Would you consider writing a Drabble where Harry is sick with the flu and reader is trying to look after him, but he doesnât want to slow down / rest đ
Stay - A Harry Castillo Drabble
Harry Castillo doesnât get sick often. And when he does, he refuses to call it what it is.
It starts the same way it always does - him pretending nothing is wrong.
The first time you notice, heâs at his desk in his penthouse overlooking New York City, laptop open, half-empty coffee beside him, shoulders slightly too stiff for someone whoâs supposedly âjust tired.â
âYou look awful,â you say from the doorway.
âIâm fine,â he replies instantly. Which is how you know he isnât.
His voice is rougher than usual. Thereâs a box of tissues on the desk that definitely wasnât there yesterday. And heâs blinking a little slower than normal, like even that takes effort he doesnât want to admit to.
âYouâre sick,â you say.
âIâm busy.â
âYouâre sick and busy.â
That earns you a look. Sharp, tired, defensive on instinct. He tries to go back to his screen anyway.
You walk in, take the laptop, and close it.
Harry stares at you like youâve just interrupted the biggest deal he would ever make.
âThat was...â
âUrgent?â you finish. âNo. It wasnât. Youâve replied to the same email three times in different fonts. Youâre done.â
He opens his mouth to argue....but coughs instead.
Deep. Unpleasant. The kind that bends his shoulders forward for a second like his body is reminding him it doesnât care about his schedule.
You soften despite yourself.
âOkay,â you say more gently. âBed.â
âI canât slow down right now.â Itâs not arrogance. Not really. Itâs habit. The belief that if he stops, everything will fall apart.
You step closer and press the back of your hand to his forehead before he can dodge it.
It's warm. Too warm. Your expression changes immediately.
ââŠYouâre burning up baby.â
His jaw tightens like thatâs somehow an inconvenience he can negotiate with.
âItâs subjective.â
âItâs medical.â
âItâs inconvenient.â
That almost makes you laugh, but not quite, just an obvious eye roll will do.
âYouâre going to bed. No excuses.â
âI have calls.â
âYou have a fever.â
âI donât..â
âHarry.â Just his name. Nothing else. Thatâs what finally slows him. Not force. Not argument. Just you.
He exhales through his nose, long and controlled, like heâs still trying to win a debate his body has already lost.
âFive minutes,â he mutters.
âYou always say that.â
Still, he stands. Carefully. Stubbornly. Like rest is something he can schedule between obligations. You know he will never change.
You donât let him go back to the desk. You guide him instead, quiet pressure, steady presence until he finally gives up pretending he isnât exhausted.
In the bedroom, he sits on the edge of the bed like itâs temporary. Like he might be called back at any moment. Like stopping is something he has to justify. But the comfort it gives his body is hard to ignore and you can see him slowly ease into it.
You hand him water and he typically takes it but doesnât drink.
âYouâre not working,â you said firmly.
âIâm thinking.â
âAbout work?â
ââŠYes.â
âNo. Harry you need rest. You are no good to anyone this unwell. You'll make yourself feel worse!â you say softly.
That shuts him down in a different way. Not resistance this time. Just stillness.
He watches you for a moment, eyes heavy but alert in that stubborn, lingering way. He sees the look in your eyes practically begging him to slow down.
âThis is inefficient,â he says quietly. He has to have the final say.
âYouâre welcome.â you joke as you pull some cold and flu tablets out of the side cabinet.
That almost gets something out of him, something close to a laugh but it fades before it fully forms. He lies back anyway in defeat. He knew you were right, he just hated to admit it sometimes.
You pull the blanket up over him, and for once he doesnât stop you. You watch as you see his body fully relax into the duvet.
âYouâre still here,â he says after a moment.
âYeah,â you reply, sitting beside him now, your nails running through his curly hair. âUnfortunately for your productivity system.â
A faint exhale. Softer this time. His eyes stay on you. Just watching, wondering how he got so lucky.
âYou shouldnât be this nice to me,â he murmurs.
âWhy?â
âBecause Iâll get used to it.â
That lands between you heavier than anything else heâs said all night. You had been seeing each other for just over a year now on and off, and neither of you would admit what this relationship was, but you had both fallen for each other hard. You adjust the blanket around him, slower now.
âMaybe you should,â you say.
Something shifts in his expression, small, almost imperceptible. Like he doesnât quite know what to do with that answer.
âIâm not good atâŠâ he starts, then stops.
At needing. At letting go. At being anything other than in control. You already knew what he meant, he didn't need to say it out loud.
âYou donât have to be good at it,â you finish for him gently. âYou just have to let it happen.â
Silence. Then, slowly, his hand finds yours, holding on like itâs the only thing keeping him anchored.
His eyes start to drift closed, but even then he doesnât let go.
âDonât let me sleep through anything important,â he murmurs as he relaxed into your nails catching through his hair.
âI think the only important thing right now is you sleeping,â you whisper back.
Then, quieter than everything else:
ââŠStay."
You stay as his breathing evens out, as the tension finally leaves his face, as the man who runs half the financial world stops trying to hold it together for a few hours.
And for once, Harry Castillo doesnât fight rest.
I have an idea for a Harry Castillo one shot since you wrote ideas are welcomeđ„° What about something like reader and Harry are out on a date and when they leave a restaurant or something there is like a paparazzi or journalists going after them because of some rough time (or scandal) in his company and itâs getting serious. Theyâre not so long together and reader is not used to the attention and it gets her a bit scared. But Harry is our tough man and handles this, consoles her. And sheâs also there for him because heâs clearly stressedđ„°
Just an idea. Love your writing. Byeđ«¶
In The Noise - Harry Castillo One Shot
It was only your third proper date.
That thought sits quietly in the back of your mind as you smooth down your outfit in the reflection of the restaurant window, pretending youâre not aware of how expensive everything inside probably is. Or how out of place you still feel, even after Harry insisted this place was âlow-key.â
Harry Castillo reaches for your hand as soon as you step inside, like heâs already decided thatâs just what happens now. Like itâs normal. Like you belong in his world as easily as he does.
Youâre still not sure you believe that. He was New York's billionaire private equity bachelor and you... Well you were a chance encounter at a coffee shop that somehow turned into a third date.
