Summary: Born and raised on the Upper East Side — mother’s an actress, stepfather runs an empire that’s suddenly “under review,” and your brother’s the reason you have gray hair. You married perfection in your 20s Years after your picture-perfect marriage went up in smoke, you left New York to “heal.” Now you’re back, in your 30s — and saw your ex-husband on the cover of TIME. Wow.
He got richer, your family’s going down, and somehow, you ended up working for him. Cried? Yes. Bad idea? Definitely.
What could possibly go wrong?
Warnings: 🔞 (EXPLICIT CONTENT, Smut, MDNI) rom-com, fluffy, angst, comedy, lying, grumpy Harry Castillo (because reader broke his heart), Reader is kinda selfish, little bitchy and bratty, wealth, divorce, exes to lovers, modern au, rich people problems, upper east side drama, divorced but not over it, office tension, slow burn romance, revenge, manhattan aesthetic, luxury angst, sharp dialogue, hurt, workplace power imbalance, boss!Harry Castillo, expensive gifts, drinks, money, language, sexual tension, oral sex, p in v sex, hate sex, kissing, slow burn, power imbalance, I might have missed some ? Each chapter will include its own warnings.
authors note: Welcome to my new Harry Castillo fanfic, I'm sooo excited! hope you all like it! This fic is not connected to the movie at all — completely original AU vibes. So don’t worry, there are zero movie spoilers, and definitely no leg-surgery plotline here!!! OC Characters (Ron=Harry's assistant, Emily=Reader's bestie, Chloe=Reader's elite friend, Mikey=Readers brother Scarlet&Richard=Reader's parents, Lara=Scarlet's assistant, Vivienne=Harry's mother, Sienna=Harry's sister)
Bonus:
The playlist: that inspires me while writing.
My chaos playlist: Used exclusively for dumb decisions, sibling fights, embarrassing situations, awkward moments.
ao3 link
angel's masterlist
Lessons:
Lesson 1: Never Call Your Ex When You’re in Trouble
Lesson 2: Don’t Underestimate an Ex With a Plan
Lesson 3: Don’t Poke a Queen in Heels
Lesson 4: Don’t Show Up at Your Ex’s House Unannounced
Lesson 5: You Can’t Hurt Your Ex Without Bleeding Too
Lesson 6: Never Share a Room With Your Ex
story timeline (contains spoilers if you haven’t read up to Lesson 6)
Lesson 7: Denial Is Not a Strategy, Darling
Lesson 8: Never Enter a Battle You Can’t Win
Lesson 9: Ears Lie. Hearts Don't
Lesson 10: Pain is Shared, Not Borne Alone
Lesson 11: Love Answers Only to Itself
Lesson 12: Careful. Life Doesn’t Spare What You Love
Lesson 13: Love Doesn't Belong on the Balance Sheet
Queen moodboard
Lesson 14: Nothing Worth Having Is Simple
Lesson 15: Never Mistake Restraint for Weakness
Lesson 16: Never Gamble What You Can’t Survive Losing
٠࣪⭑ joel doesn’t yell first—he bites. his voice drops, slow and cutting, and he’ll choose the words he knows will sting.
٠࣪⭑ he calls you kid when he’s angry, spitting it out like a reminder of the years between you. “grow the hell up, kid. this ain’t highschool. i gotta work, i can’t baby you all the damn time.” he knows it’ll gut you—and hates himself the second it leaves his mouth.
٠࣪⭑ says things like “you don’t know what the real world’s like yet” or “you’ll get tired of me sooner or later, best you figure that out now, save me a shit ton of headaches.”
٠࣪⭑ you get a little pouty when women closer to his age smile at him, or when his coworkers talk about their wives. joel secretly loves that you want him so bad, but when he’s exhausted, he doesn’t have the patience to reassure you.
٠࣪⭑ sometimes you just want his attention—his eyes on you after a long day. he normally gives it without thinking, but when he’s bone-tired he might snap: “jesus, can I sit for five minutes without you hangin’ off me?” and it cuts deep.
٠࣪⭑ arguments spark when your worlds don’t line up—your college friends vs. his coworkers, your idea of fun vs. his exhaustion.
٠࣪⭑ the fights don’t just sting—they ache. bc dating an older man felt thrilling until you realized when he pulls away, it feels like the end of the world.
٠࣪⭑ joel goes cold after being sharp—crosses his arms, rubs his temples, mutters under his breath, “should’ve known better…” and it makes your chest cave in.
٠࣪⭑ you try not to cry in front of him, but tears slip anyway, and that’s when his anger usually breaks. he sees you trembling and it shatters him. but he doesn’t know how to apologize cleanly. he’ll sigh, tug his hand through his hair, and mutter, “didn’t mean that, baby. you know i didn’t.”
٠࣪⭑ he shows up in the kitchen later, leaning against the counter, voice soft and rough: “i don’t want nobody else. just you. i just get tired. that’s on me.”
٠࣪⭑ his make-up love language is touch: pulling you into his lap, resting his forehead against yours, thumb stroking your cheek. if you’re still raw, he’ll try humor—teasing you gently, voice warm, “clingy little thing, ain’t ya? can’t say I don’t like it.”
٠࣪⭑ joel’s sharp words haunt him. he hates himself for snapping, so when you crawl into his lap later, his first instinct is contrition. his apologies are mumbled into your skin—against your neck, your chest, your thighs. “’m sorry, baby… should never talk to you that way… my sweet little girl, always so good to me.”
٠࣪⭑ he gets slow and indulgent—stroking your hair back, kissing your jaw, murmuring: “pretty little thing, look at you… can’t stay mad when you look so fuckin’ sexy sittin’ on me.”
٠࣪⭑ joel loves when you ride him after a fight—it makes him feel like you’re choosing him again. he’ll grip your hips tight and groan, “that’s it, baby girl. let it out. ride me like you hate me.” and he praises every whimper—soft chuckles between apologies: “so needy… so good for me. my baby girl.”
٠࣪⭑ if it was a bad fight—the kind where you cried, maybe even stormed out—the make-up sex is feral. joel doesn’t wait for slow touches. he pins you, growls into your ear, “you drive me goddamn insane, y’know that? gonna fuck that attitude right outta you.”
