#Levi is a girl dad | Explore Tumblr Posts and Blogs

theragethatisdesire · 11 months

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aot men as dads - headcanon!! some 18+!!

includes: eren, jean, reiner, & levi

i'm still working on some full-fledged one-shots and parts of my series', but i'm nannying for the summer and have BABY FEVER. please enjoy my little headcanons of my fav aot men as dads <3

DISCLAIMER: some of this post contains MATURE CONTENT that is intended only for those over 18. if you are a minor, please do not read below the cut.

Eren

ok but eren is such a cringe dad lol

buys himself all of the #1 Dad! merch. he’s got mugs, tshirts, hats, all of it, and all of it went on his credit card.

10000% a girl dad. loves all the little dresses and bows; he puts your daughter’s hair in its first bun, nearly tears up when she points at his matching hairstyle and babbles “like da-da!”

you have to parent eren as much as the children. when you turn the corner into the living room where he’s supposed to be having “quiet time” with your toddler only to find that they’re buried in a pillow fort and eren’s signed his own name in crayon on the wall next to your daughter’s scribblings. “babe, we can just repaint it! she’s being creative.”

loves when you’re pregnant. after your first, eren keeps a calendar on the wall marking off the days until it’s safe for him to fuck you again, fuck a baby right back into you. already has a breeding kink before your first. develops a lactation kink after.

TERRIFIED (and i mean terrified) of hurting your little angel. has absolutely zero concept of “cry it out”; if he hears his baby crying, he’s sprinting into the next room, kissing a nonexistent boo-boo.

refuses to admit it but he has no backbone when it comes to your daughter wanting literally anything. she wants it, she gets it.

favorite thing in the world is matching outfits. favorite. “babe, where’s her green hoodie? i’m wearing mine today for the park!” “of course it matters, we have to match! on that note, where’s yours?”

lets your daughter use his hair to learn how to braid. usually has a few pink hair ties or glittery clips sticking out of it when you come home from a mom’s night out.

really big on your baby getting to see the world. drags you on vacation to any place he can think of, even as you try to explain to him that she can’t form any long term memories yet. “but baby, she’ll have pictures. how many kids in her class can bring a picture of them at the eiffel tower to their first show-and-tell?”

accidentally ruins santa and the tooth fairy for your daughter. cries harder than she does over it.

aggressively vets babysitters. ends up settling for a nursing student in the labor & delivery school who’s the oldest of seven children and probably more knowledgeable about child development than both of you combined, but he’s still suspicious.

wants to watch while you push, watch his baby come into the world. you’ve never seen a sweeter sight than eren in his scrubs, crying while holding your baby girl.

Jean

most people picture eren as being the roughhousing dad, but it’s jean, and i will die on this hill.

freaks out every time he drops your first boy while throwing him around like a ragdoll, but he’ll never stop because “listen!! he’s laughing!”. when it comes to the rest of them, he’s experienced enough now to tell the difference between a real booboo and an imagined one, and he simply brushes their little pants off caringly before shouting “now you tackle me!”

jean’s got no gender preference for your first, or the rest of your little brood for that matter. he raises them exactly the same, regardless: tough.

it takes him awhile to get used to the concept of babies’ minds. you’ve walked in on him having full-blown arguments with your shrieking toddlers several times. “what’s not making sense? if you let your goldfish ‘swim’ in the toilet, it dies, simple as that.”

plays “bad cop” for you because you’re terrible at it, but he’s always having to turn around and snicker into his elbow in the middle of scolding because your babies get the same little throbbing forehead vein as you when they’re mad

wants a big family, and gets it. you practically have to drag him to get his balls snipped after your fourth, him reminding you that “it’s reversible!” the entire way there.

the newborn phase is his favorite. he’s rarely home for any longer than ten minutes without scooping your most recent addition into his arms, squishing their little cheeks and marveling at their gurgling noises.

the kids never give him anxiety, but when you’re pregnant??? jean’s a wreck.

“do your feet still hurt, love?” “what do you mean you have indigestion? that could be the baby coming!” “of course we can’t have sex, what if we poke its little head?”

definitely the dad that’s got a delivery bag and a backup bag and an emergency third backup of the backup bag in his car at all times. the first week of your third trimester, he starts watching you suspiciously for any signs of labor, even though this is your fourth together. you think you’ve got it down by now, you tell him, but he won’t listen.

always gets the kids to work together on little surprises for you. every mother’s day they wake you up with breakfast, every valentines day your dining room table is covered in handmade cards, every birthday your kitchen is coated in flour from jean and four little ones attempting to bake

SO HARD to drag him out for a date night. he wants to bring them everywhere: the fancy restaurant, the couples' get away trip

jean's that dad standing in the bar, watching the game, beer in hand, with an occupied baby carrier strapped to his chest

wants to watch during delivery, but he passed out the first go-round, so now he’s content standing up by your head, trying not to turn white as you squeeze his hand hard enough to break.

talks you into just one more on your fourth’s second birthday. “they’re all so big now. don’t you miss it, babe? my baby in your belly? c’mon…” turns out he reversed that vasectomy without telling you

Reiner

another girl dad. hardcore girl dad.

buys his little princess all number of dresses and barbies, is confused when she’s more interested in the baseballs her classmates have.

accidentally raises the most tomboyish, toughest little girl. still babies her, and she hates it.

cries more than you do on your first date night out when you leave her with your mom. forgets to order his entree at the restaurant because he’s watching the baby monitor app on his phone.

definitely the best at splitting baby duties with you. reiner’s up before you most nights when she wakes, grabbing a bottle and cooing at her lovingly even as she screams. you always try to stay awake to watch him on the baby monitor, though, heart melting as his massive arms rock the tiny bundle back to sleep.

all the neighborhood kids love him because of his size. at every cookout, reiner can’t help on the grill because he’s buried in the grass in a little army of toddlers, led by your daughter, shrieking with joy.

always taking pictures. literally always. unflattering ones when you fall asleep breastfeeding, candids at the zoo, eighteen identical pictures of the lock of hair from her first haircut clogging up his camera roll.

can’t be the bad cop. literally ever. he just can’t say no to his little princess, can’t break her precious little heart by telling her that throwing her food onto the floor is bad.

takes your daughter to mommy & me classes with him

DILF DILF DILF. all the moms in the classes swoon over him and gossip about him when he’s not there; much to your annoyance, reiner never notices, insisting that they’re his “mommy friends”.

always sporting a little bit of glitter on his face or a sticker on his back from your daughter

coming from a fatherless background, reiner nearly kills himself trying to be a constant presence in your daughter’s life (you have to remind him that he has to rest too)

never misses an open house night at school, even if it nearly gets him fired. coaches all of her sports teams. literally almost cries when she makes her first soccer goal. actually does cry when she tells you the boy sitting beside her in class called her his girlfriend. full-blown breakdown on her first day of school, so bad he has to stay home from work.

the absolute BEST through your pregnancy and delivery. always cooking your craving of the week, constant foot and back rubs, stays up all night with you for the three days before the birth when you’re just too swollen and miserable to sleep.

holds your hand through the entire delivery, gets in the doctors’ way when they’re performing checkups because “i’m her father, i need to know what’s going on”

Levi

levi never pictured himself as having children, but when your little surprise arrives, blinking up at levi with his own grey, owlish eyes, levi can’t believe he hadn’t thought of it sooner.

very easily irritated with anyone asking questions about your home life.

when his coworkers ask for your newborn’s name, levi simply says “child.” are you two trying again? “why the fuck do you need to know?”

super overprotective. your baby waves at someone in the supermarket, and levi’s leaning down to explain (in words your eight-month-old can’t yet understand) stranger danger.

totally one of those parents that goes half-crazy trying to get their child into the top-notch, snobby preschool in town.

“we’re not wasting his intelligence on the public school”

levi grew up with basically nothing, so he goes all out buying the best baby products on the market. $2,500 strollers, researching “best baby toys for development”, the whole nine yards.

100% spends months trying to get your child to make a game out of picking up his own toys after playtime, but it never works.

has a meal plan for your child to “optimize nutrition” that you have to sneak around to give your baby little chocolates and junk snacks.

“why are there pringles in his playtime bag? they have no nutritional value.”

vets anyone that comes around your child, even other children. “no more playtime with that evan kid. he’s always got a cold or something.”

he’s always been a light sleeper, but once you have your child, levi snores beside them watching kids’ cartoons on the tv like you’ve never seen him, even drooling as his head lolls, arm tucked tight around your little one.

learned everything he could about labor and delivery beforehand

you almost killed him in the delivery room as he explained each medical detail of your labor symptoms to “reassure” you. he finally got the hint when you threatened to decapitate him.

he thinks it’s shameful, but watching you be a mother turns. him. on.

wants to take you right there when he catches you breastfeeding, watches you read a bedtime story, spin your child around laughing. you’re just so naturally good at it and it makes him love you all the more, all that love going straight between his legs.

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katiexpunk · 5 months

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Sex On Fire, Part 1 | Pairing Firefighter!Joel Miller X Fem!Reader

Series Summary: You're a country girl in the big city, thanks to your generous aunt. You expected to have adventures your first year in New York, but what you didn't expect was for your hot, firefighter neighbor, Joel, to be part of them. Part 1 Summary: You move to New York, after a little coaxing from your aunt. You meet your new neighbor, Joel, and quickly learn he's a Captain with the NYFD and good with his hands. Rating: 18+ Minors DNI Word Count: ~6.7K Warnings: Sexual tension, sexual tension, sexual tension. This one is dripping in it. No age gap specified. No explicit smut (yet, there's uh...gonna be a lot in part 2), but a nice lead up to it in the end that will probably blue ball you. Groping. Alcohol. Hardcore flirting. Fleetwood Mac, The Rolling Stones, and Kings of Leon song references. Uniform kink. Joel has a hard on for seeing reader in his shirt. Reader's mom has passed. Texas/small town vibes. New York City. There are no specific descriptors for reader, except that she has hair. Ya'll, these two are just down for each other so fucking bad it's not even funny. Authors Note: This one is for my darling moot @darkheartgatita. Pia, thanks for putting Firefighter!Joel into my brain. I hope you enjoy. As always, thank you to my Slutty, Smutty, Sister @sydneyinacoma who inspires me every day and shares her filthy thoughts on the reg. And to everyone who gives my little blog love -- I fucking love you all so much. Part 2, Fall and Winter, will drop next Saturday.