And still, Harry couldnât seem to look away from you.
Youâre sitting across from him in a deep red dress that catches the low restaurant lighting every time you move. Nothing loud. Nothing flashy. But it clings just enough to make him lose his focus mid-sentence more than once.
Harry keeps telling himself he should stop staring.
He doesnât.
Because itâs not just the dress. Itâs you in it.
The way you rest your hand near your glass without thinking about it. The way you laugh softly at something he said like heâs more interesting than he has any right to be. The way you donât seem entirely aware of what youâre doing to him.
Heâs supposed to be paying attention to everything else - work, messages lighting up his phone face-down on the table, the constant background hum of responsibility he can never fully switch off.
But every time he looks up, itâs you.
And itâs becoming a problem.
Not an unpleasant one.
Just⊠dangerous in a way he hasnât quite figured out how to name yet..
âYouâre staring again,â you say lightly, smiling into your wine glass.
Harry exhales a quiet laugh, caught. âAm I?â
âYou are.â
He doesnât deny it this time.
Instead, his eyes flick over you again, slower now, like heâs deciding thereâs no point pretending otherwise.
âI canât help it,â he admits.
That makes you pause slightly, like you werenât expecting honesty to come that easily.
Dinner is⊠good. Better than good, actually. There are moments where it almost feels easy, his laugh when you tease him about how seriously he takes wine menus, the way he listens like heâs genuinely interested in every small thing you say. Not distracted. Not half elsewhere.
But thereâs still that thin line between you.
Not awkward. Not uncomfortable.
Just⊠new.
Like youâre both careful not to move too fast and accidentally break whatever this is before it becomes real.
When the bill is finally taken care of, Harry stands first and offers you his hand again. Same gesture as always. Still slightly formal in a way that makes you think heâs aware heâs building a habit around you.
Outside, the air is colder than expected.
You barely take two steps before you hear it.
âHarry! Is it true your company is under investigation?â
âCan you comment on the restructuring rumours?â
âIs she involved in any of this?â
The last one lands differently.
Because itâs not just about him.
Itâs about you.
Flash.
Then another.
The world shifts in seconds from quiet pavement to noise and light and movement you didnât agree to be part of. Everything around you moved fast and slow at the same time. You saw this thing all the time on celebrity Instagram channels but you never thought for a second you would be on the other side of it.
Your body reacts before your mind does, you step slightly back, instinctively letting go of Harryâs hand without realizing it.
That tiny loss of contact feels worse than it should. You were red dot surrounded by a sea of men with cameras and bright flashes.
Harry notices immediately.
Of course he does.
But thereâs something different in his reaction too. A split-second hesitation that wasnât there earlier tonight. Like even he hasnât fully figured out what you are to him in moments like this.
Then he steps in front of you anyway.
Not fully protective yet in the practiced way of someone used to this. More instinct than strategy.
âDonât engage,â he says to you quietly without looking back. Then, louder: âNo comment.â
The journalists press closer.
You hear your name again. It makes your stomach drop. How did they know your name?
Because thatâs the part you werenât prepared for. Him being known is one thing. You being known because of him is something else entirely.
A camera flashes right in your face.
You flinch.
And thatâs when everything shifts.
âDonât film her,â he adds, voice lower now. Dangerous in its calm. âI said move.â
Youâve only known him three dates, but youâve never seen this version of him up close. The one who doesnât raise his voice but makes everyone listen anyway.
But something in your chest tightens anyway.
Not just from the attention.
From how tightly heâs holding himself together underneath it.
âHarry,â you say softly, reaching for his sleeve.
He doesnât hear you at first.
Or maybe he hears everything except you.
âGive her space,â he repeats, sharper now. âThis isnât up for discussion.â
Harryâs hand finds your arm, not rough, just immediate.
You could feel his grip around your hand getting tighter as the crowds rushed around you, names being called, questions being shouted.
But Harry doesnât let it escalate.
âBack up,â he says firmly now, voice cutting through the noise. âGive her space.â It was all becoming too much, you could feel the crowd and flashes swell amongst you, the car feeling miles away.
Someone pushes through the small gap between the crow of people and in the rush of bodies and cameras, a paparazzi shoves forward, hard enough that it catches you off guard.
You stumble slightly sideways, shoulder brushing sharply against the sea of cameras next to you.
âHey!â Harryâs voice snaps instantly, cutting through the noise.
Everything around you seems to freeze for half a second.
His hand is on you immediately, steadying you, pulling you closer behind him.
âAre you okay?â he asks quickly, eyes scanning your face, not the cameras.
âIâm fine,â you say automatically, though your heartbeat is louder than it should be.
But he doesnât relax. His attention locks onto the person who pushed forward.
âDonât touch her,â he says sharply.
The paparazzi tries to talk over him, camera still raised.
Harry steps forward instantly, no hesitation, no space left between calm and anger now.
âI said donât touch her,â he repeats, lower this time. Controlled. Final.
Your hand finds his arm instinctively.
âHarry,â you say softly, grounding him without thinking.
He hears you but it takes a second for it to reach him. His body is still too tense, still halfway in protection mode.
âIâve got it,â he says automatically.
âI know,â you reply gently, squeezing his arm in reassurance. âIâm okay.â
That finally shifts something.
Thereâs a pause like theyâre deciding whether he means it.
He does.
And something in his expression finally settles into something sharper. More certain. Less businessman, more boundary.
âSheâs not part of your story,â he adds. âMove.â
You had kept your head down the whole time to keep an eye on your footing, careful not to trip in your stilettos again.
You felt Harry pull you in front of him as you saw his Black SUV and driver holding the door open for you as you approached.
âDid they hurt you?â he asks, quieter now as he helped you into the car, his hand staying on the small of your back.
âNo,â you say. âJust startled.â
His jaw tightens like he hates even that.
âIâm sorry,â he says immediately. âI shouldnât have let it get that close.â
âIt wasnât your fault,â you tell him softly.
That makes his eyes flick to yours.
Something in his expression softens but thereâs still tension there, still lingering adrenaline he hasnât fully shaken off.
You squeeze his hand gently.