٠࣪⭑ he’s mean with his hands—slapping your ass harder than usual, leaving red handprints, fingers digging in where he knows it’ll sting. he loves when you slap him back across the face during sex—sharp little sting that makes him groan. it’s his favorite foreplay, a secret thrill. “yeah, there’s my girl. hit me harder. you’re so fuckin’ hot when you fight me.”
٠࣪⭑ & yes, he loves choking: his palm on your throat, squeezing harder than he normally would. he loves seeing your eyes roll when he does it. grows, “you like when i’m rough, huh? don’t lie.” the release is messy, sweaty, teeth and nails—both of you panting like you can’t decide if you’re still angry or crazy in love again
٠࣪⭑ but even if it was rough, joel never skips the aftermath. he pulls you tight against him, whispers into your hair: “i love you. don’t wanna fight no more, baby girl. just want you.”
٠࣪⭑ he presses kisses to every red mark he left, soothing with murmured “sorry, sorry, i’m stupid, i want all of you, every little goddamn annoying, sexy thing about you, don’t ever wanna lose you.”
masterlist | request box always open | drink water, i love you
Content Warnings: Explict, 18+ MDNI, p with minimal plot, unprotected pinv (wrap it before you use it), creampie, dirty talk (love some filthy talk Joel), baby fever, multiple orgasms, mentions of pregnancy, breeding kink, oral (f! receiving), fluff tone in the beginning (I'm sorry, I couldn't help myself🤣), aftercare, let me know if I miss any!
Summary: When Joel sees you taking care of Benji, he couldn't help but think what it was like having your own kids. And once he knew it's what you've wanted, he was going to make sure it happens.
A/n: Guess who finished her fic early?? This is my first attempt at something kinky, probably not the best, but I figured I'd give it a try. As part of @time-for-my-weekly-spanking's 2026 kinky Challenge found here, I hope this is good, and thank you for letting me join 💖 Any feedback for improvement is always welcome!
AO3 | Main Masterlist
When you and Joel started your relationship, the subject of kids was a tough one to get through, given how it had ended with Sarah.
But when Benjamin was around - when you'd babysit, he grew to love you. Joel couldn't deny the effect that the sight had on him. Seeing you take care of his nephew and get along with the kid, it made his thoughts trail to places where he wasn't expecting.
How your body would change - how your stomach would adjust and change to make room for his child growing inside of you.
The child he put there...
It did something to him that he wasn’t going to admit out loud.
Today, the family was gathered for a meal with one another as a way to catch up with each other, and with what’s been going on around Jackson. Family dinners in Jackson were normally loud in a way you learned to love. They weren’t the kind of loud that came from chaos or fear - not anymore - but from a place of pure joy that the others were alive and together. From overlapping voices, the clinking of cutlery, and laughter bouncing off the walls, the house was livelier the more the family spent time together.
Joel sat beside you at the table, shoulder warm where it pressed against yours. He looked relaxed, at ease in a way that still sometimes surprised you to see. You had grown used to the gruff and serious look that was practically glued onto his face - that seeing him calm and not tense under the weight of keeping everything around safe… it was a pleasant change. The lines of his face were softened when he laughed at something his brother said, head tipping back slightly.
And then there was Benji. The little boy had made his way over to you, his small hand tugging at your sleeve, his eyes bright and smile wide, like you were the most interesting person in the room. And right now, you were.
“Can you read this with me?” He asks, holding up the picture book he has in his free hand.
You couldn’t help but smile at his adorable question. He could’ve gone to his mother, his father, or even his uncle. But he chose you, and how were you going to say no to him? “Of course, bud,” you say, making space for him on the couch, which he hopped on and made himself at home on your lap, and all you could do was laugh at his quiet insistence to sit on your lap before you began reading to him.
While you read to him, Joel was just admiring you. The way you weren’t tense around the boy, and how your lips moved as you pronounced each word from the pages of the book. Occasionally, your gaze would flick up to him, and you caught him in his staring trance. You saw the look of pure affection, and maybe a hint of something else. Longing? But not in like you were used to.
“You okay?” you asked softly, gently nudging his knee with your elbow.
He blinked slowly, like he was being pulled out of his wandering thoughts, before nodding, “‘m fine, darlin’.”
You could tell he wasn’t being fully truthful with you, but you didn’t push the subject much. Not with his brother, young nephew, and Maria in the room.
Once the book was finished, Benji was already falling asleep against you, and that’s when Maria and Tommy got up to take him back to their house for his bedtime.
“Goodnight,” he muttered to you as Tommy picked him up from your lap, his head resting against Tommy’s shoulder. “Night uncle Grumpy,” he says to Joel, and none of you could hold back the smile that made its way on your faces. And Joel just gave a playful eyeroll and a single nod, “Night kiddo.”
Maria and Tommy exchanged goodnights with the two of you before you closed the door behind them and turned to Joel, leaning against the doorframe, “You’ve been awfully quiet tonight. More than normal.”
“Just been thinkin’,” he mutters, looking down at his chipped coffee mug, giving a small shrug.
“About?” you pressed, tilting your head to the side as you watched how his shoulders tensed ever so slightly with the questions.
“You’re good with him,” he admits, bringing his gaze up to yours, and you can see the hint of uncertainty that settles in them. Like he was debating whether to bring it up or not. “I tried not thinkin’ ‘bout it, but it’s just gettin’ harder.”
“Thinking about what?” you asked softly, slowly making your way back to the couch before sitting down on the cushion beside him. “About kids?”
His breath slightly hitches as you hit the nail on the head. He reluctantly nodded, “Yeah.”
You studied him for a moment, really looking at him. The man you loved never let his vulnerability get the best of him. The subject of kids has been a touchy one. The two of you had briefly talked about it when your relationship was getting serious, and he never said he’d never want to have kids. You understood he was just hesitant about it all - understood that, though he’d deny it as much as he could - he was scared of losing another kid he loved.
You felt it too. The strange pull when you saw families together through the community. With how your body reacted when you thought of a mini replica of you and Joel running around.
“You wanna have a kid?” you asked, a small smile on your lips at the thought that he did, in fact, want to have a baby with you. “You’re sure about this, hon?”
He took your hands into his, giving them a soft squeeze, his gaze finally meeting yours, “‘m sure, darlin’. I wanna watch you grow our baby. I wanna start the rest of our life with you.” He brings a hand to your cheek, gently cupping it, “Do you want that?”