Masterlist | Read on AO3 | Notifications

Part 2 | Part 3 Preview | Part 3

S P R I N G Spring blooms, bringing with it a new beginning for you. Of all the places you’d thought you would be, New York was not one of them.

Life back in Texas wasn't terrible, a bit dull sometimes, but not awful.

Yet, in the mundane moments, your mind often drifted to daydreams – visions of swapping your Levi's for a sleek black dress and trading quiet farmland for the lively hum of city bars. You’d think of Samantha from Sex and the City sitting on your porch at sunset, drinking Bud Light, wishing your fairy godmother would appear and magically turn it into a dry Martini.

That was until three weeks ago, when your rich aunt, visiting from New York, decided to sprinkle a bit of magic into your life.

“I’m gonna move to Italy for a while,” she casually said over family dinner as if she was just announcing that she was going to the store for milk. You should have been surprised, but she’s always been the kind to never stick around for too long. Single and child-free, she’s spent her adult life dancing to her free-spirited rhythm, bouncing around from one place to the next. Not because she had to, but because she could. You, on the other hand, were the total opposite. After your mom passed away, leaving the cocoon of the familiar felt like too much. Despite your aunt's protests and encouragement to just go, you resisted, not wanting to leave behind your dad and the comfortable life you'd known. But if there's one thing you've learned about your aunt, it's that she's relentless – and yanking you out of your comfort zone was precisely what she wanted, and she had just the plan to do it.

She handed you the keys to her Lower East Side apartment, turning your once silly little daydreams into a reality. “Sweetie, you need this – you’re meant for so much more, your dad will be fine. Please go,” she encouraged.

Despite your initial reluctance, you caved, and before you knew it, you were on a plane bound for JFK.

++++ You feel like a small fish in a big pond as you navigate the city. Trying to figure out the subway turns into a whole saga of you getting lost more than once. You eventually find the right borough, but not without a fair share of unhelpful people brushing you off along the way. Yep, you're definitely not in Texas anymore.

While walking through the city, it hits you that a new pair of shoes is in order; something made clear to you by the little blister on the back of your heel that’s screaming at you. Despite the annoyance, you’re enjoying the walk to the apartment, your new home. The city's buzzing with life, and even the faint smell of urine in the air doesn't bother you. It's a wild, trippy feeling to be in the city, to feel like the main character of your own story.

You grab your phone, itching to double-check the building your aunt texted and ensure you have the right address. Remembering her advice about the unassuming exterior but spectacular view, you get ready for the big reveal. The key affixed to a keychain with a little apple on it meets the lock, and as you turn it, the door swings open, revealing a spacious wooden staircase.

As you step inside, you notice there's a bit of mail scattered on the slightly dusty floor. You collect the envelopes and magazines with your aunt's name on them and neatly stack the other pieces for Joel Miller into a pile on the bottom step.

After climbing the – Jesus, really fucking narrow – stairs, you're faced with doors opposite each other. While a brief doubt nudges you to recheck the apartment number, your gut tells you that the door with the welcome mat showing lemons and a pot of fake flowers is the one — a stark difference from its neighbor with a simple grey mat and no decor. Trusting your instincts, you decide that the lively entrance is the one.

As you step inside, you're greeted by a cozy space that, despite its age, radiates warmth and character. The walls are adorned with paintings that seem to tell stories of bygone eras, while rays of sunlight filter through the window, revealing glimpses of the bustling cityscape below.

Though small, the apartment is meticulously decorated, each corner telling a tale of adventures and cultural escapades. Remnants of your aunt’s travels, collected with care, add a touch of global flair to the modest space. Posters from Broadway plays hang proudly on the walls, as do family pictures. It’s lived-in; the kind of lived-in that feels comfy and embraces you like a warm hug.

You look at the frames on the wall and pause when you see one of your favorites – a photo of you as a little girl, smushed between your mom and your aunt, a cake three sizes bigger than your tiny head lit up with birthday candles in front of you. You can't help but trace the edges of the frame with your fingertips, connecting with the warmth radiating from your mother's beaming smile. Miss you, mom escapes your lips as your eyes linger on the photograph for a heartbeat longer before the rest of the room demands your attention.

In the compact kitchen, a handwritten note from your aunt beckons, strategically placed beside a bottle of wine on top of a stack of takeout menus. Her words resonate with warmth and encouragement. "Welcome to your new home! I am so proud of you for taking me up on my offer. Disregard the bedroom chaos—I started painting the walls but didn't quite finish before taking off. Feel free to pick up where I left off if the mood strikes. And if you ever need a hand with anything, Joel Miller across the way is a nice guy. I've already told him that you’ll be staying for a while, or who knows, maybe forever. Love you!" The paper carries the unmistakable fragrance of her perfume, and a smile graces your face after you finish reading it.

Setting the heartfelt note aside, your attention shifts to the menu for Sang Garden, a vibrant pink post-it exclaiming, "Right down the street! Super yummy!" Hunger gnaws at your stomach; the last meal was a distant memory from this morning, and you're ravenous. Without hesitation, you dial the number on the menu, your choice a steadfast favorite: orange chicken. “10 minutes,” the older lady on the phone tells you, not bothering to say goodbye before hanging up. Huh, efficient, you think.

As the aroma of anticipation fills the air, you finish unpacking your suitcase and weave through your new space until your food is ready. Only having to go down a flight of stairs and less than a block down the street to pick it up is a new feeling for you. If you wanted something like this at home you’d have to drive at least 20 minutes to pick it up.

You finish the entirety of the meal within minutes curled up on the couch, Sex and the City on the T.V.. Your aunt was right, it’s good. Probably the best orange chicken you’ve ever had in your entire life; just the right amount of zest and sweetness. You can already tell you’ll be a regular. Everyone always talks about the pizza in New York, but nobody bothered to tell you about the Chinese. You can tell you’ll probably have a lot of moments like that, discovering new things for yourself instead of hearing about it from magazines or seeing the photos on Instagram.

With your belly now full of the sticky goodness, you settle into bed for the night. You stare at the ceiling, paying no mind to the smile that’s been plastered on your face for the past three hours. You feel giddy, like a little girl seeing the stars for the first time. You’re doing it. You’re really doing it.

The city is still thrumming to life, but the distant sound of sirens and honks eventually turns to white noise as you drift off to sleep.

++++

The next morning, you rise with purpose; new life breathed into you. You brew a cup of coffee and decide to savor it on the fire escape, enjoying the not-yet-thick spring, and still slightly chilly, spring air. As the city stirs awake beneath you, you’re determined to craft an agenda for the day. With another few days to spare before your new job starts, your thoughts drift to the bedroom, where the abandoned paint cans await.

It's been a while since you've had the chance to dive into something genuinely productive, or creative for that matter, and you decide that this is the perfect opportunity. Your aunt chose a deep, rich shade of green, one that harmonizes seamlessly with the space; not too dark, but not puke or pea green, either. It’s pretty. She always has had good taste.

And while you like the color, it’s not particularly one you’d like to see splattered all over your clothing, having only brought what you could fit into a small suitcase. Your aunt must have something, you think. The woman has more clothes than a department store and there is no way she could have brought them all to Italy, although you don’t put it past her to try.

You make your way to the guest bedroom and rummage through the dresser located there. The top drawer is full of nothing but scrapbooks, the middle drawer has only sweaters, but luck strikes in the bottom drawer, where you locate a handful of old shirts.

You pull out a dark blue, oversized “New York Fire Department” cotton t-shirt; the front of it has an emblem, and the back says “Rescue 1 FDNY” in faded blocky white letters, obviously well-loved. This will do, you tell yourself, quickly exchanging your tiny crop top for the large shirt. It hangs over your body, the bottom nearly hitting your knees. Why your aunt has such a large shirt in her collection you’ll never know, but you wager it’s probably from one of her many “friends” over the years.

++++

The sounds of Fleetwood Mac's "Rumours" fill the room, you stand in the center of the bedroom, paintbrush in hand, ready to transform the space. The nostalgic chords of Stevie Nicks' voice in Dreams infuse the air, blending with the scent of fresh paint as you dip the brush into the can, and begin. “Like a heartbeat drives you mad,” you sing, slightly off-key, but no one is around to listen and you don’t mind. “Thunder only happens when it’s rainingggggg,” you belt, using the paintbrush as a microphone.

While most of the paint makes it on the walls, you have to admit that painting isn’t your strong suit and a fair amount of it has splashed back onto your face, shirt, and even your hair. You’re having fun, more fun than you’ve had in a while, even if you make a mess while doing it. Not like you’re gonna see anyone today anyway.

“Players only love you when they’re plaaaaaying…” doing your best Stevie twirl.

More and more green covers the walls, but as you’re about to get started on the final white wall, you’re interrupted by a loud steady stream of knocks at your door.

You hit pause on the music, and make your way to the door, unsure of who would possibly be knocking. You peer through the peephole to take a look, but you can only see the back of a man in a simple white shirt, his back turned to face away from the door. You undo the chain lock and swing the door open.

As the man pivots to meet your gaze, his presence sweeps over you, an unexpected force that leaves you momentarily disarmed. He’s handsome in a way that unmoors you; a mass of a man with broad shoulders, sun-kissed skin, and sculpted biceps that redefine your sense of composure. Whoa.

“Hi,” you murmur, your eyes conveying a blend of softness and curiosity, "Can I help you?"

The man looks at you, and you feel yourself heat under the attention of his gaze. His eyes gently caress your frame; lingering a little too long on the emblem sewn into the fabric, just above your breast.

"Uh," he clears his throat, his hand rising to his face, fingers subtly grazing the beard hair on his cheek, as if grappling for words. "Yeah, well – no, uh," he stumbles, the words caught in a momentary struggle. "Hi, ‘m Joel Miller, I live across the way," he greets, angling his body to signal to the door directly across the foyer. “Oh right, my aunt told me about you you,” you say, introducing yourself, voice smooth like honey. “She mentioned you were a nice guy and to call you if I ever needed anything,” you say, taking up space in front of him by leaning into the door. “Just stopping by to say hi, then? Or do you need a cup of sugar or something like that?” you ask with a playful tone.

Suddenly, the last thing he wants to do is admit that there's something you could help him with—like turning down your music. He likes Fleetwood Mac as much as the next guy, but the last three days on shift have left him craving peace, not a soundtrack reverberating through the thin walls.

