you against the wall. The sound that leaves you makes his head drop briefly against your shoulder.

“Christ.”

It’s the closest thing to losing composure you’ve ever seen from him.

You run your fingers through the short hair at the nape of his neck, feeling the tension there. The exhaustion. The lingering adrenaline from whatever mission he just came back from.

Simon carries everything inside himself like a wound stitched shut too fast.

But with you, sometimes it cracks open.

His forehead presses against yours for a brief second.

Too intimate.

Too soft.

You feel it the moment he realizes it too, because he immediately kisses you harder, one hand gripping your waist tightly enough to bruise.

The bedroom is dim when he finally gets you there.

He pushes you gently onto the mattress and stands between your knees.

Simon Riley always stops right here like he’s checking whether you’re still certain.

Whether he’s still allowed to have this.

You reach for him first.

His expression shifts instantly.

Then he’s back on you, slower now, heavier somehow. The earlier desperation melting into something more deliberate. His hands roam like he’s relearning your body after every absence.

His lips brush your skin like a whisper, light and deliberate, sending a shiver that travels from your collarbone down to your core. You catch your breath as his fingers tighten around the sheets beneath you, the subtle sound of your gasp fueling his hunger.

He presses his mouth deeper, first with gentle sucking, then with teasing bites that leave a trail of warmth and excitement in their wake.

Simon watches you with a sly smile, a spark of satisfaction glowing in his eyes before he claims your lips again. Your hands find their way into his hair, fingers tangling and pulling just enough to elicit a soft groan from deep in his throat. With your other hand, you trace slow, teasing circles along his shoulders, feeling the tension and release beneath your touch.

His hand slides beneath your shirt, fingertips exploring the smooth planes of your stomach and the curve of your waist. The unexpected contact makes you gasp, a sound swallowed quickly by the press of his mouth against yours.

Breaking the kiss, he tugs at your shirt – a silent question that you answer by lifting your arms, letting the fabric fall away. The shirt hits the floor somewhere out of sight, irrelevant to the two of you in this moment.

Simon’s lips travel down your jawline, planting soft, lingering kisses that make your skin bloom with sensation. He moves lower, savoring every sigh and breath you offer. His fingers cup your breast, kneading with a roughness that betrays his need to feel something tangible, to ground himself in this intimate space.

His lips shift to your other breast, pressing gentle kisses before capturing your nipple between his teeth. A moan escapes you, raw and unguarded.

“Quiet was never your thing, huh?” he murmurs against your skin.

You smile against him. “Don’t pretend like you want me to be.”

“Fair enough,” he replies, voice low and amused.

His lips descend again, hands deftly working to pull down your pants. When he reaches your panties – simple cotton, softened and soaked –he chuckles with dark fondness.

“She missed me,” he murmurs possessively. “Missed her just as much. Can’t wait to have her all over again.”

“Wait, are you–”

“Yes,” he interrupts smoothly. “We both know you can’t do what I do. Fill her up with just two fingers. Don’t think I forgot your complaints.”

Before you can protest, he strips your panties away, admiring your bare skin with hungry eyes.

“So beautiful,” he breathes.

His fingers glide to your thighs, caressing tenderly now, a stark contrast to his earlier urgency. His lips follow, planting soft kisses that send tingles through your body.

“I dreamed about her,” he confesses, voice thick with desire. “Every moan of yours, every shudder while I buried myself inside her. How she took me in, missed me.”

His fingers find his belt, undoing it with practiced ease as he removes his pants and boxer briefs. The cool air brushes his skin, heightening the tension between you.

He positions himself, slowly entering you. The sound you make– a moan, a gasp– is the music he lives for.

“Yes,” he groans, voice rough with need. “My favorite sound, right after hearing my name on your lips.”

You move together, bodies syncing in an ancient dance of desire and connection. His hands grip your waist, pulling you close, while his lips trace fiery paths along your neck, biting and kissing as he burries himself inside you. The passion between you blazes bright, overwhelming everything but the raw, perfect moment you share.

One night you’re digging through the pile of clothes you left on his bedroom chair trying to find a clean shirt while Simon sits on the edge of the bed watching you silently.

“You’re lookin’ for somethin’?” he asks.

“My dignity.”

“Won’t find that in here.”

You snort softly and throw one of his shirts at him.

“Most of these are yours anyway.”

“Exactly."

Simon catches the shirt one handed. Watches you for a second too long.

Then he stands.

You think he’s going to help you look, but instead he walks to his closet. Large hand gripping the handle before pulling open the bottom drawer.

It’s half full of neatly folded shirts and dark cargo pants.