You placed your hand over his that was against your cheek before shifting onto his lap, your legs on either side of his, and your hands cup his cheeks, “I’d love to have your kids, Joel. I want all of your babies.”
Joel exhaled heavily, like he’d been holding his breath for years, as he leaned his head into your palms, his hands going to your hips. He then kissed you - gentle at first, like he was testing the waters. But as soon as you lightly pressed your chest against his, a hand gently gripping the hair at the bottom of his neck, his hesitance instantly melted away as he gently tugged your hip closer to his.
When he finally pulled back, he exhales heavily through his nose, his head dropping to your shoulder as he muttered, “Damn.”
“That bad?” you asked teasingly, lowering your head to place brief pecks against the side of his neck.
He quickly shakes his head, his lips moving to your collarbone to place a kiss before he grumbles, “That damn dangerous.”
You giggled at the grumble, and before you could protest, he shifted to the edge of the couch, wrapping his arms around your waist as he got up. You squealed softly at the sudden movement, your legs instinctively wrapping around his waist and your arms going around his neck.
When you and Joel reached the bedroom, his lips were instantly back on yours, your breaths heavy as he gently lowered you onto your back on the bed. You undressed each other slowly, your hands running along each other’s bodies in a familiar pattern.
“Lay down, baby,” Joel whispered once he was down to his black boxers and you were bare. He placed a kiss against your forehead, temple and then your lips, “Wanna taste you.”
He gently guided you to lie back before he settled between your thighs - his broad shoulders pushing your legs wider. The rough calluses on his hands contrasted sharply with the gentle way he traced the sensitive skin of your inner thighs, leaving a trail of fire in its wake. His beard scratched deliciously against your skin as he lowered his head, the sensation alone sending shivers through your body. And Joel caught on.
“I know, baby. You’re getting all worked up for me,” he muttered with a chuckle, lowering his head down between your legs and closer to your core. He pressed his lips against your folds, a soft closed-mouth kiss against your most sensitive skin, and your body immediately trembled.
Then his tongue swept out, a broad, flat stroke that parted you slowly. He took his time as his tongue traced your outer lips before dipping inside to taste your slick heat.
“Christ,” he murmured, voice muffled against your core. “Already so wet for me. So fuckin’ perfect.” You let out a soft moan as your hand instinctively went to run through the strands of his hair, not guiding, but as a form of stability. He pulls back just enough to look up at you, the evidence of your arousal glistening on his lips, “This all for me, darlin’?”
You couldn’t help but nod, your breath hitching, and he blew a cool stream of air against your heated center. “All for you,” You muttered, and Joel returned his mouth to your center. He let out a low groan at your taste, one of his hands leaves your hips to rest against your stomach – fingers spreading across your lower stomach, holding you to him as his mouth worked on your core.
His other hand slid from your thigh to between your legs, where Joel’s mouth was residing. He slowly slid two of his thick fingers inside you, curling them just right to make you cry out as his mouth began focusing on your clit. You feel the heat pooling even further in your lower stomach, and you know you couldn’t handle much more. The dual sensations had you arching your back and your fingers tangled in his hair as you ground your hips against his face, searching for more of that devilish tongue of his.
“Joel…” you panted, your voice barely recognizable. “‘m close.”
He responded with a soft groan, increasing the pressure of his suck on your clit, his tongue working relentlessly as his fingers pumped in and out of you. “C’mon sweetheart,” he grunts, pulling his head back just enough to look up at you from between your legs, “Wanna feel you come on my tongue.”
His words were your undoing as your body tensed, waves of pleasure washing over you. Your thighs clamped around his head as you cried out his name, and Joel didn’t stop, working through your orgasm until you were slumped down on the mattress, panting and spent.
When he finally lifted his head, his mouth and chin were glistening with your arousal, a satisfied smirk playing on his lips, “I could die a happy man between those legs.”
You huffed out a laugh before taking his hand into yours, tugging him up to meet you before pressing a kiss against his lips, tasting yourself on his tongue, and you couldn’t help but moan. You slide your hands down Joel's body before reaching his boxers. The hard length of his cock straining against the fabric couldn’t be more obvious than it is right now. Reaching inside, you wrapped your hand around his length, giving it a few slow strokes before focusing your palm on the head. He groaned at the contact, attempting to keep his hips still, but failed as it shifted closer to your hand regardless.
He slides the boxers off and tosses them aside. He was long and thick, and his tip was an angry red, curving up toward his stomach. “Fuck me, baby,” you whispered out, “I need your cock inside me. Filling me up.”
“Damn it, woman,” he grunts out, shifting down your body before settling between your legs, this time with his cock between your folds, gathering the combination of your release with the mess his mouth made. “Got a fuckin’ dangerous mouth on you.”
“Please…” you whimpered, shifting your hips in an attempt to take him inside of you.
“Not yet,” he says gruffly, running a hand along your breasts, rubbing the sensitive nipples, drawing out a whine from you. “Been thinkin’ ‘bout this for so long. ‘bout makin’ you a momma, watchin’ you grow with my seed inside you.”
He positioned the tip of his cock against your entrance, applying a small amount of pressure before he breached your entrance. He lowers his head against the crook of your neck as he slides in deeper and slowly, inch by agonizing inch. The stretch was incredible, and both of you moaned at the sensation. The aching fullness was familiar. When he is buried to the hilt, his hips flush with yours, he rests his forehead against yours.
“Fuck…” he chokes out, his voice strained with an effort of remaining still to allow you to adjust. “Always feel so damn tight. Like you were made for my cock to stretch.”
You wrapped your legs around his waist, inviting him deeper inside you once you adjusted, and Joel began moving - his strokes deep and measured. Each thrust sent waves of pleasure through you, building slowly but steadily toward another orgasm. "You like that?" he growled, his pace quickening. "You like how I fuck this tight little pussy?"
"God, yes," you moaned, your nails digging into his back. "Harder, Joel. Fuck me harder."
He obliged, his thrusts becoming more forceful. His hips snapped against yours, the sound of skin on skin echoing through the room, followed by your moans, his heavy grunts, and the bed creaking under the exertion.
"Gonna fill you up," he panted, his voice strained. "Gonna make sure it sticks so you'll be all round 'n full with my baby. Tits fillin’ up to feed our lil’ one. God darlin’.”