Plus, he wasn’t expecting you to be so damn attractive.

And he definitely wasn’t expecting to be wearing his shirt when you answered the door.

“Ha, no, don’t need any sugar,” he chuckles, “just thought I’d make myself known.” He pauses, eyes locked onto yours. You notice the subtle flecks of amber in his deep brown eyes and the furrow of his brow. He’s painfully handsome. Just as you’re about to say something, he breaks the silence first, “But I'll let you get back to whatever it is you’re doin’...you look busy,” he tilts his chin to the paint that’s splotched over your bare legs. You can tell he’s looking for the story behind the mess.

His left hand leaves his pocket and he places it on the doorframe. He leans into it, and your eyes catch the firmness of his bicep flexing under the strain of his lean before meeting his face once more.

“Cute shirt, by the way” he says, his voice low and even.

“Oh thanks, you like it?” you ask, pulling the fabric out in a tent from the center, noticing the little splatters of paint as you do. “It’s my aunt’s, I just borrowed it while I finish up some painting.”

“Yeah, I have the same one,” he adds, “looks a helluva lot better on you than it does me, though,” a little laugh leaves his chest and his cheeks flush, a little embarrassed that he just said that. Fuck, it’s been so long since he’s tried to flirt with a woman.

Your skin prickles with heat, and you’re suddenly very self-aware of what a wreck you must look like, but you decide to be bold anyway. “Maybe we’ll have to compare sometime,” you playfully retort.

“Yeah, maybe we will,” he responds, looking you up and down, hoping the meaning behind his words isn’t too obvious.

“Well if ya ever need anything, ‘m just across the way,” he says, dropping his hand from the doorframe, hitting his thigh with a slight sound of a pat. “Nice to meet ya, Darlin’,” he says. You don’t miss the way his eyes flicker down to your chest once more, your stiff nipples now peeking through the fabric. He turns on his heels and turns his back to walk back to his apartment.

“Nice to meet you, Joel,” you purr. His head peers over his shoulder back at you, and the corners of his lips turn up in a little smirk.

Oh god.

You’re so fucked.

++++

Later that night, you text your aunt that you just met Joel Miller. You curse her for not telling you how incredibly hot he is. You also tell her that you decided to finish the painting, sending a selfie of you in front of the freshly updated walls with the message. You also add that you borrowed one of her shirts and that you’ll do your best to get the paint out of it.

Her response causes your breath to hitch in your throat, and your stomach swirls into a tight knot.

“The walls look amazing! Oh and by the way, that’s not my shirt, it’s Joel’s. I must have forgotten to give it back to him; the shared laundry downstairs sometimes causes mix-ups. Be a doll and give it back to him, will ya? Oh and quarters for the machines are in the clay pot next to the door.”

Fuck. Of course you would answer the door to your incredibly hot neighbor, covered in paint, in his shirt. You shake your head in embarrassment.

You look down at the shirt and notice just how much paint is all over it. You strip it from your body, bring it over to the sink, and begin to scrub the paint out of it with dish soap. As you watch the paint fade into the warm water, you notice the tag on the inside of the shirt and the rank inscribed in permanent marker on it.

Your fingers prune in the water, but you eventually get all of the paint out of the fabric. Satisfied with your cleaning job, you hang it up to dry and scribble out a note.

The following morning, on your way out to explore the city, you leave it neatly folded on Joel’s doorstep. You don’t bother to knock, you’re certain you might combust from embarrassment if you did.

Shortly after, on his way to work, Joel opens the door and notices the shirt by his boot, a little envelope placed on top of it.

“You could have told me it was your shirt, Captain Miller.”

Joel smirks. The cat’s out of the bag on that little secret then. He places it inside and lets out a little sigh. The image of your perky nipples, exposed legs, and messy paint-riddled hair flashes in his brain.

God, he wishes you would have kept it.

S U M M E R

As spring transitions into summer, the city experiences a gradual warming trend. Cherry blossoms and tulips from spring slowly give way to vibrant green foliage. Parks become lively with people enjoying the pleasant weather, and outdoor events become more frequent. The temperature rises, and there's a noticeable shift towards a warmer atmosphere with longer days.

It’s a shift you also feel in yourself, having found your niche, carving out your place in the ecosystem of the city. You’ve gradually adjusted, figured out how to successfully navigate the complexities of the subway system, and are starting to rely less and less on Google Maps to get around. You frequent a bodega around the corner from you, know where to find a decent bagel, and are a recognizable regular at Sang Garden.

Your new job keeps you busy. It’s tough work being a bartender in the city, but it’s granted you more than one opportunity to meet people from all walks of life, people you’d never get the opportunity to meet back in your hometown.

People like the gregarious and charismatic trader, who’s more than happy to make it clear he works in the financial district, even when nobody asks. People like the countless young professionals unwinding after a long day with their colleagues; some with sexual tension so obvious you can taste it. Designers. Architects. Engineers. Writers. Musicians. Actors. You don’t like them all, but you don’t have to, you’ll never see most of them more than once anyway.

You quickly learn the art of making a good martini, one you think would make Samantha proud. It’s all so posh. So far from your usual. But the money is good, and without having to pay rent – a luxury you now realize; having almost fainted when your coworker told you how much he pays in rent – it allows you to pocket most of it.

Your first few months in New York have been good, although a tad lonely. Making friends was never really a strong suit of yours, and you’re finding the city to be a particularly hard place to get to know people in any real way. Most of your free time is spent curled up with a good book or watching Friends for the millionth time, wishing Central Perk was a real place.

You see Joel in passing now and then, the in-between times when he’s coming home from work, and you’re just leaving for yours. Sometimes you pass each other on the stairs, and you have to angle your bodies side-to-side just to fit on the narrow stairs as you navigate around one another. You sometimes have to collect your composure when you leave for work and notice the faint smell of his cologne still in the hallway, it smells so good it makes you dizzy.

You find excuses to talk to him every now and then – a squeaky fire detector, to hand him his mail, or even for a stupid cup of sugar. Every time you find yourself knocking on his door, the butterflies congregate in masses as if preparing to migrate. You feel like a school girl with a crush for the first time, but as far as you can tell, Joel doesn’t feel the same, and you’re okay with that. At least that’s what you try to tell yourself.

The exchanges are always short; little blips in the grand scene of time, but that doesn’t stop you from feeling like you might faint under the intensity of his scorching gaze. Which doesn’t help, considering it’s already sweltering outside.

You severely underestimated how hot summer would be. Of course, you’re used to the oppressive Texas sun, but something about the way the buildings and concrete reflect the rays makes it feel like New York is at least 10x hotter.

The temperature in your apartment isn’t much better than outside. The air hangs heavy inside as you lay on your mattress, clad in only a bra and underwear, on crisp white sheets, attempting to cool yourself with a damp towel on your forehead. You listen to the feeble hum of the wall crying out for help.

As luck would have it, the overworked unit decides to give in to the heat. Beads of sweat form on your forehead as you attempt to fix it, but it’s pointless. You stare at the lifeless unit, realizing that the city’s relentless heat has claimed it as a victim. Time for a new one.

Once the sun dips past the skyline, you venture out to your local hardware store to grab a new one. You wish you would have had some forethought to bring a cart or something, not thinking about the fact that you were going to have to carry the heavy unit eight city blocks. Coulda, shoulda, woulda, you think to yourself. Once back to your apartment, you balance the quirky box on your hip, holding it steady with one arm as you fumble to grab the key from your purse outside the entrance of the building. Your cheeks are warm, you’re drenched in sweat even at this hour, and your hair is starting to stick to the nape of your neck. You manage to grab it, but inadvertently drop it, your fingers clammy.

“Shit,” you mutter, frustrated and hot.

“Need some help there, Darlin’?” Joel asks, making his way up the stoop. You turn to face him and oh.

Of all the times you’ve seen Joel, you’ve never seen him in uniform. The sight catches you off guard. His crisp, navy blue uniform emphasizes his broad shoulders and neatly tucked shirt, the shiny FDNY badge on his chest. He flashes a charming smile, revealing a hint of dimples, as he picks up your fallen key with ease. You’re not sure how he always manages to look so put together, a stark contrast to the way you always seem to look in front of him.

"Rough day?" he asks, unlocking the door, and for a moment, you forget the oppressive heat, captivated by his charm. “Here, lemme take that for you,” he offers, and you kindly accept. You shift the box out of your arms into his, and your stomach swoops when you watch the way his biceps flex as he grabs the unit with ease.

Grateful for the assistance, you offer a sheepish smile, “Yeah, you could say that” you reply, opening the door, holding it open for him. He begins to ascend the staircase ahead of you, giving you a full view of his ass in his uniform pants; it’s toned, and his thick thighs match. You walk behind him, trying to ignore the stickiness that’s beginning to pool in your underwear. You allow yourself to perv out for a moment, at least while his back is to you. He’s just helping you out, stop being weird.

Joel waits at the top of the steps for you to open your door. Once unlocked, you enter and he follows behind you. “Oh shit, it’s hotter than hell in here,” he says once inside, the irony is not lost on you that a literal man who fights fires for a living thinks it’s hotter than hell. He bends to place the box down near the front door and rises to full height, bringing both hands to his hips. You notice the little sheen of sweat that has now collected on his thick neck, fighting the impulse to lap up the perspiration. “You’re telling me, I’m rendering lard,” you say, letting your Southern roots shine through. You cringe a little at yourself, watering your accent down to not stick out as much, but you’re reminded of the age-old saying you can take the girl out of the country…

You wipe the back of your hand on your forehead to push away the sweat that’s been collecting there all day and look at him. “Thanks for the help carrying it up,” you say, offering him a kind smile.

“No problem at all, need some help installing it? These units can be tricky,” he asks, trying his best to ignore the fact that your white shirt has gone see-through from your sweat, allowing him a perfect view of your breasts. No bra again, he notes. He shifts his stance a little, trying to prevent his cock from hardening at the sight.

“Are you sure?” you ask, a little unsure, but deep down you know you need the help. As much as you’d like to think of yourself as an independent and capable woman, you’ve never been one to be good with anything mechanical, and the heat has left your brain feeling like the static of a T.V. channel with no reception.