âIâm okay,â you repeat. âIâm here.â
A long breath leaves him but the flash of the camera start to blind you as you wait for Harry to shut the door.
âOkay,â he says quietly. âLetâs get you home.â
As he closes the door, cameras and people swarm around him as he moves to the other side of the car. You try to cover your face as they try to take pictures through the window.
When he gets inside, the silence feels almost unreal.
Harry shuts the door and finally exhales.
For a second, he just sits there, staring forward like heâs recalibrating.
Then he glances at you.
And whatever composure he had outside shifts not gone, just strained.
âYou okay?â he asks.
Itâs such a simple question. But it feels loaded now.
Because itâs only the third date.
And youâre not sure what answer is expected.
âI think so,â you say carefully. Then, honest: âI just⊠wasnât expecting that.â
His hand rests between you on the seat, close but not quite touching at first, like heâs still deciding if he should.
Then it moves slowly to yours.
âI shouldâve warned you better,â he says. âI didnât think itâd escalate like that.â
You look at him properly now. You had even realised that his driver had already set off through the New York streets leaving behind the hoards of people.
Up close, he doesnât look like the man outside the restaurant. Thereâs no controlled boardroom version here. Just someone tense around the edges, like heâs still hearing the noise even though itâs gone.
âYou looked like you knew exactly what to do,â you say quietly.
A faint, tired exhale.
âIâve had more practice than you.â
That lands between you.
Because it highlights the gap you hadnât really thought about before tonight.
Youâre still learning what kind of person he is over dinner conversations and small touches.
Heâs already living in a world where people shout about his life on sidewalks.
His thumb moves slightly over your hand, slower now.
âYou donât have to keep doing this if itâs too much,â he says, watching you closely. âIâd understand.â
There it is.
The first real crack of uncertainty.
Not in the situation.
In you.
You hesitate. Because part of you is still shaken. Still adjusting to the idea that this is what being near him means.
But another part of you remembers the way he looked at you across the table earlier. Like you werenât noise. Like you were something he actually wanted to hear. Not just a distraction, something more.
âI'm not going to run just because it got loud once,â you say eventually.
His expression softens slightly but not fully relieved. Still cautious.
âOnce,â he repeats, almost like he doesnât believe that word will stay true.
You squeeze his hand this time first.
A pause settles between you.
The car is still moving, city lights sliding across the windows in slow streaks. Inside, everything feels quieter but heavier in a different way.
Harry looks at you like heâs still trying to fully come back from what just happened outside. Like part of him is still standing between you and the noise..
Then something in his expression shifts slightly as you squeeze his hand.
âThen we figure it out,â you say softly.
A breath.
âI like you, Harry...really, a lot,â you add, holding his gaze now. âAnd I know youâll always protect me⊠whatever happens.â
That does it.
Not in a dramatic way. Not all at once.
Just a slow, visible change in him like something heâs been holding too tightly finally loosens, even if only a little.
His thumb stills over your hand.
âYou shouldnât have to know that this early,â he says quietly, almost under his breath.
âBut I do,â you reply.
A beat.
He studies you for a moment longer, like heâs weighing every version of what this could mean.
Then his grip on your hand tightens, gentle, not restrictive. Certain, but careful.
âI will protect you,â he says finally, voice lower now. âBut I donât want you to feel like youâre stepping into something you canât step out of.â
That makes your chest tighten a little.
Because itâs him, even now, still making space for you to leave..
âIâm not saying it because I feel trapped,â you tell him quietly. âIâm saying it because I want to stay.â.
Silence follows. Not uncomfortable. Just real.
Then, finally, his shoulders drop a fraction more than before.
âYeah?â he asks softly..
âYeah.â
The silence in the car doesnât feel empty anymore.
It feels full.
Not uncomfortable, just heavy with everything neither of you has properly said out loud yet.
Harry still hasnât let go of your hand.
But his grip has softened. More present than protective now.
Like heâs stopped bracing for something that isnât happening anymore.
The city passes outside in blurred light and movement, like the world has already moved on from what just happened.
He hasnât.
You glance at him once.
His jaw is still a little tight, but his eyes arenât on the road ahead the same way they were earlier. He keeps flicking his attention back to you, quick, subtle checks. Like he needs to make sure youâre still okay every few seconds.
âYouâre quiet,â he says eventually.
âIâm just⊠thinking,â you reply softly.
A beat.
âAbout tonight?â he asks.
You nod once.
That makes something shift in his expression again, smaller this time, but noticeable.
âI shouldnât have let it get like that outside the restaurant,â he says quietly.
âItâs not your fault,â you answer immediately.
His thumb moves once over your knuckles, slower now.
âIt still shouldnât have happened around you.â
You donât respond right away.
Because you can hear it in his voice, heâs not just talking about logistics. Heâs replaying it. Rebuilding it. Trying to control something that already happened.
And youâve only known him three dates, but youâre starting to recognize when he disappears into his own head like that.
âHarry,â you say gently.
He looks at you.
Properly this time.
You hold his gaze. âIâm okay.â
âI know,â he says, but it doesnât fully land like he believes it yet.
You exhale slightly, shifting closer on the seat. âI am. With you.â
That makes him go still. Not tense. Just⊠still.
Like that sentence hits somewhere deeper than the rest.
A quiet beat passes. Then he speaks again, more careful now.
âI donât want you going back to that alone tonight.â
You blink slightly. He continues before you can answer
âJust....stay at mine,â he adds, softer. âYou donât have to feel unsafe getting out of the car. Or walking in alone. Nothing like that.â
Immediately, you can hear it. This isnât about control. Itâs about prevention.
About him trying to remove even the smallest risk he can think of after what just happened.
You look at him for a second, reading the way heâs holding himself together.
âYouâre not asking because you think I canât handle it,â you say quietly.
His jaw tightens slightly.
âIâm asking because I donât want you to have to,â he corrects.
That lands between you.
Honest. Unpolished. A little too real for how new everything still is.
You glance down at your joined hands then back up at him.
âOkay,â you say simply.
He blinks once, like he wasnât expecting that to be so easy.
You give him a small, reassuring smile. âBut not because I feel unsafe. Because I want to stay with you tonight.â
Something in his expression loosens immediately at that.