Without looking at you, he starts taking some of them out.

Folded carefully. Methodically.

Your stomach tightens immediately.

“Simon…”

He shrugs like this means nothing. Like his pulse isn’t visibly beating in his throat.

“You keep leavin’ your clothes here.”

There’s something dangerously casual about the way he says it.

Like he isn’t aware this feels more intimate than him having you in his bed.

You stare as he clears the entire left side of the drawer.

Space.

For you.

Inside his room.

Inside his life.

Simon finally glances over, expression guarded already, like he regrets it now that you’ve gone quiet.

“Don’t make a thing out of it,” he mutters.

Which, of course, guarantees it immediately becomes a thing.

“You’re giving me a drawer.”

“It’s storage.”

“In your bedroom.”

“You complain every bloody morning you’ve got nothin’ to wear.”

You lean against the dresser slowly, studying him. “So your solution was domesticity?”

His jaw tightens instantly.

“Jesus Christ.”

The panic in his eyes almost makes you smile.

Not because he’s afraid of you – Simon Riley fears almost nothing – but because he’s terrified of what this gesture reveals about him.

That he thought about you when you weren’t there.

That he wants you there often enough to justify permanent space.

That somewhere along the line, your presence stopped feeling temporary.

“You don’t have to freak out,” he says gruffly.

“I’m not freaking out.”

“You’re lookin’ at me weird.”

“That’s because this is weird.”

Simon scoffs and moves to shove the drawer closed again. “Forget it then.”

But you stop him first.

Your hand wraps around his wrist.

Gentle.

He stills instantly.

Then, without breaking eye contact, you walk toward the pile of clothes abandoned near his bed, pick up one of your hoodies, and fold it carefully before placing it inside the drawer.

Simon watches the entire thing silently.

You add another shirt.

Then another.

By the third item, something in his expression shifts. Subtle. Almost impossible to catch.

Relief.

It hits you so hard your chest aches.

Because this massive, terrifying man had genuinely prepared himself for you to reject the offer.

“Happy?” you ask quietly.

Simon looks at the drawer for a long second before answering.

“Yeah,” he says, voice rougher now.

Then after a pause:

...because therapy is expensive and fictional men are unfortunately free

masterlist

★ completed ☆ ongoing 𐚁 smut

!from newest to oldest fic!

one shots:

TAKE A BREAK (6k+) ★

reader is an exhausted law student, delivering speeches about consent and society issues, who catches the attention of donor Harry Castillo. What starts as a professional sponsor ship, shifts into a sugar baby arrangement with late night calls and financial support, blurring the lines slowly.

A TABLE FOR TWO (EVENTUALLY) (0.9k words) ★

stood up and fed up, you stay for one last drink. Only to meet a stranger who was just left behind as well. But in a night that was supposed to end in a disappointment, you might find something real.

BETWEEN WORK AND US (2.2 words) ★

Late in his office, Harry Castillo faces the weight of work - but your presence grounds him, offering comfort, quiet intimacy and a rare chance to simply breathe.

BUY ME PRESENTS (1.1k words) ★

playful, flirty night in Harry’s penthouse that settles into quiet intimacy around the christmas season

TREMBLING SILENCE (1.2k words) ★

a fragile calm shatters, leaving two hearts bruised and unraveling.

series:

THE CHRISTMAS BET (15k+ words) ★

when your friends bet you and Harry Castillo – the man you definitely don’t have feelings for (allegedly)– that you can’t spend the christmas days together without getting finally together, you’re determined to prove them wrong. He is determined to win too. Even though everyone can see the way you two flirt, hover and stare at each other like it’s a habit neither of you can break.

FOR SHOW FOR NOW (26k+ words) ★

...one grumpy old man and suddenly some people can't behave anymore

masterlist

★ completed ☆ ongoing 𐚁 smut

!from newest to oldest fic!

one shots:

UNRUSHED (1.4k words) ★

a snowed in morning in Jackson gives you and Joel rare peace – slow coffee, shared warmth and quiet intimacy.

MIRROR (1.7k words) ★

after stumbling home bruised and bleeding, Joel lets you patch him up in the bathroom. Under the cracked mirror’s light, but through quiet care and a few raw words, you show him what he can’t see himself – that he’s still human, still worth loving.

WHAT WE LEAVE UNHEARD (1.1k words) ★

a restless night. a guitar. a few chords taught. sometimes silence says more than words ever could.

series:

CROSSING THE LINE (20k+ words) ☆

In the quiet town of Jackson, Reader and Joel are inseparable –friends who share everything, yet neither realizes how close they’ve really become. When someone from Joel’s past comes back into town, their easy rhythm is disrupted, and feelings neither expected begin to surface. As jealousy, secrets, and unspoken attraction weave through their days, Reader starts to wonder if friendship has always been something more.