“Course. I’m a servant to public safety. Can’t have you accidentally pushing it out the window and crushing a person below, it’d be a lot of paperwork” he chuckles and takes out a knife from his pocket to undo the tape on the box. It’s an ordinary act, yet somehow you’re mesmerized by his dexterity and competency.

Midway through the process, Joel pauses, feeling the heat, and glances at you with a lighthearted grin. “Mind if I take this off?” he asks, tugging at the collar of the uniform shirt. You nod, suddenly feeling warmer than before. “Sure, go ahead.”

His large fingers fumble with the buttons on the shirt, eventually revealing a white tank top underneath. The fabric clings to him, highlighting his defined chest, and a little bit of belly. You practically drool at the sight, once again resisting an impulse to want to sink your flesh into the softness above his belt.

He has an awful farmer's tan, but he wears it well; his forearms are a nice shade of golden and his shoulders are pale. You see from the lack of collar on the tank that he has a bare chest. He throws the uniform shirt onto a nearby chair and goes back to work installing the unit. You watch as he works to position it in the window, stealing glances at his glistening skin as he does. You think you’re being sly about it, but Joel can tell, he can feel your eyes heavy like bowling balls on him.

“So, how long have you been a firefighter?” you ask.

“About 15 years,” he responds. “Sorta always knew I wanted to do it, I was a contractor for a while, but wasn’t my thing.”

“Oh no? You seem like you’re pretty good with your hands,” you reply, your words suggestive.

“Never said I wasn’t, Darlin,’” he replies, shooting you a wink.

He plugs the unit in, and the screen comes to life. He sets the temperature as low as it will go, and the fan on high; the unit is about to put in overtime to make the air tolerable again.

“Well, that should do it,” straightening back up from his bent-over position, clapping his hands together as if to dust the task off. “Probably gonna take a while for it to cool down in here. You’re uh, more than welcome to hang out at mine for the time being. Don’t need you overheating on me,” trying to mask his excitement at you being in his space by carding his fingers through his salt and pepper curls.

You glance at the unit, and you can tell he’s right. “Alright, why not,” you say, offering him a smile. “Just gonna use the restroom fast,” you say, looking for an excuse to make yourself at least somewhat presentable and confirm that you don’t smell like a sweaty subway car.

Inspecting yourself in the harsh, exposing light of the bathroom, you grimace at your appearance. Not that you’d been expecting to look your best, but still. You pat the extra moisture off your skin with a clean towel, when you notice that nipples are straining against the fabric of your wet t-shirt, leaving nothing to the imagination. You briefly consider changing shirts, but the cheeky side of you decides to leave it be. You give yourself a quick smile and internal encouragement in the mirror and you step out of the bathroom.

Joel waits in the foyer by the door for you, taking the opportunity to learn a little more about you, drinking in the details of your space for any glimmers of insight it might give him about your life.

He’s been in the space before, but it’s different this time – updated. It still has many of the same things your aunt had put up, but you’ve added new additions to the walls; photos of you with friends, and family, and vinyl covers in frames. His eyes gravitate to a photo of you at your college graduation; your smile ear to ear, a bottle of champagne in your hands. You always seem happy. He likes that about you. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t look for a photo of you with another guy, a hint that you might already be taken, but he’s relieved when he doesn’t find one.

The bathroom door opens with a soft creak, and you stroll out, shooting him a casual but confident smile. As you do, you casually tuck a loose strand of hair behind your ear, giving off an easygoing vibe. It's a simple move, but there's a certain charm to it that doesn't go unnoticed by Joel.

“Ready?” you ask, and he clears his throat, trying to hide his pleasure that you opted not to change your still slightly transparent shirt. “Let’s get outta here,” he says, yanking on the handle, the door groans and opens with a loud creak. “Don’t wanna hit traffic.” Oh god, that’s a dad joke if you’ve ever heard one. You try to hide the stupid smile that graces your face, but Joel sees it, and matches it. Your shoulder brushes against his chest as you walk through the door, and Joel straightens in response, a little tingle shooting up his spine from the brief touch. Get a fucking grip, Miller, he thinks to himself, pulling the door closed behind him.

++++

Once inside his apartment, you gasp. It’s not at all what you expected.

If his front doorstep was any indication, you expected his apartment to be full of Ikea furniture, bare walls, and maybe a fake plant in the corner somewhere. You’re pleasantly surprised when you find that it’s the exact opposite; you feel like you’ve just wanted into some swanky bar. The air smells like palo santo, but above all, it’s cool. You let out a sigh of relief.

“Can I get you a beer” he asks, and you nod your head in response. He walks into the kitchen, and you’re mesmerized by his space. It’s a similar layout to your apartment, but somehow it feels bigger, even a tad cozier, plus he has exposed brick, a detail you wish your apartment had.

“Your apartment is amazing,” you tell him, spinning around to get a full 360 view of the space. You hear him yell something like thanks from the kitchen.

You find your seat on the cognac-colored couch and run your hand up and down the texture of it. The leather is cool on your skin, and your body temperature slowly begins to return to normal.

Joel returns from the kitchen, and hands you a Bud Light. And for once, you don’t wish for it to turn into a martini. Now having spent a few months in the city, you’re starting to realize that you’re more of a bud girl than a cocktail girl, and that fairy godmothers are a tad overrated.

You’re not sure when he did it, but your ear tunes to the classic sound of Beast of Burden by the Rolling Stones playing in the background at a low volume, adding a funk you adore to the moment.

He finds a seat on the couch next to you and throws his arm behind you on the ledge. He crosses his legs over one another, and you squirm, not out of discomfort, but nerves.

“I am impressed with your apartment, it’s well decorated,” you compliment him, bringing the bottle of beer to your lips.

“Had a bit of help, ‘f I’m being honest,” he replies. Your stomach flips.

“Oh?” you say, a bit breathless, waiting for the other shoe to drop. Of course, he would have a girlfriend. You see it plain as day now, the feminine touches built into the apartment, hanging on the walls in plain sight, taunting you with the obvious. He even has like ten live plants for fucks sake. Joel Miller is taken.

“My daughter, Sarah,” he replies, bringing the beer to his mouth for another swig. You try not to make your sigh of relief too obvious. “Oh!” you squeak and turn your body to face him. You don’t know if you’ve scooted closer or if he did, but your thighs are now touching.

“She’s studying interior design. Begged me this past year to let her fix up my apartment, and well…I didn’t have the heart ta say no,” he replies. “Said my apartment resembled a frat boys bachelor pad,” he lets out a gruff little chuckle and you smile at him.

His arm drifts close to you, his hand nearly touching your shoulder. It’s not quite there, but you can feel the heat, the electricity, his fingertips shoot to your skin. So much for cooling down.

“Well, if you didn’t decorate the space, what’s your favorite part about it then?” you ask, taking another swig at the bottle. Joel stares at your lips as they latch around the glass, admiring how plush and warm they look. He’d be lying if he said he didn’t wonder what they might look like around his cock.

“Ah, good question,” he says, bringing his hand to cover his crotch with the bottle, all while subtly trying to adjust himself from his previous thought. He’s surprised he even heard your question at all. “Probably the table over there,” he says, nodding his head back to signal to the dining room.

“Made it myself,” he says, a bit of pride in his voice.

You crane your neck to look, but can’t get a good view with how plush the cushions are. You slightly angle your body upwards, coming onto your knee on the couch to look, bringing your chest closer to Joel’s face.

“Well I’ll be damned, you really must be good with your hands,” you playfully tease, letting your body sink by his side once more, feeling the warmth he exudes. Your words cause his gaze to go dark. “Mhmm,” he murmurs, taking another sip of his beer, sure if he said any more he might regret it.

You notice the music switches to Kings of Leon, a favorite tune of yours echoing through the air. “Oh shit, I love this song,” you exclaim, barely able to contain your excitement, much to Joel’s delight.

“Yeaaaaaah, your sex is on fireeeee,” you belt, and you inadvertently tilt your beer bottle a little too far down in the process of your solo, and a splash of beer pours out onto Joel’s lap. The action abruptly causes you to stop.

“Ah, I’m so sorry,” you apologize profusely, setting the nearly empty bottle on the coffee table in front of you, noticing the box of tissues as you do.

“Don’t worry about it, Darlin’,” he says, voice mellow, placing his beer on the table, too.

You frantically grab a handful of tissues and bring them over to the wet spot pooling on Joel’s crotch. “Here, let me,” you say, dabbing at the liquid, the realization not fully hitting you that your hands are literally on his crotch until – oh.

Joel’s been walking the fine line of a stiff one all night, and your simple gesture throws him over the edge, the dabbing causing blood to rush to his cock.

You continue to blot at the liquid and notice him stiffening underneath you. A heavy rush of arousal courses through you, and heats your core. Joel’s hand darts to grab your wrist, the size of it completely swallowing up your entirety of it, his fingers wrapped around it, and you’re certain he feels your pulse quicken under his touch.

You look up at him with big doe eyes, only to find his own pupils are blown open wide with lust, his jaw tense. His other hand finds the side of your face, and he holds you up to look at him. You both pause there, letting the tension of the moment swallow you whole. He looks at you like you're a juicy summer peach, ripe for the picking.

His grip on your wrist softens, and you flatten your hand to palm at his growing bulge. Joel lets out a deep groan in response to the full contact. “Shit darlin’,” he says, voice wrecked. His hand drifts to the column of your neck, and he begins to pull you up so you’re face-to-face with him.

The anticipation builds, and just as your lips are about to meet, a sudden shrill sound shatters the moment – the fire alarm.

“Fuck.” Joel groans.

TO BE CONTINUED - READ PART 2

Tagging moots and those who I think might like this: @endlessthxxghts @theoasisofthings @bastardmandennis @untamedheart81@lavema @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @dugiioh @nervoushottee @milly-louise @ghostwritesthings@josephquinnswhore @drunk-and-capable @peachmy @survivingandenduring@darkheartgatita @hotgirlbedtimescenarios @dins-riduur-anthe @ohheypedrito @joeldjarin @nerdieforpedro As always, feel free to let me know if you'd like to be added to my tag list, or removed (even if we're moots, no hard feelings). Might transition to a notifs blog soon.xx

#joel miller x reader #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfic #joel miller x you #joel miller fluff #joel miller #pedro pascal character #pedrohub #pedro pascal #new york #firefighter smut #pedro stories

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violet-fluff · 1 month

Text

Post War! Levi x Reader (dadvi - drabble)

-Daddy was a Superhero-

Thanks for the request anon❤️ i will definitely make more post war dadvi

Levi is sitting in his wheelchair by the living room window, taking in the nice spring breeze while reading the paper.