Not fully relaxed but no longer locked up inside his own head.
âYeah?â he asks quietly.
âYeah."
Then his grip on your hand tightens just slightly, not protective now.
âOkay,â he says again, softer. âThen come home with me.â
And for the first time since you stepped outside the restaurant, the space between you doesnât feel like pressure.
The kitchen smells like vanilla and warm sugar, the kind that clings to your clothes and makes everything feel softer than it really is.
âYouâve put far too much icing on that one,â Anne says lightly, though thereâs a smile in her voice as she leans over your shoulder.
You glance down at the cupcake in your hand, admittedly buried beneath an enthusiastic swirl of frosting, and laugh. âHe wonât complain.â
âNo,â she agrees, amused. âHe absolutely wonât.â
Thereâs something easy about being here. You hadnât expected that. Sitting at Harryâs childhood kitchen table, sleeves pushed up, surrounded by half-decorated cupcakes and ribbons and a mess of coloured tissue paper - it should feel intimidating.
Instead, it feels⊠warm.
Anne reaches for another piping bag, nudging your elbow gently. âHere, try this one. Smaller tip. A bit more control.â
You take it, concentrating as you attempt a neater swirl this time. âI feel like Iâm being assessed.â
âOh, you are,â she teases. âVery seriously.â
You grin, glancing at her. âAnd? Am I passing?â
She hums thoughtfully, watching you finish the swirl. âYou care about him,â she says simply. âThatâs the only test that matters.â
Your hands still for a second, something soft settling in your chest. âI really do.â
âI know,â she replies, just as gently.
Thereâs a pause, not awkward, just quiet. Comfortable.
You set the cupcake down carefully. âDo you think heâll like all this?â you ask, gesturing to the decorations spread across the table. âI know heâs not⊠big on fuss and he usually has fancier birthdays than this....â
Anne smiles, glancing around the room, already half-transformed with fairy lights and carefully chosen details. âHe pretends he isnât,â she says. âBut he notices everything. Especially when itâs done with love.â
You swallow a little, nodding.
âBesides,â she adds, a playful glint in her eye, âhe wonât be able to focus on anything else once he sees youâve organised it.â
Your cheeks warm instantly. âThatâs not...this isnât just me. Youâve done most of it.â
âOh, Iâve hosted plenty of parties,â she says, waving it off. âBut this?â She gestures between the two of you, the mess, the effort. âThis is different.â
âDifferent how?â
Anne meets your eyes, her expression soft, knowing. âHeâs different with you. It's...more him.â
The words land gently, but they stay.
You look down at your hands, at the faint dusting of icing sugar across your fingers. âHe makes me feel⊠safe,â you admit quietly. âLike everything slows down a bit when Iâm with him.â
Anneâs smile deepens, something proud flickering there. âHeâs always had that in him. Just needed the right person to bring it out.â
Your throat tightens slightly, emotion catching you off guard.
Before you can say anything else, Anne claps her hands together lightly. âRight...enough sentiment. We still have balloons to blow up and a cake to finish.â
You laugh, grateful for the shift, and reach for a ribbon. âIâm actually quite excited to see his face.â
âOh, me too,â she says, eyes sparkling. âHeâll try to act all calm about it. Maybe do that little nod he does....â
You immediately mimic it, earning a laugh from her.
âExactly that,â she says, pointing at you. âBut give it five minutes and heâll be hugging everyone, thanking you about ten times over.â
You smile at the thought, something warm blooming in your chest.
âThank you,â you say suddenly.
Anne pauses, looking at you. âFor what, love?â
âFor⊠this. For making me feel like Iâm part of it. Of his life.â
Her expression softens completely then, stepping closer to squeeze your hand gently. âYou are part of it,â she says. âAnd Iâm very glad you are.â
Thereâs no hesitation in her voice. No doubt.
And as you stand there, surrounded by half-finished decorations and the quiet hum of something new and meaningful forming between you, you realise...
Youâre not just planning a party.
Youâre building something that feels a lot like home.
*****
He knows somethingâs off the second he walks in.
Itâs too quiet.
Not empty - just⊠expectant.
âHello?â Harry calls, keys still in his hand, shrugging his coat off slowly as his eyes scan the hallway. Thereâs a faint glow coming from the living room, warmer than usual. Softer.
And then....
âSurprise!â
The lights flick on all at once, voices overlapping, laughter spilling into the space as the room comes alive.
Harry freezes.
For a split second, he just stands there, taking it in, the decorations, the people, the way everything feels carefully placed, intentional. Familiar faces, a few he hadnât expected⊠and then...
You.
Right at the centre of it all.
His eyes find you instantly, like they always do.
And something in his chest pulls tight.
You did this.
Itâs not even a question.
He can see it in the details, the way the colours work together, the small touches he wouldnât have thought anyone noticed. Things heâs mentioned once, in passing. The kind of things people forget.
But you didnât.
His gaze flickers briefly to his mum, standing just behind you, her smile soft and knowing and it clicks into place.
Both of you.
Harry exhales, a quiet, almost disbelieving breath as he runs a hand through his hair, trying to catch up with the moment.
He should say something.
Should do something.
But for a second, all he can think is...
No oneâs ever done this like this before.
Not really.
Not in a way that feels⊠him.
Thereâs always been parties, sure. Noise. Attention. Cameras, sometimes. People filling space because thatâs what you do on a birthday.
But this?
This feels different.
This feels like being seen.
His eyes come back to you, softer now, something unguarded slipping through before he can stop it.
Youâre watching him, just a little nervously, like youâre trying to read his reaction.
And thatâs what does it.
Because suddenly itâs not about the party at all.
Itâs about you standing there, hoping you got it right.
Harryâs lips part slightly, a quiet laugh leaving him under his breath as he shakes his head, stepping further into the room.
âYeah,â he says softly, more to himself than anyone else. âYou did.â
Then, louder, still a little dazed, but smiling now.
âAlright⊠this is...â he gestures vaguely, like he doesnât quite have the words, â...this is a lot.â
Thereâs a ripple of laughter around the room, but he barely hears it.
Heâs already moving toward you.