Your body is humming, alive with sensation. Every nerve ending is on fire. Joel knew you were getting close; he could feel how you were tightening around his cock. And you could feel he was close just by how his cock was throbbing and twitching inside you, followed by the frantic pace he began taking
“I’m close,” you murmured, one of your hands running through his hair, and he buries his head against your neck.
“Let me feel it,” he pants against your neck, a grunt escaping his lips, “’m close too. Gonna come inside you. Gonna make you a momma.”
“Fill me up baby.”
He reaches between you, his thumb finding your clit, rubbing it in tight and quick circles. And that was all that it took to throw you over the edge. Your orgasm took over you, a tidal wave of pleasure that ripples through your entire body in powerful waves, leaving your body limp and shaky.
Joel follows just moments longer, letting out a long moan of your name, his body shuddering against yours as he finds his release. You could feel the warmth of him spilling inside you before he collapses against you, his weight steadied on his forearms, his face still deeply buried against your neck.
Both of you were a panting and boneless mess, but neither of you made the effort to move. For a long moment, you just lie there, tangled together with your bodies slick with sweat, and your breathing slowly returning to normal. After a minute, he shifts; he hadn’t pulled out just yet, keeping the two of you connected. He brushes a stray strand of hair from your forehead, his touch impossibly gentle. “You alright?”
“More than alright,” you respond, a smile on your face that you were able to contain, and he huffs a soft laugh. “Couldn’t think of a better way to practice.”
He places a kiss on your lips, then your forehead, before he slowly pulls out of you, your body protesting the loss. He gets up from the bed, walking to the bathroom. You hear the tap running, and he returns with a rag in hand.
“Open for me,” he says, and you open your legs. He gently wipes the rag over your entrance and thighs, cleaning you before setting the rag aside and lying back down beside you, pulling you against his chest with the blanket wrapped around the two of you.
“We’ll be doin’ this ‘till it sticks, sweetheart,” Joel suddenly says, and you tilt your head up to him. “You better prepare your throat for a lot more moanin’.”
You couldn’t help but chuckle at his words, wrapping your arms around his neck as you settled against him. “Practice makes perfect.”
“you ain’t falling asleep again” — an oldman!joel miller drabble
main masterlist | ao3
pairing: oldman!jackson!joel miller x f!reader
summary: joel takes viagra and can't keep it down. he decides you can help. and the glasses stay on.
a/n: please everyone say, THANK YOU SYD @syd-djarin !! i wouldn’t have written this if it wasn’t for you! tysm for allowing me to be shamelessly feral and for cheering me on, you know i love ya <3 anyways, hope you guys like this drabble, i am ovulating. heed the warnings and enjoyyyy xx
tags/warnings: 18+, mdni. pwp. filthy smut. the old man’s glasses stay on. breeding kink. consensual somno. use of viagra. brief reference to a limp dick situation cause it’s hot. period sex and descriptions of period blood. joel goes down to town on you (f!oral), so vampire!joel if you wish cause he loves it. fingering. unprotected piv. creampie. age gap, no age gap, your choice. no description of reader other than afab. unedited, soz, i'm horny and i wanted this out asap.
w/c: ~1.8k
Joel resented you. Really did.
You were sprawled across his bedsheets, legs splayed without a worry in the world. And here he was, on the rocking chair facing the bed in his Jackson home, watching you enjoy your beauty sleep, while his cock beat hard on his calloused hand.
He’d definitely overdone it with the viagra. At the tender age of sixty-one, Joel sometimes needed a bit of help to get him going. The first time he’d remained limp on your hand, despite your best efforts, had really stuck with him. Truth be told, that hadn’t stopped you from sucking him off, giggling and drooling all over his dick. But still, it embarrassed him. So, when Joel had the chance to trade for some pills, he did.
And now he had to deal with the consequences of his actions. He’d been railing you all night till the first lights glittered in his room—your beautiful body bouncing on his cock while the light reflected off the sweaty drops kissing your skin. But unlike him, you were spent and in much need of some rest.
Joel, on the other hand, had not been able to go back to sleep. As soon as he heard your soft, cute snores, his veiny cock had hardened again. Unconsciously his eyes darted to the sweet nook between your thighs. He really had the best view from here, eagerly watching his spent dripping down your slick slit.
The chair rocked under him, his big hand palming the growing erection, his eyes roving over every delicious curve of your body. And then something caught his eye—the cum leaking from your pussy was no longer white, but a shade of pink.
Joel sat on the verge of the rocking chair, pushing his glasses up the bridge of his nose to have a better look. No, his old man’s sight wasn’t betraying him—you really were bleeding.
His cock had a mind of its own, reacting to the call of nature in the most primal way. Joel tugged at his shaft, squeezing himself tight while a pearl of precum adorned his flushed cockhead. Your period couldn’t have come at a better time. Joel thoroughly enjoyed himself when that time of the month arrived—a reminder of how breedable you were.
Joel stood up, throbbing cock on hand and his cracking knees betraying his moves. He couldn’t just stay put any longer—surely, you’d understand that he was compelled to do this. That he just couldn’t stop himself, not when you were freely bleeding on his white bedsheets.
You stirred a bit when the wooden floor creaked beneath his weight, but your eyes stayed shut. Joel tiptoed to the foot of the bed and carefully sat on the mattress. Up close, he inspected your cunt with diligence. Your pussy was still gushing out his pinkish cum, but he needed to see red.
Bunching the bedsheets on his fist, Joel swiped your seam clean, his thumb stroking your entrance through the fabric to ensure no remnants were left behind. Once he was satisfied, he laid on his tummy and moved your legs, so the back of your knees rested on his shoulders. Now he could really see your slick cunt up close.
Joel spread your pussy lips, coaxing them apart to stretch your crying hole. A few seconds later, he was gifted with a glob of blood. He thumbed your clit softly, coaching your cunt to leak some more period blood for him, and you quietly squirmed. Another red bubble dripped down your fold, smearing your sweet puffy lips, staining his sheets. His eyes locked in on your beating bud, and he just knew what he had to do.
Hypnotised by the sensuality of it all, Joel leaned in and kissed your begging clit. The fingers that were stretching your lips open for him travelled down your glistening seam until they reached your bloodied opening. Without even doubting himself, Joel shoved his middle and ring ringers in your wet warmth, the squelching of your blood almost making him feel dizzy with lust.
Joel suckled on your clit, your thighs trembling against his ears, and then his mouth dropped. He removed his fingers from your tight hole and coated the skin of your inner thigh with your own blood while his tongue dived in.