“Daddy! Daddy!”

A little girl aged six runs up to him, causing him to crinkle his paper shut as she hurries up into his lap.

“Isabel, what’s wrong?”

The little girl grins, showing a few missing baby teeth as she latches onto his shirt with excited fists. “Mommy told me you were a super hero!”

Levi’s head lulles slightly back in annoyance at the title. He’s a humble man; such titles make him uncomfortable.

“Oh? Why would she say that?” He asks his daughter, as he smooths down her black hair.

“My book is telling me about the giant people, and mommy said you killed all of them!” Isabel can hardly catch a breath as she’s so excited with finding out how cool her dad is.

Levi smiles. “Well…I did kill them…but with the help of a lot of other people. Uncle Jean, Uncle Connie, Auntie Mikasa, basically everyone you know helped daddy. Mommy too.”

Isbabel’s doe eyes widen. “Mommy?!”

With a chuckle, Levi boops her nose. “You know, mommy was one of the best fighters daddy ever saw?”

“Wooooooow!”

Levi nods his head. “She saved daddy a lot of times. Daddy fell in love with how great she is, so daddy married her. Now we have you.” He smiles as Isabel giggles when he tickles her stomach.

Isabel pauses to think for a moment. “Daddy…how do mommies have babies?”

Levi’s heart drops and he clears his throat. “Well that’s a question for mommy isn’t it? Why don’t you go ask her?”

His daughter nods rapidly and slides off his lap. Levi sighs in relief and watches as she pitter patters out into the hall, in search of you.

He looks out the window, deciding to enjoy the rest of his peace before you come and scold him.

#levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi x y/n #attack on titan #levi attack on titan #shingeki no kyojin #levi ackerman x reader #levi aot

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howboringislife · 3 months

Text

Levi with a pregnant girlfriend...

He's is no believing it at first. You even have to show him the two pregnancy tests before he accepts fully the news.

You can see shock and awe in his eyes as he looks down at your belly and places his hand on it carefully. There is no bump but yet he tries to feel it.

"There is really... another human creating at this very moment inside you?"

Levi is very anxious because he believes that he won't be a good father as he don't know how to act with children (please, tell him that he will be a wonderful dad)

Man is addict with your belly; nobody dares to touch it without his authorization. He gives the nastiest glances to your male friends who looks too long at your stomach.

Leaves a hundred kisses on your bump while cuddling you.

He's going to take care of you during your morning sickness, making sure you have food, medicine and your favorite movie put on the TV before he goes to work.

Sometimes, he even skips work when your sickness is very bad.

Levi gets SO emotional when he feels the first tiny kick, proof that there is a real alive baby inside you.

Judges your new food tastes but knows all of them and when you like to eat them. He runs to the market before you throw a tantrum because your favorite ice cream's box is empty.

He's going buy you cute dresses and shirts to highlight your adorable round belly, praising it whenever he can.

"Look at that adorable belly with our baby inside... You are already doing an amazing job, mama."

Secretly wants a girl. He says boys are troublesome.

When you are in the last week of pregnancy, he is all ready, all the stuff packed and he's comforting you about giving birth every day if you need it.

Once at the hospital, he insists to stay beside you during all the childbirth process.

"Let's go, sweetheart. We are almost there. Soon we will have our baby in our arms..."

Levi sheds a tear as the nurse shows you the tiny newborn in her arms. For him, this child has already won his heart with just one look.

#levi ackerman x reader #levi ackerman #levi x reader #levi imagine #levi attack on titan #levi aot #attack on titan #aot #aot imagines

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brave-and-gentle · 2 months

Text

Head canon that Jean leans into being a girl dad HARD.

No literally this is the scene:

You’ve spent the day with Annie and Armin. Jean urged you to take a break from being a mom to your 3-year old daughter for a day, so the two friends took you out for a third-wheel date that you actually loved. You got to be parented for a day!

And when you come back home, you walk into the living room to find Jean, Connie, and Levi having a tea party with your daughter. These three men don’t know the meaning of toxic masculinity. You burst out laughing at the scene - all three men are sitting on the floor in front of the coffee table, and are wearing feather boas you’ve never seen before. The tea set Levi got your daughter for her third birthday is spread before them.

Levi is as stoic as ever, but he raises his tea cup that your daughter carefully painted for him. Connie has the biggest grin on his face as your daughter offers him with a cookie. She turns back to her father, Jean, and yells “Don’t move!”

You raise an eyebrow at him and he lifts up his hands - your daughter painted his fingernails bright turquoise.

“I said don’t move, it’ll drip!!” She repeats. And sure enough, the nail polish she was a bit over eager with is dripping down Jean’s fingers.

“Sorry sweetie!” He apologizes and grins at you with a smile that says “See, we’re perfectly fine without you for a day!”

“Daddy said we could have a tea party, so I invited Uncle Connie and Uncle Levi!” Your daughter explains with gusto. She was running this show and Jean was happy to oblige.

“I see,” you laugh and sit down with your little found family.

Jean hands you a tea cup.

“Cheers!”

#Jean kirstein girl dad #living in my head rent free #Levi is a girl uncle #Connie too #this is what they live for #aot #attack on titan #levi ackerman #connie springer #snk #shingeki no kyojin #head canons #jean kirstein #annie leonhart #armin arlert

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apollodarling-writes · 6 months

Note

Yander levi ackerman with fam reader pregnant headcanons I need this 😊

yandere! levi ackerman with a pregnant reader hcs

cws: soft levi, stockholm syndrome, fem! reader

— the moment yandere! levi finds out youre pregnant it’s over… and by that i mean he completely switches up his act. what once was forceful and heavy touches now becomes featherlight and hesitant.

— yandere! levi would take time off no matter the cost (keeping his odm gear just in case) and will return home to cater to your every need.

— oh, you need to use the bathroom? here, let him help you up! you’re hungry? hes already making your favorite food. late night cravings? hes whipping something up for you right now.

— yandere! levi will also force you to take vitamins so you and your baby are healthy. there will be no more skipping meals out of anger, no more defiance, nothing. you and your baby need to be healthy. even if you bite the rest of his fingers off, he will make sure you’re properly nourished. you’ve been good for him lately though, so he doesn’t think he’ll have to worry about that.

— yandere! levi is already decorating the spare room for the baby, consulting for everything. what colors are you thinking about for the nursery? which blankets you think the baby will like? are the blankets soft enough? are three dressers enough baby clothes? he got both boy and girl clothes in every style he could find to make sure you could switch up the aesthetic if you feel like it too!

— yandere! levi loooves rubbing your pregnant belly. he often wonders if the baby can feel the love he has for them this way. he also puts his ear up to your tummy and presses gentle kisses to it, murmuring how much he loves you and your mommy and how nice you’ll have it.

— yandere! levi will gently lift the bottom of your tummy once it gets big to take some of the weight off of your hips and back too!

-yandere! levi wants you comfortable, so he’ll make the bed around you more comfortable with blankets. levi will also massage your back and rub your feet once they start hurting. anything for his lovely wife!

— yandere! levi would be a wonderful dad too. he wants only the best for his family and will accept nothing less!

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proxima-writes · 1 year

Note

I’d like to request a boyfriends dad fic where reader is on vacation with their family and Joel gets handsy with her but she convinces herself it’s okay. Then when her boyfriends ditches her Joel fucks her. Bonus points if boyfriend comes back super drunk while Joel is fucking reader and Joel just puts his hand over her mouth and continues fucjing her and bf passes by them but doesn’t notice 🤷🏻‍♀️

Just some thots…if it inspires you a fic/Drabble would be awesome

I may have....gotten carried away with this one.

title: karma is my boyfriend's dad

pairing: boyfriend's dad!joel miller x female reader

rating: explicit (18+ MDNI)

word count: 6588

summary:

Your boyfriend, Sean Miller, is an asshole. The one redeeming thing about him?

His dad, Joel Miller.

And he's just invited you along on the family vacation to Panama City Beach, Florida.

author’s note: thank you for the request!! this was a fun one. my 1000 follower mark is quickly approaching and i cant wait to do something fun for it! thank you for all your support and love so far 💕

content warnings/tags: explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), explicit language, alternate universe - boyfriend’s dad, age difference (21F and 56M), power imbalance dynamics, infidelity, asshole boyfriend, alcohol use, sunscreen as a flirting mechanism, reader wearing a bathing suit, touching in public, dirty talk, praise kink, pet names, almost getting caught, unprotected p in v, oral (f receiving), thigh riding, sex against a door. let me know if any are missing!

Sean Miller is a shitty boyfriend. He constantly ditches you to hang out with his frat brothers, he’s left you at parties by yourself, he’s forgotten birthdays and anniversaries and, to top it all off, he’s never made you come. You’ve been with the guy for two years and not a single orgasm in all that time.

You deserve better. You deserve orgasms.

The only redeeming thing about Sean is his dad, Joel Miller.

Joel is the textbook definition of a DILF. He’s tall and broad with dark curly hair streaked with gray and kind brown eyes. Even approaching the upper fifties in age, he’s built like a tank. Wide shoulders and biceps that stretch his flannel shirts to the point where you’ll sometimes sit there willing a thread to pop, his thick thighs and a tight ass always hugged by the most sinful pair of Levi’s.

But besides looking like sin, Joel is kind. There’s been more than one occasion where Sean had forgotten your plans, leaving you waiting at his house where he still lives with his dad and Joel would always take pity on you and invite you to watch a movie with him, the two of you sitting on opposite sides of the couch while he played a comedy to cheer you up. On your birthday, he sent you a Starbucks gift card and a text when his own son didn’t even remember. When you would update him on how school was going, he’d always pat your shoulder and say, “‘Atta girl.”

That last memory in particular always makes your tummy erupt with butterflies.

In the last few months, things with Sean have been especially strained. He’s started hiding his phone from you, flipping the screen face down anytime you’re within arms reach of him. On the rare nights he spends at your apartment, he’ll get calls that he insists on taking privately.

Honestly, you were more than ready to end it before Joel caught you in his kitchen one day and asked if you wanted to come with him and Sean on their vacation to Panama City Beach.