Each step feels a bit more grounded, a bit more real, until heâs right in front of you, close enough to see every tiny shift in your expression.
âYou planned all this?â he asks quietly, even though he already knows the answer.
You shrug, a little bashful. âWith your mom.â
His eyes flicker again, just for a second, to where sheâs watching, proud, happy, before they settle back on you.
And something in him justâŠ
gives.
Softens completely.
âCourse you did,â he murmurs.
Thereâs a beat where he just looks at you, like heâs trying to memorise the moment.
Then he pulls you into him.
Itâs not quick. Not casual.
Itâs tight, one arm around your shoulders, the other pressing you close, like he needs you there for a second.
Like this is the part that matters most.
He exhales against you, quieter now. âThank you.â
The words are simple, but they land heavy.
Because what he means is...
You didnât just throw me a party.
You paid attention.
You cared enough to get it right.
You made it feel like home.
He pulls back slightly, just enough to look at you again, thumb brushing absentmindedly along your arm.
âYouâve set the bar ridiculously high now, by the way,â he adds, a small grin tugging at his mouth, though his eyes are still soft. âIâm gonna have to start panicking about your birthday.â
You laugh, the tension breaking, but he doesnât move away.
Doesnât want to.
Because even with the room full of people, music starting up, voices rising again...
Heâs still a little stuck on the fact that you did this.
That you know him.
And maybe, just maybe, that heâs never felt quite this loved walking into a room before.
I've been trying to find the space to write this update but I have a huge amount of requests in my inbox for more Harry Castillo drabbles relating to mostly pregnancy related requests - which I am so amazed you enjoy my writing!
Due to personal reasons I'm going to have to put a pause on those requests until further notice. I don't want to go into too much detail for now which I hope you can appreciate.
I am open to any other requests as I love writing for you all! Hope you can understand for now
Would you perhaps consider writing a Drabble where reader is having contractions two months early and she is panicking, because Harry doesnât answer his phone? đ€đ„čâ€ïž
Thank you again for your content đ
Before We Were Ready - Harry Castillo Drabble
It starts as a tightening.
Not painful. Not at first. Just⊠strange.
You freeze.
Youâre in the nursery - the one that still smells faintly of fresh paint and lavender linen spray - folding the tiny onesies Harry insisted on ordering in every shade of purple because âour baby deserves options.â
âOkay,â you whisper to yourself. âThatâs new.â
You press your palm against the curve of your belly, waiting.
It eases.
You exhale shakily. Braxton Hicks. It has to be. Youâre only seven months. Two months early isnât just earlyâitâs terrifying.
You reach for your phone anyway.
Harry đ
He told you this morning he had a board presentation. Phones off. Major investors in the room. Something about an acquisition worth more money than you can even conceptualize.
You hit call. It rings.
And rings.
And rings.
You pace the living room while it goes to voicemail. âHi, itâs Harry. I canât get to the phone right now...â
âHarry,â you breathe, trying to keep your voice steady. âCall me back. Please. I think...I donât know. Just call me.â
Another tightening grips you mid-sentence.
This one hurts.
You suck in a sharp breath and brace yourself against the back of the couch. It steals the air from your lungs, wraps around your spine, squeezes until your knees wobble.
âNo, no, no,â you murmur. âItâs too early. You canât - itâs too early.â
You fumble to open the contraction timer app your doctor insisted you download âjust in case.â Your fingers shake so badly you nearly drop the phone.
Five minutes later, it happens again.
Stronger.
You bend forward this time, clutching your belly. Panic crawls up your throat, hot and suffocating.
You call him again.
Straight to voicemail.
Your chest tightens for a completely different reason.
Before he left this morning heâd kissed your forehead before leaving, crouching down to press a ridiculous amount of kisses to your stomach.
âDonât come out yet,â heâd told the bump playfully. âDaddyâs not emotionally prepared.â
You laugh now, but it cracks in the middle.
âHarry,â you whisper, dialing again even though you know it wonât change anything. âPlease pick up. I need you.â
Another contraction builds before the call even connects. This one makes you gasp, vision blurring at the edges.
You slide down the couch until youâre sitting on the floor.
Youâre not ready. The nursery isnât finished. The hospital bag isnât packed. You havenât even washed the newborn sheets yet. The baby is supposed to stay safe and warm inside you for two more months.
Tears spill over.
Your phone slips from your hand onto the rug.
âI canât do this alone,â you cry softly.
The contraction fades, leaving you trembling.
Then q thought. You scrolled through the contacts on your phone landing on one name.
Nina - PA
Harry's trusted personal assistant. You pressed call and within two rings, she answered.
"Hey, Harry is still in his..."
"Nina you need to get him out... I think the baby is coming." You cried down the phone, relief flooding you that you have a way to get to Harry.
"Shit, okay just let me..." And the line cut off. You screamed as your stomach cramped again, your hand crardeling your bump.
And then...
Your phone buzzes violently against the floor.
You scramble for it.
Harry đ calling
You answer before the first full ring. âHarry....â
âWhatâs wrong?â His voice is already tight, breathless, as Nina called him out of his board meeting. âNina called me out - are you okay? Is the baby okay?â
You break.
âI think - I think Iâm having contractions,â you choke. âTheyâre five minutes apart. I donât know what to do. Itâs too early, Harry, itâs too early...â
Thereâs shuffling on his end. A door slamming. Muffled voices asking if everythingâs alright.
âListen to me,â he says firmly, and that tone - steady, grounding - cuts through the panic spiraling in your head. âHave you called the doctor?â
âN-no.â
âOkay. Thatâs the first thing weâre doing. Iâm on my way home right now. I donât care what I have to cancel. Iâm coming.â
Another contraction hits. You whimper, pressing your forehead to your knees.
âIâm scared,â you admit.
âI know, love. I know.â His voice softens instantly. âBut you are the strongest person I know. And our baby is stubborn, yeah? Probably just practicing to scare us.â
A shaky laugh escapes you.
âIâm serious,â he continues. âPremature doesnât mean impossible. Hospitals handle this every day. Weâve got doctors, nurses, everyone. The best in the city. Youâre not alone.â
You breathe in deeply, trying to match your inhales to the sound of his.