Your pussy tasted divine. Metallic, fertile, slightly bitter. His favourite flavour, that was for sure. When Joel lapped your whole seam, from your seeping entrance, through your clit, to your mound, he felt your hand fisting his salt-and-pepper curls.
“Joel… What are you…” you trailed off sleepily, moaning as your back arched off the mattress.
Joel looked up at you, smirking like the devil he was.
“Just let me have this,” he almost implored, pecking the bloody fingerprints he’d left behind on your inner thigh.
“Are you… are you still hard?” you managed to croak out, eyes fluttering shut when Joel latched on your clit again.
“Mhm,” he mumbled, mouth full of you.
Joel alternated between fingering you and prodding your hole with the tip of his tongue, drunk with your iron-like tang, thumb pressing tight circles on your clit. And he truly didn’t stop until your legs were shaking uncontrollably around him and you were mewling your pleasure, your wails echoing in his bedroom.
With a bit more of encouragement, you finally came in his mouth. Joel didn’t hesitate to drink everything your cunt oozed out—the period blood mixing with your cream was his personal nectar. His favourite breakfast. He shamelessly licked your folds and hole clean, revelling in how your entrance quivered around the tip of his tongue when he poked at it.
Your mind was still hazy with the ghost memory of your wet dream, but Joel eating your bloody pussy out definitely had you delirious. This old man of yours knew no shame, no hard limits. And you loved him for it.
When Joel emerged from between your thighs, you gasped, and your pussy gushed. His beard was covered in your period blood, even his cheeks were smudged. And Joel just… looked so chuffed about it all, it made you smile back at him.
You glanced down at his lap when he knelt between your legs, his broad hands resting on your knees to part your thighs for him. His stiff cock greeted you, swaying and throbbing. He was about to fucking explode, so red and swollen, leaking precum everywhere—you truly feared for his wellbeing.
“Fuck, Joel…” You bit down your plump bottom lip, eyes focused on his dick. “How many pills did you take?”
“Two. I wasn’t sure if one was enough, needed to make sure I could fuck you all night long,” he admitted, tapping your clit a few times with his warm, tacky cockhead. “And then you fucking bail on me, falling asleep and leaving me hanging.”
Before you could defend yourself, Joel buried himself in you down to the fucking hilt in one smooth thrust. You braced yourself and grabbed at his forearms, back arched so much that your nipples were kissing his naked chest.
Without exchanging another word, Joel began railing you hard, his throbbing cock growing inside you, impossibly so. He filled your entire pussy, the tip of his dick kissing your cervix every time he hammered in. No thoughts formed in your brain, you could only moan and sob and scream his name so everyone in Jackson would know you were getting your guts fucked.
Joel imposed a punishing pace, anchoring his hands to the headboard while his hips slammed against yours, the clapping of skin on skin competing with your loud groans. His mushroom head dragged alongside your anterior wall every time he ploughed you, rubbing that precise spongey spot inside you that made your pussy hug him tighter.
You just managed to open your eyes and glance up at him. He was gorgeous, the most handsome man you’d ever had the pleasure to meet. And he was all yours.
With every plunge, his old man’s glasses slipped further down the bridge of his aquiline nose, until they caught on the tip of his nose. The glass was all foggy now, and you were almost sure Joel couldn’t see shit right now. The picture made you smirk, but his incessant shoves forced your mouth to shape a perfect O before you began moaning his full name again.
Joel was fucking you so hard into the mattress, the precarious balance of his glasses gave way, and the frames fell onto your chest. Without thinking, you snatched them to put them on back on his nose but then you thought better of it. Instead, you put them on and looked up at him with a sly grin—it was all blurry, but could still make out his face and feral eyes.
“Fucking beautiful,” he husked out.
You felt the pulse emitted by his girthy cock, and the threat of his orgasm called to yours. When the first ropes hit your cervix, you came with him, your pussy milking him dry of every single drop he fed you. Joel filled you up to the brim with his cum and not satisfied with it, he fucked his spent into you for a couple of minutes while your used cunt spasmed around him.
You were truly spent, laboriously breathing, your heart racing wild in your chest. Joel was heaving too, and his greying brows furrowed when his cock left your entrails.
You couldn’t help but look down—you had left pink creamy rings on his hard cock, a mixture of your juices, his cum and your period blood. And when you peeked over at your pussy, you sighed. Yes, your pussy was smeared red, your inner thighs too, and you were still bleeding onto his sheets.
You should have felt slightly embarrassed, but knowing how much Joel enjoyed you on your period, well... there was literally nothing to be shy about. As a matter of fact, you had been waiting for this time of the month to come, because you just knew that Joel would be feral about you.
Letting your head fall back for a breather, you felt Joel pet your overstimulated clit. You whimpered a little, your nerve endings flaring alive, almost painfully, and your brows bunching together in concentration.
You managed to open your eyes again, and then you realised. He was still hard. Very much so.
“You ain’t falling asleep again,” he groaned, pointing an accusatory bloody finger at you. “‘M not done with you yet, sweetheart.”
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a joel miller x single mom! reader if anyone’s interested here.
a frankie x wife!reader here <3 (series!!!)
summary: it's a rainy day in nyc, a couple of months after the breakup and harry castillo accidentally trips over into the cutest 3 year old and and meets her mother too.
warnings: warning this is so cute your teeth will ROT (no warnings just fluff fluff fluff). in my head there was an age gap of 20 something years reader is a single mother but really it can be any age u want, not rlly specified, reader just knows airdrop better than this old man HAH. i think i used like y/n once like. thrice. afab reader, you have a daughter. your ex husband died like 3 years ago.
authors note: i was stuck in the city in the rain today and this idea POSESSED ME. and i had to write it plz cut me some slack it's 5am when i'm posting this i havent slept a wink just i've been writing this. no capitals, its just a lot of yapping this fic, it's a new style of writing. pls let me know if this is shit so i can go back to my old style, this is much more like. idk. stream of thought. pls let me know if anyone wants a sequel, if not this is just a oneshot. so not my ancient rome posessed ass usual...but thats OK. HARRY IS SUCH A GIRLDAD. reblogs and likes and follows are actually just love. ok brb im going to bed now...! (edit, i just woke up) OMG i am so glad u guys like this. i hope u guys like maya she is so cute and teeny and will be using harry has her new climbing frame. reader is just a frazzled single mom who loves her daughter very much. harry realises that a family is something he can still have. i fear i am in the baby fever trenches.