“Really? I thought this was supposed to be, like, a guy’s trip?” You ask. You stayed the night last night and Sean was still asleep, always one to sleep until noon if given the opportunity. Joel is making coffee while you sit at the bar.

Joel shrugs. “I’m sure he’d want his girl there. You two can party and leave the old man behind for his bedtime,” he says with a playful smile that makes your heart flutter.

“I appreciate the offer, Mr. Miller, but there’s no way I can afford a ticket to Florida right now.” You reach for the cup he offers, only for him to pull it back out of reach.

“Don’t worry about that. I’ll cover everythin’,” he replies. “Say yes and you can have your coffee.”

“Are you sure? I really don’t want to be a burden.”

Joel’s fingers brush against yours as he hands you your warm mug. A shiver runs down your spine at the contact.

“I’m positive, darlin’.”

________

Joel knows that his son treats you like shit, and he fucking hates it. He’s tried to talk some sense into the kid but all his wisdom just goes in one ear and out the other. He has to pretend that he doesn’t hear him bringing other girls over and it eats him up inside because he wants you to know, wants you to have better, but if he tells you, he’s severing the one tie he has to you and what then? He’s fifty-six, over thirty years your senior. He’s lived over two lifetimes in the course of your one. There’s no way in hell you’d look at him twice, and that’s not even including the fact that he’s your boyfriend’s dad.

Joel’s not sure what possessed him to invite you on vacation. You’re right, it was supposed to be a guy’s trip, a gift from Joel to Sean for his twenty-first birthday that was unfortunately right in the middle of his finals. He knows damn well Sean is, in fact, not going to be happy that you’ve been invited along. He’s certain the younger man fully intended to turn his hotel room into a revolving door for women he picked up at the bars along the beach, one time flings he could write off before returning home to a sure thing.

He tells Sean about the change of plans that evening over dinner. His son whines petulantly, slamming his fork down on the table.

“Dad, seriously? Why the fuck would you invite her, this is gonna ruin everything,” he says.

“Shouldn’t be talkin’ ‘bout your girlfriend like that,” Joel admonishes. Sean rolls his eyes.

“She doesn’t even put out anymore, I don’t even know why I keep her around. I should just break up with her before the trip.”

Joel’s jaw clenches with frustration. “I already bought her ticket. She’s comin’ whether you like it or not and that’s final.”

“Fuck this shit,” Sean says, chair scraping across the floor as he stands. “Whatever. Won’t stop me from having a good time.”

Joel’s counting on it.

________

Joel and Sean pick you up from your apartment at 4 am for the 7 am flight to Florida. Your boyfriend is passed out in the front passenger seat, but Joel shakes him awake and tells him to get in the back. The younger man grumbles but does as he’s told while Joel helps you load your luggage into the bed of the truck. The trip will last four days, so you’ve squeezed everything into a single carry on and your backpack.

After all, it’s Florida. You plan on spending every day in a bikini.

Sean passes back out as you settle in his vacated seat, placing your travel mug of coffee in the cup holder besides Joel’s. He gives you a polite smile as he puts the truck in reverse, placing his arm on the back of the seat and twisting to look out the rear window, his other hand deftly turning the wheel.

You can’t help but squeeze your thighs together, your core already aching at his proximity.

You’re in for a long four days.

_______

The three of you make it through airport security quickly, the early hour lending some reprieve from the crowds.

“Why is this flight so fucking early?” Sean grouses, slumped in one of the uncomfortable terminal seats.

“Did you want more or less time in Florida?” Joel replies, flipping through his newspaper.

“Whatever,” Sean replies with a roll of his eyes, pulling the hood of his sweatshirt up and burrowing into it.

You return from your quest for breakfast at that moment, a white paper bag in your hands and a bright smile on your face as you sit between the two men.

“I got you a bagel,” you say to Joel, pulling a plain bagel wrapped in wax paper from the bag.

“You get me anything?” Sean asks, peeking from beneath his hood. Your shoulders drop.

“Oh…no. You don’t usually eat breakfast,” you reply. Sean groans. “We can share mine?” You offer.

“No, it’s fine, whatever. Thanks for thinking of me.”

Joel’s brow pinches in irritation, the muscle in his jaw ticking as he watches your smile fade into a frown as you look at the bag in your hands. He nudges you with his shoulder.

“Hey, I appreciate it,” he tells you quietly. You give him a tentative smile.

He misses the bright one.

________

“I call window,” Sean says when the three of you have boarded the plane, flopping into the seat after haphazardly tossing his bag into an overhead compartment without waiting for a reply.

Joel fixes his son’s bag before settling his own beside it and turning to hold a hand out for yours. You hand your duffel over to him with a quiet, “Thank you.”

“Which seat do you want, darlin’?” Joel asks you.

“I can sit in the middle,” you offer, scooching past him in the tight space. Your back brushes his chest and he catches a whiff of your strawberry shampoo, the scent making his mouth water.

He sits beside you, tucking his backpack beneath the seat in front of him. Your thigh brushes his as you get comfortable in your seat, the row a tight squeeze for the three of you.

“How long is this flight?” You ask, pulling a pair of headphones from your backpack. Sean’s already unconscious again, his head tilted against the window and his mouth open in a snore.

“‘Bout two hours,” Joel says. You nod, shifting in your seat again. Your shoulders knock into his when you do, and you give him an apologetic smile.

“Sorry. Tight fit,” you tell him. He swallows around the lump in his throat.

He can think of something else that would be a tight fit.

The flight attendants go through their pre-flight duties and take-off occurs without any issue. When they give the green light to use electronics, you pull out your phone, cursing when the screen remains black even as you hit the power button.

“My phone died,” you explain. He smiles sympathetically.

“You wanna watch a movie on mine? I downloaded a couple,” he offers.

“Sure. We can share my headphones?”

“Good idea.”

Joel plugs your headphones into the jack on his phone and passes you the right earbud before sticking the left one in his own ear. He queues up a movie, some action film called Triple Frontier that seemed interesting based on the synopsis, and holds the phone on his lap. You lean into him, that strawberry scent settling over him once again.

You keep fidgeting in your seat, twisting and readjusting your upper body against the arm rest between your seats. After the third time, he reaches down and flips it up, your body slumping closer to his. When he looks down at you, your face is tilted up towards his and he has to concentrate very hard to keep his gaze trained on your eyes.

“Thanks,” you whisper before returning your attention to the movie. “Hey, that guy kinda looks like you.”

________

The flight passes quickly, much to Joel’s dismay. He would have liked to keep sitting pressed up beside you for longer.

At the car rental facility, Joel gets handed the keys to a Jeep Wrangler. Sean’s eyes light up when he sees it.

“Can I drive?” He asks.

Joel sighs. “Fine, just be careful would ya?”

Sean lowers the soft top before hopping in the driver’s seat. Joel insists that you sit in the front passenger, because he’s a gentleman, but he quickly regrets the choice.

With the top down and the music blaring, Sean is in a relatively good mood. He’s smiling at you and even reaches over to grab your hand, pulling it towards him to press a kiss to the back of it. Joel can feel the tug of jealousy in his gut as he watches you smile back at him but there’s nothing that he can do about that.

After all, you’re Sean’s girl.

And he’s just going to have to live with that.

________

Sean is standing behind you with his hands on your hips, lips trailing kisses along the exposed skin of your shoulder in your tank top while Joel is speaking with the hotel clerk, checking into the rooms. You squirm away from Sean’s attention, the man dropping his hands from you and frowning.

“Why are you being such a prude?” He snaps.

“I’m not being a prude,” you say with a sigh. “Your dad is right there.”

He tries to pull you back towards him with an arm around your waist. “Come on, babe. He’s probably already heard you moaning my name,” he says, wiggling his eyebrows.

Not likely, you think.

“I just don’t think it’s appropriate.” You step out of his grasp again as Joel approaches, holding three key cards.

“Room 102 for the two of you,” he says, handing two of the cards to Sean. “And I’m in 104, if y’all need anything.”

“Great,” Sean says, grabbing your hand. “Come on, let’s go put our stuff away.”

You trail behind Sean, but can’t help looking back at Joel.

You’re surprised to find his dark gaze already fixed on you.

________

“Come on, let’s go find a bar,” Sean whines. You’ve just left the bathroom after changing out of your travel outfit of leggings and into a bikini and a sheer cover-up dress.

“It’s so early. I highly doubt there are any bars open. Besides, I need to charge my phone,” you tell him, packing a tote bag with your sunscreen, a book, your copy of the room key, and your sunglasses. “Why don’t we go to the pool?”

“It’s PCB, babe, there’s bound to be a bar open,” Sean says with a roll of his eyes. “But if you wanna be boring then by all means, go to the pool.”

You sigh. “You do whatever you want, Sean.”

He grabs his wallet from the nightstand, shoving it into his pocket. “Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being such a fucking bitch.”

The door slams behind him as he leaves, the sudden noise making you jump in surprise.

You can’t even find it in yourself to be upset.

________

Joel’s just opening the door to his room when he hears his son’s raised voice across the hall. He freezes, the door half open as he listens.

“Fine. I will. Come find me when you’re done being a fucking bitch,” Sean says before slamming the door.

Anger courses through Joel’s veins as he listens to his son’s heavy footsteps echo down the hall. He takes a deep breath, in through his nose and out through his mouth, before opening the door fully and crossing the hall to knock on your door.

When you open the door, you look surprised to see him, eyes wide and lips slightly parted. Joel has to make a conscious effort to not let his eyes wander your body. He can see the neon pink strings of your bikini tied around your neck and god does he want to see more.

He clears his throat. “Hey. Everythin’ alright?”

“Oh, yeah. Everything’s fine. I was just about to go to the pool,” you tell him.

“I’ll come with you,” Joel immediately offers without thinking.

“If you’re sure. I don’t want to get in the way of any plans you had, Mr. Miller,” you mutter.

“I’m sure.”

________

Joel sets some hotel towels on loungers positioned beside each other on a sunny part of the pool deck. The pool is fairly busy and to your surprise there’s a live DJ and a bartender is already making a steady flow of drinks behind the poolside bar. The pool itself is huge and even boasts its own lazy river that you’re looking forward to floating down.

Your attention is dragged to Joel once more as he reaches for the hem of his t-shirt, lifting it up. Your mouth goes dry as you watch his back muscles work, rippling beneath miles of tan skin that you want to trace with your fingertips.