âI need you here,â you whisper.
âIâm five minutes away,â he promises. âStay on the phone with me. Talk to me. Tell me what youâre feeling.â
You describe the tightening, the pressure, the fear sitting heavy in your chest. He listens to every word like itâs sacred.
When the next contraction comes, he counts you through it.
âIn for four⊠out for six⊠thatâs it, sweetheart. Youâre doing so good. Iâm so proud of you.â
Proud.
The word steadies something inside you.
You hear a car door slam through the phone. Footsteps pounding. Keys fumbling.
And then your front door bursts open.
âWhere are you?â he calls breathlessly.
âNursery,â you manage.
Footsteps pound up the stairs two at a time.
He appears in the doorway seconds later - no jacket, tie gone, sleeves rolled, hair disheveled. He doesnât look like the untouchable CEO who commands rooms full of billionaires.
He looks terrified.
He drops to his knees in front of you without hesitation, gathering you into his arms on the nursery floor.
âIâve got you,â he murmurs, cupping your face. His hands are shaking. âOkay? Iâm right here.â
Another contraction hits and you clutch his shirt.
He presses his forehead to yours.
âYou are not doing this alone,â he says fiercely. âIf our baby wants to make a dramatic entrance two months early, then weâll handle it. The hospital is ready. The carâs outside. Everything is taken care of.â
His thumb brushes away your tears.
âAnd if I have to buy the entire hospital to keep you both safe, I will.â
You let out a watery laugh despite the pain.
Thatâs your Harry.
Powerful enough to shift markets with a phone call.
Helpless enough to crumble when youâre hurting.
He kisses your knuckles as another contraction builds.
âBreathe with me,â he whispers. âIâm not going anywhere. Not now. Not ever.â
And for the first time since it started, the fear doesnât feel quite so overwhelming.
Because youâre in his arms.
And no matter how early the baby comes you know heâll be right there. đ€
Love your workđ would you write something about reader nearly having a nervous breakdown, because she is so scared of the birth of their first child? Harry is careful/ supportive of reader or something like that đđ
Let Me Hold the Panic - A Harry Castillo Drabble
The fear doesnât announce itself.
It seeps in quietly, settling behind your ribs, tightening little by little until you donât notice it anymore, until suddenly youâre struggling to breathe around it. Youâre standing in the bedroom, folding the same tiny onesie for the third time because your hands wonât quite cooperate, your thoughts looping endlessly.
What if it hurts too much.
What if I panic.
What if I freeze and canât do what Iâm supposed to do.
Your throat closes.
You sit down hard on the edge of the bed, the fabric slipping from your fingers. Your heart starts racing, too fast, too loud, like itâs trying to escape. Tears prick your eyes, frustration and fear tangling together until you feel completely overwhelmed by your own body.
âI canât,â you whisper, though thereâs no one there yet. âI actually canât do this.â
Your shoulders start to shake.
Harry hears you before he sees you - the uneven breathing, the quiet, broken sound you make when youâre trying not to cry. He pauses in the doorway, taking you in: curled in on yourself, arms wrapped protectively around your stomach, like youâre bracing for impact.
âOh, baby,â he murmurs.
He crosses the room slowly, deliberately, and sits in front of you, close enough that his knees brush yours. He doesnât touch you right away, just looks at you with that soft, open expression that always makes your chest ache.
âCan I?â he asks gently, gesturing to your hands.
You nod, barely.
The moment his fingers lace through yours, you break. Tears spill over, hot and relentless, and you bow your head as if embarrassed by how hard itâs hitting you.
âIâm so scared,â you choke. âEveryone keeps acting like this is just - something you get through. But I feel like Iâm standing at the edge of something enormous and I donât know how Iâm supposed to step into it.â
Harryâs grip tightens, grounding.
âYeah,â he says quietly. âThat makes sense.â
You look up at him, startled. âIt does?â
âCourse it does,â he replies. âYouâre about to do something completely unknown, something massive, something that matters. Anyone who wasnât scared would be a little concerning.â
That earns a weak, tearful huff of a laugh.
He smiles softly, relieved to see it, and scoots closer until his forehead rests against yours.
âAnd listen,â he adds, voice dropping conspiratorially, "Your brain is currently acting like youâre about to wrestle a dragon with no training. Which youâre not. Youâre having a baby. With doctors. And drugs. And me - who will absolutely be the most annoying support person alive. And will provide snacks on request.â
Despite yourself, a small laugh escapes.
âThere it is,â he murmurs, squeezing your hands. âThat laugh. Missed that.â
Then his tone shifts- softer, steadier.
âListen to me,â he says. âYou donât have to know how to do this. You donât have to feel ready. No one ever does. Weâll take it minute by minute. Contraction by contraction. Breath by breath.â
But when your breath stutters again, he sobers immediately.
âOkay,â he says softly. âWeâre gonna take care of you now.â
He guides you back gently, easing you down onto the bed, never rushing, never letting go. He climbs in beside you and pulls you into his chest, your head tucked under his chin, his arms wrapped securely around you.
âJust rest here,â he whispers. âLet me hold the panic for a bit.â
His hand moves in slow, steady circles over your back, the rhythm unchanging, something you can focus on when your thoughts try to spiral again. Another hand rests over your belly, warm and reassuring.
âBreathe with me,â he murmurs. âIn⊠good. And out. Thatâs it. Youâre doing perfect.â
Your body gradually starts to soften, tension melting away in tiny increments. Your breathing evens out. The tears slow.
âIâm scared Iâll fall apart when itâs time,â you admit quietly.
Harry presses a kiss into your hair.
âThen you fall apart,â he says simply. âAnd Iâll be right there. Iâll hold your hand, remind you to breathe, tell you terrible jokes if necessary.â
You smile against him.
âAnd when itâs over,â he continues softly, âIâll be there too. Youâll be tired and sore and emotional, and Iâll tuck you in, bring you water, tell you how incredible you are, probably cry a bit myself.â
You tilt your head up to look at him.
âYou will?â
âAbsolutely,â he says, eyes shining. âIâm very emotional.â
That makes you laugh properly, and he grins, relieved.