new york in the rain is always…something else entirely. after the break up with lucy, after everything, the summer comes with patchy spells of rain, like clockwork. manhattan’s large buildings cover him from most of the rain, but the road halfway to his office has been blocked since yesterday night, due to emergency works in the pipeline, and he has to walk the last half a mile. and anyway, he’s given this morning off to his driver. the cab driver’s dropped him off here, and now it’s just him and this stretch of road that he has to walk through, and flag another cab on the other side.
he would obviously rather not do such a thing, because. well — his suit is silk and well tailored, and he wears freshly polished oxfords on his feet he’d rather not get scuffed. it’s almost 9, and he is so ridiculously far away from the financial district, it’s embarrassing. this was not a good time to be late for work, especially not late for work in drenched clothes and no umbrella. he had a reputation to uphold, in the office at least.
the rain falls harder, and he starts walking faster, head hunched over his phone on the pavement, he needs to call his assistant, let her know that no he will not be showing up today, and yes he will be there for the meeting by 12. should be anyway.
a splash, and he feels water coat his trousers. they’re grey, and anyone can see the damn water stains on them now. it’s muddy water too, splotches against his calves and his ankles. he looks up from his screen, to see the offending person who’s splashed his $700 suit.
to his surprise, it’s a child in a yellow raincoat. excited as she jumps up and down, her brown hair in plaits as she runs into puddles, a jump, a dart, and then she’s out again, stomping her feet onto every single divot where water has gathered.
he smiles at that, anger being washed away as the rain falls.
and then his eyes land on you, running behind what could only be your daughter. you share the same eyes, the same face shape, you’ re basically mirroring every movement of hers, haphazardly. long hair tied into a bun, you look frazzled, exhausted.
“maya!” you shout, chasing after your daughter with the umbrella in one hand; attempting to not have it blow away by the wind. the other hand reaches out for her, but not before she trips over his oxfords, scuffing them, tumbling into a puddle.
it’s right in front of him, and a child’s just fallen down, he doesn’t have any children, but he isn’t heartless.
he stops his speed walking, and holds out his pointer finger for her to grab, and she does so with her tiny hands, wrapping around his finger, tugging at it. she stands up with a little “oof”, and he can see the scrape on her cheek from when she hit the floor, the muddy water on her face, leaving behind a grubby stain. suddenly, something overwhelms him, and he crouches down to her level, to wipe away a little of the grit that’s pressed against her cheek.
“oh my god, i am so sorry about that!” you say, out of breath, as you catch up to the two of them. he looks at you, and then your daughter. it’s almost as if you’ve managed to copy and paste yourself, a smaller version of you with the same bright eyes, even if yours have been dulled by…well. he doesn’t know. life?
“it’s no worries.” he smiles back, still not standing up, his hands linger over the child’s cheek, the scrape bleeding a little, “hey, is she okay?”
you scrub your face with your hands, and crouch down to your daughter, and he realises that you’re short, quite a bit shorter than him, anyway.
“maya, angel, are you okay?” you wipe the blood away off her skin, the red staining your thumb as your eyes mist up. you hate to see her in pain, that much is obvious.
“otay.” she holds up her thumb in agreement, and nods. harry’s a little surprised kids can be like that, all soft one moment, all solid the next. she scrunches up her nose, and her fringe sticks to her forehead, she can’t be any more than three, a toddler running loose in new york on a wednesday morning. sure, that might as well happen, he think.
“mumma’s still going to check, okay?” you kiss her cheek, and then straighten up, lifting her up in one swoop. he takes it as a cue to stand up too, shaking his arm, and picking up the umbrella you’ve dropped to pick your daughter up.
“your umbrella..?” is literally all he can manage, because his stomach is doing flip flops right now, looking at you. you, with the pretty eyes, fogged up glasses perched on your head. you’re wearing formal wear, a blouse and a floral skirt, and your daughter smiles looking at him holding out the umbrella.
“umbella.” her small hands try and grab it, but there’s no way she’ll be able to hold it, and so he keeps a grip on it, steady.
“i don’t think i have any room for it.” you huff, “you keep it mister!” you wave at him, with your left hand, “seems like you need it.”
no ring.
so why did he notice that?
you smile at him, and he smiles back, before you start walking towards the nearest open coffee shop.
and then he jogs up to them, “hey! miss!” what’s possessing him to do this? he’s fifty for god’s sake, and he sounds like a nineteen year old with a crush.
you turn back, and see him holding out the umbrella for you, “yeah..?”
“your daughter tripped over my shoes,” he sounds sheepish, “let me buy you a coffee, it’s the least i can do ma’am.”
you frown for a second, and then hear the thunderclap, look at the downpour. “okay…yeah, sure. okay, why not.”
maya curls around your neck at the sound of the thunderclap, and the sight squeezes something in his heart. you soothe her with a kiss to her forehead and a stroke on her hair.
“she can’t stand thunderstorms.” you say, nodding at her, “i’m trying to get her to nursery, but the subway wasn’t working? they’re saying the tracks got flooded?”
“they need to fix that, sooner or later.” but he hasn’t used the subway in years, his driver takes him everywhere.
“mhm.” you agree, and the two of you step into the coffee shop, it’s upscale, the ones that sell the bags of their own brand, artisanal coffee in store too.
your daughter — maya — with her brown plaits, blinks up when she smells coffee. and then snuggles back into you again. she’s so tiny, with her little hands playing with the loose strands of hair around your neck. is this what he’s missing out on?
“so, what do you want, anything, it’s on me.” he says, putting the umbrella back in it’s case, and putting it in the empty water bottle holder of your bag.
you frown, and then look down at your daughter. “what do you want baby?”
he didn’t expect you to ask her what she wanted, he just thought you’d get something expensive and leave, what with him inconveniencing you. instead you ask maya, and she murmurs something in your ear.
“have you been here before?” you ask, frowning as he reads the menu.
“this is a chain, there’s one near my work place in the financial district.” he says, noncommittally, there’s no reason to tell her what he does, not yet.
“oh okay,” you say, and then you whisper back to your daughter, “i think if you ask the nice man, he’ll know more than me, okay baby?”
she nods, and then peeks her head out of the crook of her mother’s neck.