You shake your head free of thought and remove your coverup while his back is still turned, stuffing it into your tote bag you’ve dropped beside the lounger. You pull out your sunscreen and sunglasses, slipping them over your eyes to combat the harsh Florida sun.

When you look up, you’re surprised to find Joel already watching you, gaze fixed squarely on your chest. You clear your throat, wiggling the sunscreen bottle at him.

“You want me to get your back?” You offer.

“Sure. Thanks,” he replies, voice rough. You have to fight the urge to rub your thighs together for relief from the ache between them, your brain conjuring scenarios of that deep timbre in your ear telling you how good you feel around him.

He sits on the lounger with his back to you, waiting for your next move. You squirt some sunscreen into your palm, rubbing your hands together before smoothing it across his back. His shoulders tense briefly at the first touch of your hands before he goes lax against you, his head dropping as you smooth the lotion on him.

You get lost in the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips as you drag your hands over the broad muscles of his back and shoulders and down his spine. In a moment of bravery, or stupidity, you let your fingers drag the tiniest bit beneath the elastic of his navy swim shorts, just enough that it could be passed off as an honest mistake.

When you’re finished, you hand the bottle to him over his shoulder. He takes it silently, lathering the rest of his body while you adjust your lounger flat and lay face down. You reach behind your back, tugging at the strings of your bikini until they fall to the side.

“Could you do me next?”

________

Joel takes a seat on the lounger, his hips brushing yours. He’s hard as a fucking rock in his swim shorts, has been from the moment you opened your hotel door wearing your sheer coverup, pink bikini taunting him beneath.

It was a stupid fucking idea to ask you to come to the pool with him. He was clearly thinking with the head in his pants and not the one on his shoulders because he didn’t stop to consider that he’d be getting a front seat to the soft skin of your thighs and tummy, the curve of your waist and ass and breasts on full display for him to commit to memory.

And now you were asking him to touch you. Giving him permission to have his hands on the same flesh he imagines when he’s gripping his cock roughly in his palm and chasing an orgasm that offers hardly any relief.

He swallows nervously before uncapping the sunscreen and squirting it directly on your back. You give a little yelp of surprise, the lotion no doubt unexpectedly cold, but you settle back down when he smooths a palm across your back.

You’ve untied the strings of your top, leaving him with no obstacles as he works the lotion into your skin. He loses himself in the repetitive motion, smoothing his hands across your shoulders and down your spine like you had done to him. He lets his thumbs press into the divot of your lower back, fighting the urge to drag them beneath the scant bit of fabric covering your ass.

As he finishes, he drags his hands back up your sides, his fingertips dragging across the soft skin of the exposed sides of your breasts. He feels the hitch in your breathing as he does and he worries for a moment that perhaps he’s gone too far.

“Thanks,” you say, voice breathy. “Would you mind getting my legs for me? I don’t want to get up.”

Joel thinks he should mind. He should absolutely mind being asked by his son’s girlfriend to rub lotion into her back and legs. The action is too intimate, it’s crossing a line and he knows this.

He just can’t bring himself to give a fuck anymore.

Wordlessly, Joel squirts some more sunscreen into his palm, this time warming it between his hands before smoothing it on your legs, starting with your calves. He slides his palms up your legs, high enough that his fingertips brush the crease where the curve of your ass meets your thigh. Your legs spread just the slightest bit and Joel lets his thumbs drift toward your inner thighs.

He’s playing with fire now as he presses his thumbs deeper, higher, the tip of one even grazing your bikini bottoms. He desperately wants to slide it beneath the elastic, to drag his thumb through your slit and find out if you’re wet just from the touch of his hands.

But Joel pulls his hands away and stands, moving over to his own lounger and laying facedown on the towel covered cushion. His dick presses uncomfortably into his thigh and he uses that discomfort as a means to will the hardness away.

He’s in for a long four days.

________

Your pool day with Joel runs from the early morning to the late afternoon. Neither of you hear from Sean during that time, but you can’t find it in yourself to be bothered. Not when Joel Miller is sitting beside you in an inner tube, floating down a lazy river as you talk about everything and nothing, drops of water clinging to his skin and catching the light. You could stay in a moment like this forever so long as he’s there, too.

As the intensity of the sun starts to wane, Joel suggests finding somewhere to get dinner.

“Pick somewhere nice, though. My treat,” he says as you’re parting ways at your hotel room doors. He doesn’t give you a chance to reply, shutting his door and leaving you smiling in the hallway like a girl with a crush.

You let yourself into your hotel room, not surprised to find it empty. Your phone is still sitting on the charger with no new notifications. The part of you that’s been in a relationship with Sean Miller for two years feels a pang of sadness at your boyfriend’s silence.

The part that wants to fuck his dad doesn’t give a shit.

You shower and change into a sundress before slipping your sandals back on. Checking the time, you grab your bag and head to the lobby to meet up with Joel.

Joel’s already in the lobby, leaning against the wall near the exit and scrolling through his phone. He’s wearing a light blue short sleeve button down that hugs his biceps deliciously, the tan of his skin popping against the fabric, his usual boots, and khakis. You were almost certain this man didn’t own anything besides perfectly broken in Wranglers. His hair is combed back, still damp from his shower, and he looks so good you have to consciously stop your jaw from dropping.

“Hey, you pick a place?” Joel asks as you approach, slipping his phone into the pocket of his pants.

“There’s an oyster bar nearby that looks good,” you reply. He holds the door open for you, broad palm ghosting across your low back as you exit the cool hotel lobby and out into the hot Florida night. The traffic on the sidewalk is thick, people moving like the nearby ocean as they ebb and flow from place to place.

“You hear from Sean at all?” Joel asks as you navigate the crowds, his arm brushing yours as he sticks close to your side. You shake your head and Joel sighs. “I’m sorry. I love the kid, I do, but goddamn if he doesn’t piss me off sometimes.”

You sigh. “It’s not your fault, Mr. Miller. You don’t have to apologize for him.”

You’re both quiet after that. You don’t know what’s going through Joel’s head as you sneak a glance at him and catch only his furrowed brow and tense jaw.

You nearly pass the restaurant in your distraction, but Joel catches you by the arm, tugging you with him to the entrance.

It’s a cute little bar and restaurant, the kind of place that’s cozy without being horribly cramped. The lighting is dim and booths line the walls while tables sit in the middle, candles flickering and casting shadows on the walls and across the white tablecloths.

The hostess seats you at one of the booths, tucked away in the corner. You sit across from Joel, setting your bag beside you after digging your phone out from it. When the waitress walks away without leaving menus, Joel looks adorably confused.

“You have to use your phone,” you tell him with a giggle. “They have the QR code menus.”

“I’m gettin’ too old for this shit,” Joel complains. You roll your eyes, standing and moving over to his side of the booth, settling beside him. His thigh presses to yours and you’re acutely aware of the contact as you lean close to share your phone screen with him.

When the waitress returns, you place your drink and food orders. Joel opts for whiskey, neat, and a medium rare steak because you can take the man out of Texas but you can’t take Texas out of the man. You order a spicy pineapple margarita and a plate of herb crusted oysters.

You should probably move back over to the other side of the booth, but you don’t want to. The feel of his body pressed to yours lights up your nerve endings in an unfamiliar way, his clean woodsy smell settling over you like a comforting blanket. He doesn’t say anything about how you remain seated next to him, just turns his head to talk to you.

The drinks arrive first. The sour tang of the pineapple makes your face pucker when you take a sip, making Joel laugh. You might be imagining it, but you think his gaze lingers on your lips for just a beat too long to be coincidence. You cross your legs beneath the table, squeezing your thighs together for some semblance of relief from the ache between your legs.

A second round of drinks is ordered and delivered while you talk about a TV show you both enjoy. This drink leaves you feeling pleasantly fuzzy around the edges. Joel makes a joke about one of the recent episodes and it makes you laugh so hard you’re leaning against him for support.

You place your hand on his thigh close to his knee. Joel tenses beside you but doesn’t say anything, his eyes dark over the rim of his glass as he takes a sip. You can’t bring yourself to look away but you’re also frozen in place, not daring to drag your hand further up. The spell between you is broken when the waitress drops by with your trays of food, setting them on the table and walking away with a request for another round of drinks from Joel.

“These look amazing,” you say, squeezing lemon over them. Joel’s started to cut into his steak, inspecting the center and giving a tiny nod of approval that makes you smile. “Hey, did you know oysters are an aphrodisiac?”

Joel coughs on the piece of steak he’d been eating, reaching for his whiskey and tossing the rest back as he swallows. “They’re what now?”

________

“Aphrodisiacs. They increase your sex drive,” you say, your lips wrapping around the bite poised on your fork. Your eyes flutter shut as you let out a little moan of satisfaction. “God, these are better than sex.”

“Must not be havin’ very good sex, then,” Joel immediately responds without thinking. His hand freezes halfway between his plate and his mouth, his eyes going wide as his brain catches up to his mouth. “Sorry that...that wasn’t appropriate.”

“It’s fine, Mr. Miller,” you say, patting his knee. Your hand lingers there again, the second time this evening, and it makes Joel’s brain misfire. This whole dinner has been a test of his self-control and he is quickly fraying at the edges the longer you sit pressed beside him, that god forsaken strawberry scent flooding his senses.

The waitress delivers the third round of drinks and your hand leaves his thigh to pick yours up and take a sip. His eyes track the way your lips wrap around the straw, mind wandering to something else he’d like to see them wrapped around.

He takes a sip of his own drink, letting the burn of the whiskey down his throat distract him. The third drink is making his mind spin, a voice in his head urging him to trace his fingers along the exposed skin of your thigh beneath the table. He sets his hand on his own thigh, casual as can be.

You’re telling Joel a story about the time a guy in one of your classes was so hungover he fell asleep in the middle of an exam but Joel can barely concentrate. His eyes keep lingering on your lips and trail lower, lower, lower, over the delicate line of your neck, the dip at the base of your throat, the swell of your breasts.

Joel stretches his pinky, the tip of his finger barely skimming the soft skin of your thigh. He watches your face for a reaction and finding none, he feels emboldened. He inches his hand closer, his ring finger joining his pinky in caressing you.

He’s focused on your face, watching for any indication that you notice what he’s up to beneath the tablecloth. He holds his breath as his fingers dip beneath the hem of your dress. You stutter in your story, tripping over your words and Joel’s fingers pause in their exploration.