He shifts slightly so youâre more comfortable, tucking the blanket around you, his thumb tracing slow, absent-minded patterns on your arm.
âYou donât have to do everything at once,â he whispers. âYou donât have to be fearless. You just have to get through the next moment. And you donât have to do even that alone.â
Your eyes grow heavy, exhaustion finally outweighing fear.
Harry stays still as you settle, breathing deep and slow, his heartbeat steady beneath your cheek.
âIâve got you,â he murmurs, pressing a soft kiss to your temple. âAlways.â
And wrapped up in him - safe, held, loved -the world finally feels quiet enough to rest.
Warnings: jealousy, drinking, club scenes, bisexual themes, dancing, closeness.
Series Masterlist
The bass thundered through the club, vibrating up through the soles of your shoes and into your chest until it felt like your heartbeat had synced with it. Lights flashed in fractured colors, smearing faces into movement and heat. You barely noticed where you were anymore.
Your hands slid into your hair, tugging as you moved, alcohol blurring the edges of everything. You were past the point of counting drinks. Past caring. This was the numb youâd been chasing - the kind that made everything feel distant and sharp at the same time. Everything you wanted in this moment.
A woman brushed past you first, fingers grazing your arm, her smile slow and knowing before she melted back into the pulse of the dance floor. Moments later, a man filled the space behind you - solid, unmistakably present - his body close enough that you felt the heat of him before his hands ever touched you. When they did, they settled at your hips with quiet confidence, like heâd been invited there all along.
You didnât stop either of them.
The woman returned, stepping directly in front of you now, close enough that the press of bodies around you faded into background noise. Her hands slid up your arms, light but deliberate, guiding you into the rhythm, her eyes never leaving yours. She smiled again, softer this time, like you shared a secret neither of you planned to explain.
Behind you, the man moved with you, steady and patient, hips matching yours perfectly. His grip tightened just enough to be felt, grounding you, anchoring your movement as the three of you fell into the same beat. You were caught between them - heat at your back, warmth in front - every sense tuned to touch and motion and proximity
It was crowded. It was reckless. It was too much.
And that was the point.
You moved between them, breath shallow, hips rolling, laughter spilling out of you when the woman leaned in to say something you couldnât hear over the music. Hands stayed on your waist, your arms, your back - grounding and overwhelming all at once.
You didnât think about names.
You didnât think about consequences.
You definitely didnât think about him.
Anybody else. Anyone else. Everyone else.
The music swallowed you whole as you let yourself disappear into the moment, clinging to the chaos like it might drown out the feeling youâd been running from all night.
You noticed him mid-beat.
Not because the music dropped a beat or the crowd shifted but because something in you sharpened, alert in a way alcohol hadnât dulled. Your eyes lifted lazily, unfocused at first, then locked.
Harry.
Standing just beyond the dance floor, still as stone while everything else moved. The lights cut across his face in flashes, catching the tension in his jaw, the set of his shoulders. Watching.
You held his gaze.
And then - deliberately - you didnât look away.
Your hips kept moving, unhurried now, each roll deliberate, indulgent. You leaned back into the man behind you, closing the last inch of space between your bodies, feeling the solid warmth of him through the press of the crowd. His hands slid back to your waist, thumbs grazing just beneath the line of your ribs, firm and steady, as if he knew exactly how much pressure you needed to stay grounded.
You let your head tip slightly to the side, exposing the curve of your neck, breathing him in without turning around. There was something intoxicating about how easily he fit there, how quickly a stranger could become an anchor when you allowed it. His lips grazing over your bare silk skin, ready to make bad decisions.
In front of you, the woman smiled slowly, eyes dark and knowing. She stepped closer, close enough that you could feel her breath when she laughed, her fingers tracing lightly down your arm before settling on the space above your thigh where your skirt skimmed your legs. Just touching - enough to make it impossible to forget she was there.
And you leaned into it.
The music swallowed the moment, the bass thudding through you as you tilted your head back, eyes never leaving Harryâs. There was no apology in your expression. No hesitation. Just heat and noise and the quiet decision not to care what this looked like.
Let him see it.
Let him feel it.
Youâd spent too long being careful. With him. For him. Tonight wasnât about restraint or rules or whatever unspoken thing had been building between you. Tonight was about proving - to him, to yourself - that you didnât owe anyone control over you.
Harry didnât move.
Neither did you.
And the space between you, crowded and loud and unmistakable, burned hotter because of it.
Why did you do this? Was it worth it? Was it worth your heart breaking in two for a false relationship?
Just wanted you guys to have a small teaser before we set this bad boy off - thank you for your comments already! I can't wait to get the first chapter out to you all. If I've missed anyone off the taglist, let me know!
At 27 years old, you sign up with a high-end agency for your first âsugar babyâ arrangement, you expects rules, paychecks, and professionalism. What you don't expect is Harry Castillo - a handsome, billionaire who has never hired a sugar baby before and has no idea how to act around one.
Tasked with accompanying him on a high-stakes business trip in the Hamptons for a month to secure a high end business deal, you quickly discover that pretending to be his girlfriend in public is harder than you imagined - especially when Harry is like no man you have ever met or been with.
For the first time, you are both learning that closeness can be intoxicating, dangerous, and impossible to ignore .... and that falling for each other might be the riskiest deal of all.
Warnings: Sugar-baby arrangement | Age gap romance | Billionaire/sugar baby dynamic | Fake relationship | Flirtation and romantic tension | Near-kisses | Intimate touching and cuddling | Protective/possessive behavior | Slow-burn romance | Mature themes (smut) | Emotional vulnerability | very intimate scenes | hot and heavy
Would you consider writing another Drabble with Harry and reader? Reader is heavily pregnant with their second child and decides to take a nap, but Harry panics, because she doesnât answer her phone. He rushes home.
Just A Nap - A Harry Castillo Drabble
You donât plan on falling asleep.
You tell yourself itâll just be a moment - feet up, back against the pillows, eyes closed long enough for the ache in your hips to settle. Your body is carrying so much now: the weight of your second baby, the constant pressure low in your belly, the exhaustion that never fully lifts no matter how much you rest. The phone is still in your hand when sleep takes you, screen lighting up once before sliding onto the mattress beside you.