“hi.” she says, her voice oh so delicate.
“hi.” he says, a little awkwardly, he’s not great with kids. never has been, probably never will be.
“what’s ‘our name.” she asks it so confidently, it throws him off. in the middle of the line for the counter. you laugh at that, and harry thinks he quite likes the sound of your laugh.
“i’m harry castillo, but you can call me harry.” he holds out his finger again, and she shakes it with her little hand.
“go on, ask mr castillo the question.” you prompt her, gently.
“otay.” she frowns, like she’s remembering. “what’s really sweet here? mumma says i can’t have sweets at home. your teeth get holes. but what’s super sweet here?”
he laughs at that, and you shake your head, “maya! you don’t have to tell mr castillo about home baby.” but he wants to hear about home, he wants to hear about how silly it is raising a child, what your home is like, what maya is like, what you are like.
“it’s harry, and it’s fine, really.” home for him is a huge penthouse with nobody inside. so really, anything is interesting to him.
“otay. can ou tell me what’s sweet here?” she asks, more seriously.
he hums, looking at the menu. “maybe the caramel hot chocolate it’s caramel and chocolate.”
you smile at that and so does maya, matching smiles on your faces, why does it light up the room, why does that light up his morning.
you get to the counter quickly, and he tells the barista what to order, putting his card to the machine before you can even see that he’s picked out two pastries for you two too. is the total $28? yes, but that’s a small price to pay, for everything.
you sit at the couch with your daughter beside you, and the barista calls out “maya!”
you watch as he picks up the plates and cup from the counter, and brings it to you. your daughters eyes widen, and she starts drinking from the cup with the straw.
“you don’t have to do this!” you push the cinnamon bun towards him, your daughter has unfortunately already got her hands on the glazed cherries, and has them in her fist right now, “please, let me pay you back.”
“no, it’s fine, really.” he still has that awkward smile, “i did trip your daughter up.”
“by accident, and it’s fine, kids fall over all the time.”
“but are you sure she seems okay?” he frowns, and he notices your eyes catch his hands.
“she’s fine, i promise, it’s nothing more than a little graze, see?” you point to her cheek, and the scrape has scabbed over already.
“and her head and everything…?” he says, and you smile again, more reassuringly.
“yes,” you take a sharp breath, “kids are meant to survive, i promise, she’s okay.”
“oh.” he says, quietly, “okay.”
“no worries mr castillo, thank you so much, maya will be raving about this for days now.” you smile at him, genuine gratitude, and it’s at this moment where he realises that he would spoil you and maya forever. if he could.
“i didn’t catch your name..?” he asks, gentle smile on his face.
“oh yeah, of course, it’s (y/n).” your focus is on your daughter now, who asks if you can cut up the cherry turnover into smaller pieces for her. it’s clear you have no idea who the hell he is, and he’d rather it stay the way.
it’s cute, how quickly maya smiles at him, how you smile at him. he walks up to the counter to get another paper straw as the one in maya’s cup starts to disintegrate, and the barista there smiles at him.
“lovely family you’ve got there.” she says, handing the straw over, “your daughter looks just like your wife, except she’s got your smile.”
those words make him freeze. daughter, wife. you just met them half an hour ago, and suddenly you do look like you and maya would suit his apartment better, suddenly it looks like maya’s little smile looks a little like his own.
“oh that’s…” he trails off, just take the win man, you aren’t going to get a wife and child. not at your age, his mind thinks. “thank you.”
“no worries, have a nice day!”
and he walks back to the couch where the two of you sit, sitting across you again.
“here’s the straw.” he hands it over, and you swap out the straw that’s broken for the other one.
“thanks.” you smile, and nudge your daughter.
“tanks mr catillo.” she sniffles, and then sips the hot chocolate again.
“it’s harry, and it’s fine, really.”
is it? his heart is melting.
“do you have anywhere to be later?” he asks, and your smile turns into a frown quickly. that was a silly question.
“yeah, work. maya can’t stay without me too long in weather like this, so i’m just taking her to work with me.” you sigh, “i mostly work from home, but the office says you need to come in on wednesdays.”
“oh, which way are you going?” he asks, and you shrug.
“midtown, i work at a tech company, but i doubt i’ll be anywhere at this time of day.”
he laughs at that, all rich like butter and biscuits. “yeah, fair enough, i’m trying to get to the financial district without looking like a wet rat.”
you smile at him, and he can feel your eyes ghost over his curls. “no, i don’t think you look like a wet rat mr castillo.”
“it’s harry.” he sighs, and leans over the table, maya mimicks him and does the same. they’re content in making silly faces at each other for a bit as you scroll through your inbox.
“i’ve never seen her take to someone so quick.” there’s a smile on your face, proud. “she’s always very shy, but she loves jumping up in the rain.”
he hasn’t thought of lucy, or matchmaking, or anything right now. just the woman in front of him, with the child currently blowing a raspberry at him.
“maybe i just have a trustworthy aura.” he smiles, all charm.
“or maybe it’s because you gave her three sources of sugar.” but there’s no bite to your words, not really, “thanks, i can’t wait for the sugar crash that’s going to come next.”
maya has a fringe that sticks to her face with the rain, and your glasses that are fogged up sit on your hair, and you smile at him like he’s the only man alive.
oh god. he’s sunk in so deep, it’s ridiculous.
and he doesn’t even know if you’re single, available, whatever. no ring doesn’t mean, no father.
“can’t you give her to her father?” he blurts out, and your vision darkens.
“no, um, maya’s dad died two months after she was born.” you shake your head. “daddy’s with the stars now, isn’t he?” you say, in hushed tones to your daughter, but it’s like you’re saying it for yourself.
“oh.” he gets quiet again, “sorry about that.”
“no it’s fine, really.” you say, with some resolution in your voice. the sun is finally peeking out of the clouds, and this magical moment has to come to an end, soon anyway.
maya burrows into your chest again as you coax her to stand up, she doesn’t want to walk any longer, and harry doesn’t know how long you’ve been walking for anyway. without a single thought, he picks up your daughter like she weighs nothing.
maya shrieks with laughter, this is higher up than she’s used to.
you just stare at him with narrowed eyes, but he just sort of stands there, six feet tall with a child perched in his arms, waiting for you to say something.
you huff, and then close your eyes, as if to say “i’m trusting you with this.” and then your eyes harden, “if you hurt her..”
his face blanches, but he still holds onto her like she’s precious, and she is precious, with freckles on her face and bright eyes like she’s the sun incarnate.
she sits on his shoulders once you leave the coffee shop, the water is drying quickly and there aren’t too many people on the streets. your eyes still linger on your daughter, but also trail over his broad shoulders and broad back.
tugging at his hair with her small hands, squishing his face, “don’t pull mr castillo’s hair.” you scold.