Joel shouldn’t be doing this. He should pull his hand back and forget any of this happened, forget the silky smooth feel of your skin beneath his fingers, forget the way your smile lit up your face as he floated down the lazy river beside you.

Then you’re tilting your head, eyes boring into him like you can see right through him, see every depraved thought running through his head and your knee presses more tightly to his, your legs spreading beneath the table and Joel’s hand sliding to your inner thigh with the movement.

“Can I get y’all anything else?”

Joel rips his hand from your leg and swallows guiltily as he looks up at the waitress standing beside the booth. You sit up straighter, your heat leaving his side and he curses the interruption.

Perhaps it was for the best, though.

You’re still Sean’s girlfriend, after all.

________

Your skin is buzzing with the liquor in your veins and the phantom feel of Joel’s touch on your thighs. The man is quiet on the walk back, brooding even. His brow is furrowed, jaw tense, hands stuffed in the pockets of his pants like it’ll stop him from touching you again.

The thought makes you downright giddy.

“Thanks for dinner, Mr. Miller,” you say as you stand in front of the doors of your respective rooms.

He gives you a tight smile. “‘Course, darlin’. Have a good night,” he tells you before disappearing into his room, the heavy door shutting behind him and echoing in the hall.

You swipe the key for your room, opening the door to find it still dark, everything the same as you left it. You drop your bag on one of the beds, pulling your phone out to check if you have any missed messages and finding none.

The silence from Sean is the answer to a question you didn’t know you were asking.

You leave your room, crossing the hall to knock on Joel’s door. The man answers a moment later, already changed into a t-shirt and a pair of plaid pajama bottoms.

“Everythin’ alright?” He asks, opening the door wider.

“Left my key in the room,” you reply. “You mind if I stay with you for a bit?”

You can see the struggle flash across Joel’s brown eyes, but it’s just as quickly swallowed by a shade of lust that makes your breath hitch.

“Sure, darlin’,” he finally says, stepping back and making room for you to cross the threshold.

You turn to face him when the door shuts. You can’t tell who makes the first move, only that one moment you’re staring at each other and the next your body is being pulled against his, thick fingers digging into your hair and pulling your mouth to his in a bruising kiss.

He turns your bodies, your back hitting the door as his mouth continues to explore, his tongue dipping between your lips to tangle with yours. He tastes like whiskey and feels like sin, his broad body pressing against yours. Your arms wind around his shoulders, pulling him towards you desperately like he’s the air you need to breathe.

“Fuck,” Joel groans against your mouth. “Been wantin’ to touch you so goddamn bad, you have no fuckin’ idea.”

His hands drag up your hips and over your waist, fabric of your dress bunching in his fists. He looks down between your bodies, watching as he slides a thick thigh between your legs, the sudden pressure against your sensitive core making you gasp. You rock against the hard muscle, unable to fight back a whimper at how good it feels.

“That feel good, baby?” Joel asks, lips close to your ear. “Come on, darlin’ move a little faster for me, that’s it.”

His hands grip your hips, urging your movements over his thigh. Your head tips back against the door with a thud as you gasp. His lips trail hot kisses across your jaw and neck, his teeth nipping at the skin just over your pulse point. One of his hands drags the strap of your dress down, exposing your breast to the cool air of the room, your nipples going tight with equal parts chill and anticipation.

Joel rubs a thumb across the tight bud, almost reverently, before bringing his mouth to it, pulling it between his lips and swirling it with his tongue. The sensation makes your hips move faster over his thigh and you can feel how slick you are in your panties with each thrust.

“You have any idea,” Joel groans, other hand leaving your hip and ripping the opposite strap down so that he can give your nipple the same attention, “how fuckin’ hard it is, huh? To keep my fuckin’ head on straight when you walk around lookin’ like an angel that a devil like me don’t deserve?”

“Joel,” you moan, your chest heaving with strained breaths as just this man’s thigh brings you closer to relief than your boyfriend ever has. “Joel, please!”

“Please what, sweetheart? I’m already in this deep, you gotta know I’d give ya anythin’,” he says. “You wanna cum, baby? Wanna soak my thigh for me, get these pants all messy so that I can’t think of anythin’ but you when I gotta wear them for another three days?”

“Oh, fuck,” you whine, your orgasm cresting unexpectedly. Your legs clamp tight around his thigh, the aftershocks coursing through you with surprising ferocity. When your grip on him loosens, the man drops to his knees, looking up at you with a wicked gleam in his dark brown eyes.

“How’d that feel, baby?” He asks, running his hands up the outside of your legs until his fingertips find the elastic of your panties, easing the fabric down your thighs while he waits for a response.

“G-good,” you mumble, feeling a bit self-conscious in the aftermath. You’d just come from nothing but grinding against this man’s thigh for crying out loud. You reach up to fix your dress straps, but a pinch to your inner thigh has you yelping in surprise.

“Nuh uh, wanna see those gorgeous tits when I look up at you,” Joel admonishes. You can feel your cheeks heating, blood rushing to your face from just his words.

He lifts your leg, draping it over his shoulder. The position leaves you a little off kilter, your hands landing on his head for balance.

“I’m gonna eat this pretty little pussy now, okay?” He says, rather than asks. He gives you no time to respond, leaning in to lick through your folds with a deep, satisfied groan. You cry out from the overstimulation to your sensitive clit, your fingers pulling against his hair. He hums, the vibrations pulsing through your bundle of nerves and making you damn near sob at the sensation.

“Joel, Joel, Joel,” is all you can manage to say, a slur of his name as his tongue circles your clit and dips inside your entrance, messy slides of it through your folds as he drinks you up. You look down briefly, only to find him staring right back at you, his heated stare making your blood boil.

“Gimme one more, baby, and then I need to get you on my cock,” he groans before doubling his efforts, licking and sucking and nipping at your flesh until you’re sobbing out his name as you come for a second time. “Fuck, that’s it. Good fuckin’ girl,” he growls.

He stands, shoving his pajama pants down his thighs, his cock bobbing free. The thick length of it makes your mouth practically water as you watch him give it a few rough tugs. He smirks at you, reaching down to lift one of your legs, holding it up with the crook of his elbow at the back of your knee. The position leaves you spread wide for him as he takes his cock in his other hand, positioning the thick head at your soaked entrance.

“Tell me you want this,” he demands, the tip barely pushing inside of you.

“I want this,” you repeat dutifully. He shakes his head.

“No, sweetheart. Wanna hear you say you want my cock.”

You whine, the sound damn near pitiful to your ears. “Please, Joel, I want your cock.”

“There’s my good girl,” he says with a smile, finally easing into you with a burning stretch that makes you gasp. “Christ, you’re so fuckin’ tight.”

You moan as he bottoms out, hips pressing to yours. He kisses whatever skin he can reach as he gives you a moment to adjust before pulling out nearly all the way and thrusting sharply back inside, punching the air from your lungs as his cock drags against your g-spot with each thrust.

There’s a pounding at your back and a shout of your name, followed by, “Dad! Where the fuck is everyone?”

Your eyes go wide and Joel’s hips slow but to your shock, they don’t stop. He brings a hand to your jaw, fingers pressing to your cheek as he slips his thumb between your lips and shushes you.

“Haven’t seen her,” Joel shouts back, even as his eyes never leave yours. Your walls flutter around his cock as he continues to thrust, sharp but controlled so as not to make a lot of noise that can be heard on the other side of the door. “You should check the hotel bar. Said she might get some drinks there if you weren’t back when we finished dinner.”

“You guys went to dinner without me? That’s fuckin’ bullshit,” Sean whines. “Fine, whatever, I didn’t even want to see her anyways. Found me a blonde that I can bring back to the room instead.”

Joel’s eyes flash with rage and you shake your head gently. When Sean’s footsteps indicate he’s left, Joel’s hips resume a more punishing rhythm. He withdraws his thumb from your mouth as his hand slides lower, circling your throat possessively instead. You gasp, moaning loudly as your body relents to a third orgasm that leaves your vision fuzzy at the edges.

Joel’s own movements stutter before he’s pulling out, his cum splashing against your tummy as he grinds his cock against your hip, finishing with a gasp of your name.

You lean against him as you catch your breath, enjoying the feel of his hands smoothing over your hair.

“You okay?” He asks.

You grin at him. “Never been better, Mr. Miller.”

Sean may have found a blonde, but you’ve found your way into bed with his dad.

Karma’s funny like that.

Joel Miller taglist:

@huffle-punk @johnwatsn @hopelessromantic727 @whereasport @pedr0swh0r3 @yellingloudly @dragon-of-winterfelll @thedeadsingwithdirtintheirmouths @mydailyhyperfixations @liati2000 @ghostofjoharvelle @cutesyscreenname @morgaussy @letsgroovetonighttt @endlessthxxghts @fake-bleach @brilliantopposite187 @mattmurdock1021 @str84pedro @justsomeoneovertherainbow @loquaciousferret @milly-louise @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @kirsteng42 @caatheeriinee07 @eternallyvenus @midnightswithdearkatytspb @evyiione @leeeesahhh @tloubarbie @afterglowsb-tch13 @loveliestofthoughts @theviewfromtheritz @brittmb115 @uncassettodiricordi @pedritosgfreal @adriennemichelle98 @mxtokko @gingersince97 @switchbladedreamz @casa-boiardi @tonysterco @rvjaa @ladymunson @sexpoisoned @trisaratops-mcgee @decemberdolly @spookyemorockbabe @reader-without-a-story @katmoonz @simping-soldat @mswarriorbabe80 @orphanbird95 @shatteredbaby @tusk89 @gingersince97 @mssbridgerton @internetobsessed1234-blog @sloanexx @manazo @bigboiseason123 @bean-is-reading @darlingpedro @silkiers @pascals-catt @bbyanarchist @therealcap @pedrosgrogu @Sadbloatedegg @dimitra300 @thesolarangell @pedrotonin @ievutebebee @peterrthree @worhols @lonesomecowboah @taraiel

Want more Joel Miller? Check out the master list.

#joel miller #joel miller x reader #joel miller fic #joel miller x female reader #joel miller smut #joel miller fanfiction #joel miller x you #no use of y/n #joel tlou #joel x reader #boyfriend’s dad!joel miller #alternate universe

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