WHAT WE DON'T TELL (13k+ words) ☆ 𐚁

ONE SHOT IDEAS:

JOHN PRICE

"a better man" John Price x f!reader, in which John takes care of reader after another failed date

" Objection, captain" John Price x lawyer!wife- reader, in which the base finally meets his wife, only because he forgot his lunch at home.

"Silenced" John Price x wife!reader (former: Simon Riley x f!reader), in which John introduces his wife to the team and realises that the ex Simon she has talked about, the emotional distance she experienced in that relationship, is the same guy on his team

SIMON RILEY

"a sacrifice" in which God!Ghost receives f!reader as a sacrifice

"sister fucker" Simon Riley x f!reader, in which Simon Riley finally confesses his feelings to his best friends sister

"just moved in" Simon Riley x reader, in which they both finally move in together

"between rage and want" younger!Simon Riley x f!reader, in which they both realise that the passionate hate might not the only passionate feeling they have for each other

"Just us, unposted " hockey!Simon Riley x f!influencer!reader, in which he keeps reader as his no strings attached escape after games.

ONE SHOT IDEAS:

HARRY CASTILLO

"luxury problem" Harry Castillo x f!sugar baby!reader, in which reader needs financial stability and Harry is more than willing to provide it.

"no strings" Harry Castillo x f!reader, in which occasionally one night stands slowly blur into something emotionally complicated, until reader realises she gets attached.

"Far, not gone" Harry Castillo x f!reader, in which they try to handle a long distance relationship that looks manageable on surface.

"Wrong night, right problem" Harry Castillo x f!reader, in which two friends swear an accidental one night stand will never happen again, but the tension doesn't disappear. Eye contact lasts too long, touches linger a second too long.

JOEL MILLER

"take the ride" Bull rider!Joel Miller x f!reader, in which Joel isn't the ony one who might be doing the riding.

when will there be an update for “what comes next”? I’m obsessed with the slow burn friends to lovers between Joel and reader!!

can we get a snippet plz? 🥹🥹🥹

Heyy, sorry for taking so long, here is the short snippet of the chapter for next week!!

The café is quieter than usual, the late afternoon light slanting in through the windows in long stripes across the floor.

You're on a stool behind the counter, reaching for the last jar of sugar. It's just out of reach, not high enough to be dramatic but just inconvenient enough to make you stretch.

You don't notice him until he's already there.

Joel.

"Let me" he says, voice close.

Before you can answer, his hands comes up beside yours, brushing your wirst lightly as he takes the jar from the shelf. It's quick, efficient.

But he doesn't step back.

For half a second you're both just there. Close enough that you can feel the warm of his breath. The faintest scent of soap.

"Thanks", you say a bit too quickly.

Joel hums once, like he heard you but isn't in a hurry to response. He finally lowers the jar, sets it down on the counter with a quiet thud.

"You can go back to whatever you were doing before coming in", you say softer.

A pause.

"Wasn't doin' much" he says.

That should end it.

It doesn't.

Heyy, you'll probably get a snippet next week and a new chapter in two!

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who was supposed to just be competition.

Another band. Another ego.

It should have stayed that way.

It almost did.

Until that night.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who blames it on the alcohol.

On the cheap beer, the too strong drinks someone kept handing him, the way

Convenient.

Safe.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who tells himself that's why he didn't walk away when he saw you in the empty hallway.

Why you didn't walk away either.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who definitely blames the alcohol for what happened next

For how fast it escalated.

For the lack of space between you.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who kissed you first.

Impulsive.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who barley registers what he's done before-

You slap him.

Hard.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who looks back at you, expecting anger, rejection.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who gets none of that.

Because you grab him instead.

Pull him back in and kiss him.

rivalband-member!Simon Riley who forgets right then, every reason why this is a bad idea.

masterlist

rivalbandmember!simon riley x f!reader

summary: Simon is the drummer of your rival band. You’re everything he shouldn't want. But some temptations are louder than loyalty and impossible to ignore.

smut, rivals to lovers, lovers who actually should be rivals, !bandau, band rivals, tension, competitive tension, teasing, stage rivalry, jealousy, hooking up, mutual frustration, lingering looks, pride issues, deflecting, mutual pining, backstage drama, interviews, dirty little secret, sneaking around, romance, intimacy, kissing, song writing, flirting

teaser

©inkhours

album ● coming soon

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intro[duction]ㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤㅤ♡ ⋯