“it’s fine really.”
“are you sure?” you ask, worried.
“i’m sure.” he nods, and maya is folding over his face now, dangling her face against his.
“do ‘ou like cheese? stars make noises? can ‘ou read?” rapid fire questions that come out of her mouth. you smile as he painstakingly answers them “yes i like cheese, i don’t know about stars sorry, and yes i can read.”
she hums thoughtfully, and then sits back up, playing with his hair. the blocked off road is coming to an end now, and you reach at her feet, in little wellington booties.
“cmon now, time to say goodbye to mr castillo.” he’s given up correcting you.
“arry.” she says, sadly, hand still in his hair.
“careful now maya-bear, mumma has to go to office, you need to come with me okay?” you reach out for her? and harry tries to pass her down, but her hands pull at his shirt.
“come on now.” you coax her again, “you can see mr castillo later on, okay?” and she clambers off him, and onto you.
“thank you for that.” you whisper, gratefully.
“no worries miss.” he smiles, a blush on his cheeks. god what he wouldn’t do to have a family like this, a wife and his own child, running around. then he wouldn’t even have to tell them to go.
“it’s (y/n),” you clear your throat, “it’s fine, call me that and i’ll call you harry.”
“(y/n) it is then.”
“right—“ you put maya down, and let her walk beside you, holding onto your hand. “this is where we say goodbye, right?”
a feeling in his chest. would this be his last chance?
“are you free tomorrow evening?” he asks, far too quickly.
“tomorrow..evening..?” you stutter, “um, maybe? i dunno, i’ll have to check, probably not though, mayasitting .”
“oh, i was just wondering if you wanted to get some dinner.”
“oh, OH.” you blush, “right, like. that. and this is dinner dinner, and not just, dinner.”
“…what?” he knits his brows.
“no, i mean, never mind.” you shake your head, maya pulling at your hand to turn right. “like, dinner as in. like feeling bad for a single mom sort of dinner or-“
“no, date dinner.” he likes when you stumble over your words, it’s cute.
“ah, date dinner.” you hum, “yeah okay, if you’re okay with maya coming.” a protective hand on her head. “i’m not going anywhere without her, or your house.”
“no, of course.” he glances down at maya, “of course she can come. there’s a nice pizza joint in downtown manhattan that you should come visit. it’s near my office.”
your lips quirk upwards, a ghost of a smile, “okay, yeah, sure, i’d like that. would you like it maya?”
maya grabs onto his trouser clad leg with her grabby little hands (sticky with sugar from the pastries) “PIZZA!”
“okay, so that’s decided then.” your mouth is dry as you watch him smile down at her and shake her hand again. he’s so good with your girl, it makes your heart thud, “can i get your number?”
he nods, and then passes over a business card, and you laugh as you read over it. “i meant maybe airdropping my contact over? but this works fine too.”
greying hair, wrinkles around his eyes, sure he’s not your usual type, a a bit older, but you haven’t dated since your husband died anyway.
you ring the number you’ve just inputted, and his phone rings. “save me right now, so you can find me faster.”
“okay, okay.” he puts your name down, “see you six pm? i’ll send the location over?”
( maya doesn’t let go of his leg until she’s promised she’ll see him tomorrow, 200%, and somewhere in his shattered broken heart, a seed of hope grows. )
thank you for reading!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!!! any comments are very appreciates. lots of loveeee angie
his voice is the first thing you feel—low, rumbling, warm against your shoulder before you’re even fully awake.
“come back here…” he murmurs, eyes still closed, arms searching blindly until he finds your waist and drags you closer with a small, sleepy groan. he buries his face in your neck like he’s trying to climb into your skin, breath fanning over your collarbone.
“you left,” he complains, voice so deep it vibrates through you.
“pedro, I moved like… two centimeters.”
“too far,” he mumbles, nuzzling even closer.
his curls are a soft mess, falling over his forehead, warm from sleep. you slide your fingers into them without thinking, brushing gently, and he melts instantly—literally melts. his whole body softens, a shiver running down his spine.
“mmh… don’t stop,” he breathes, words heavy with sleep, like honey dripping from his tongue.
you keep playing with his hair, nails lightly scratching his scalp, and he lets out this tiny sound—half sigh, half whine—that makes your heart flip.
he tips his head back just enough to look at you, lids heavy, lashes messy, mouth soft. “you’re gonna kill me,” he says, barely audible.
“how?” you whisper, smiling.
“being this… this warm,” he slurs. “this soft with me. I can’t handle it.”
he pulls you fully on top of him, guiding your thigh over his hip, keeping one hand on your lower back, the other sliding up your arm like he needs to feel every inch of you. he presses little, lazy kisses on your jaw, each one slower than the last, like he can barely keep himself awake.
you brush your fingers through his hair again and he moans—quiet, breathy, absolutely helpless.
“that good?” you tease.
his eyes fall shut again, head tipping into your hand. “you have no idea,” he whispers, voice thick and gravelly. “touch me like this forever.”
he’s so needy it’s almost ridiculous—nuzzling your chest, curling his fingers into your shirt like he’s afraid you’ll disappear, holding you tighter every time you shift.
“stay,” he begs softly, barely conscious. “just… stay with me a little longer.”
“i’m not going anywhere,” you promise.
he hums—content, small, safe—and pulls the blanket higher around you both before tugging you into his chest like you're the only place he can fall asleep.
“good,” he whispers, almost dreaming. “i sleep better when you’re touching me.”
you kiss his hair. he smiles against your skin.
and then, still half-asleep, he adds, “i love it when you play with my hair… makes me feel yours.”
I know that everyone has been talking about fandom and community lately and I wanted to add one thing:
Smaller creators need engagement (please please reblog and comment and engage) but also, it’s ok if your fandom friends don’t read your stuff. That’s not a betrayal. A majority of my moots don’t read my series, and I do not care, because the sense of community is there without them needing to do homework in order to be friends with me.