Across town, Harry checks the time.
Then his phone.
Then the time again.
He frowns, thumb hovering as he sends another message. Everything okay baby?
It delivers. It doesnât get read.
The feeling hits him fast - sharp and unpleasant, like missing a step on the stairs. You always answer. Even if itâs just a heart emoji or a sleepy âm tiredâ. Especially now.
He tries to reason with himself. Youâre probably napping. You deserve a nap. Youâre heavily pregnant and chasing after a toddler and doing more than you should.
Still, his chest tightens.
He calls.
It rings. And rings. And rings.
No answer.
Harryâs mind fills in the gaps in a way he hates. What if you slipped trying to get up? What if the baby moved and something felt wrong? What if you were lying there, needing him....
Heâs standing up before the call ends, apology muttered to the room as he grabs his coat and keys. He doesnât tell anyone where heâs going. He just knows he needs to be home.
The drive is a blur of red lights and clenched jaw. Every minute feels too long. His foot taps impatiently at stop signs, breath shallow, phone sitting face-up on the passenger seat like it might suddenly come alive.
When he pulls in, his hands are shaking.
The house looks normal. Too normal. Lights off. Curtains drawn.
âLove?â he calls the moment he steps inside.
Nothing.
His heart starts racing, panic blooming full and terrifying now. He drops his bag, moving quickly through your home, checking the kitchen, the living room - your shoes still by the door, your water bottle half-finished on the counter.
âHey,â he calls again, louder. âWhere are you?â
The bedroom door is closed.
He hesitates for half a second...then pushes it open.
Youâre asleep.
Curled on your side, knees tucked slightly, one arm draped protectively over your belly. Your breathing is slow and even, lashes resting against your cheeks, hair fanned across the pillow. The phone lies face-down beside you, silent.
Harry just stands there.
Relief hits him so hard itâs dizzying. His chest caves in on itself as he exhales, hand flying to his mouth as he swallows down the leftover panic. His knees feel weak as he crosses the room, every step careful now, reverent.
He kneels by the bed, brushing your hair back gently. âJesus,â he whispers, voice barely holding together. âYou scared me.â
You stir at the touch, brows knitting faintly before your eyes flutter open. âHarry?â you murmur, thick with sleep. âWhyâre you home?â
He laughs softly, breathless, leaning down to press his forehead to yours. âCouldnât get ahold of you.â
Your eyes widen as awareness settles in. âOh...my phone,â you say quietly, glancing at it. âI didnât mean to fall asleep.â
âItâs okay,â he says immediately, hand smoothing over your arm. âYou didnât do anything wrong.â
His other hand settles over your belly, thumb tracing slow, grounding circles like he needs the contact to remind himself everything is okay. âI just⊠panicked.â
Your throat tightens at that. âYou rushed home?â
He nods. âYeah. Thought something mightâve happened.â
Emotion swells in your chest, heavy and sudden. âHarryâŠâ you whisper, eyes stinging.
He kisses your temple, lingering. âNext time, just send me a ânap warning,â yeah?â he murmurs, attempting lightness. âNearly took ten years off my life.â
You huff a sleepy laugh and tug his sleeve. âStay?â
He doesnât hesitate for even a second.
He climbs onto the bed carefully, pulling you back against his chest, one arm wrapped firmly around you, hand resting over your belly again. His breathing steadies slowly, syncing with yours.
âSleep,â he whispers. âIâve got you.â
And this time, when you drift off again, you do it wrapped in him - safe, watched over, and so deeply loved.
Would you consider writing a Drabble where Harry takes time off work, because reader is crying/ struggling with her second pregnancy? đ€° đ€đ„čor something like that đ€
The World Can Wait - A Harry Castillo Drabble
Harry takes the day off without telling anyone why.
He doesnât need to explain that his chest tightened when he heard your voice crack over the phone, that single broken inhale that told him everything. He doesnât need to justify closing his laptop, grabbing his coat, driving home faster than usual with one hand tight on the steering wheel and the other already reaching for you in his mind.
When he walks through the door, the house is quiet in that heavy way. Youâre on the couch, wrapped in a blanket you donât really need, shoulders trembling as you try and fail to keep your crying quiet. Your second pregnancy has been nothing like the first. Youâre more tired. More emotional. Your body aches in places you didnât expect this early, and the guilt of not being as present for your first child sits heavy in your chest.
Harry drops everything where he stands.
âBaby,â he says gently.
You look up, eyes red, lashes clumped with tears, and thatâs it. The sob breaks free, raw and exhausted. âIâm sorry,â you whisper, as if your pain is something inconvenient. âI donât know whatâs wrong with me. I just...everything feels like too much.â
Harry crosses the room and gathers you up like itâs instinct, like he was built for this exact moment. He sits and pulls you onto his lap, one arm wrapped firmly around your back, the other smoothing slow, grounding strokes over your hair.
âThereâs nothing wrong with you,â he murmurs into your temple. âYouâre growing a whole person. Again. Thatâs a lot.â
You cry harder at that - at being understood without needing to explain. Your hands curl into his shirt, knuckles white, and Harry lets you soak him with tears without flinching. He rocks you gently, steady as a heartbeat.
His hand drifts to your belly, warm and protective. âHey there,â he whispers softly, voice dropping. âWeâre takinâ good care of Mum, yeah?â
You let out a shaky laugh through tears, and he smiles against your hair.
âI took today off,â he tells you quietly. âTomorrow too, if you need. Workâll survive. You donât have to.â
You sag into him, relief flooding your tired body. âI feel so weak this time,â you admit. âLike I should be handling it better.â
Harry pulls back just enough to look at you, thumbs brushing under your eyes. âYouâre not weaker,â he says firmly. âYouâre just carrying more. More responsibility. More love. That doesnât make you fragile...it makes you human.â
He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another to your cheek, lingering. âYou donât have to be strong with me,â he adds. âYou can fall apart. Iâll hold all the pieces.â
You breathe him in, his warmth, his steadiness, and for the first time all day, your shoulders loosen.
The world can wait.
Right now, youâre exactly where youâre meant to be - safe, supported, and loved beyond measure.
