let-the-imaginationflow

[let-the-imaginationflow]

REBLOG: go to your blog and click the egg to see what hatches

[let-the-imaginationflow]

offers

pairing: joel miller x f!sex worker!reader

wc: 5.2k

summary: Joel comes back to you like clockwork. He has a proposition for you.

part 1 & 2 to cherry

warnings: age gap (20s/50s), smut [f!receiving oral, semi-public car sex], praise kink, reader is a sex worker, protective and defensive Joel, misogyny, smoking (reader), reader briefly soliciting a man who is not Joel and is fairly degrading to her (they don't sleep together), poverty and issues and dangers that come along with that, mentions of hunger and eating, mentions of violence and self destructive tendencies, very hurriedly edited

a/n: please let me know what you think! thank you for reading!

Joel becomes your regular. 

Each Friday, you shimmy into a too short dress and make the long drive out to the club, far enough away from the town you live and work in to avoid anyone you might know. 

You smoke, and drive with the windows down, listening to the ancient rattle of the engine, the whine that sounds like a threat, the slow buckling of delicate machinery. 

The very last thing you can afford is a mechanic. The tenuous tightrope you walk would snap beneath your feet, send you plummeting into the abyss of true financial disaster. 

It makes you sick, a curl of dread settling in your chest, writhing in the pit of your stomach along with all your other woes, until you turn on the radio to drown out the thoughts, drown out the sound of the failing engine. 

One wrong move and your whole life collapses before your eyes. The shame that wells up into the back of your throat is debilitating, to have to return home and look your mother in the eyes and say she was right, going to school was a fool’s dream, a mistake that could fill oceans of other worlds. 

So each Friday, you swing through the doors of the club, little red purse on your shoulder, fingers adjusting the hem of your dress that barely covers your ass, ready to work. 

Since meeting Joel, things have been a little easier. He tips well and you’ve been able to afford better groceries, have time to relax on Saturdays because you don’t need to work again. 

He pays you so much, you feel guilty for accepting it. Then nauseated because you’d fucked him for it, and finally shame for the whole terrible cycle. Guilt for being paid, when he was the one seeking out a whore in the first place. 

Still, he’s gallant compared to most and you don’t dare to let yourself assume Joel will be there. 

But each Friday, Joel is already there, patiently waiting for you at the bar like he never left in the first place. 

The static edges of your brain immediately settle, your worries fade from your mind. It gives you one less thing to fret over. Joel is familiar now. You know how to handle him, what he probably wants you to say and do, what gets him off the quickest, what he enjoys the most. 

You don’t have to try on a new personality, carefully consider and construct each word you speak, be the fantasy they want for a few hours. 

With Joel that all sloughs away. You don’t have to think for the next few hours. 

You aren’t willing to admit to yourself that you hardly put up a front with Joel. Often, the real parts of you unspool in his lap, your real worries and fears, desires and wants. He satisfies you like no man ever has, and you’ve told him things you don’t dare speak aloud in your real life. 

Crystal chastises you, reminds you of the few things she’d taught you, the few rules that get her through this life unscathed, the first night you tossed yourself to the wolves and got burned. 

They’re all the same. And if you start to think a man isn’t, he’ll just disappoint you. Her brow had lifted, lips puckering around a cigarette. Or break your heart. 

Chastity, on the other hand, seems to think you’re in the beginnings of a Pretty Woman situation. She’s a romantic and not yet broken, peering out at the world through rose colored glasses, even here. 

She encourages you. Even keeps Joel company until you get there some evenings, when you’re late on purpose just to see what he’ll do, half hoping sometimes that Crystal will smile and say someone else took him home with a knowing glint in her eyes.

But he’s always there, waiting patiently, guiding you out with a hand softly laid against your back, finger tracing your spine. 

This evening, Joel is nowhere to be seen. 

You’ve stalled long enough that Crystal stopped by the bar. She’d dug her nails into your arm and cautioned you again against relying on one man, smoke from her cigarette billowing into your face. “What are you going to do? Go home empty handed and cry? He isn’t here. Get over it and get on your knees.” 

You’d shaken her off roughly. “I’m deciding.” 

“Baby this is the busiest we’ve been in months. Take your fucking pick, huh?” Her cigarette ash had landed on your arm before she spun away, angry for god knows what reason. 

Five minutes have passed since then, time allotted to yourself to cool down and stop the shaking in your hands, overstimulated from the amount of people in the room, Crystal’s closeness. 

The room sways with heat, bodies jostling in cresting waves around you, bathed in unholy red light, neon and flashing. One of the dancers takes her top off and the din of men roaring at her makes something better ignored twists in your gut. 

Before you can go work the crowd, a man sidles up to the bar, a beer bottle already in hand. You don’t look at him but you can feel his gaze, appraising, assessing. 

You can’t wait any longer than you already have for Joel so you push your chest out and squeeze in your elbows. You let out a dreamy little sigh that sounds more like a moan, so your tits lift and fall, strain against the neck of your top. 

The neckline of your dress is low, plunging between your breasts, already not much left to the imagination. 

“Well, look at you. You don’t look like you’ve been run through yet.” 

Men have said much worse to you. The disgust you feel barely registers, so it doesn’t show on your face, in your body language. 

Not that he would notice if it did. 

Instead, you assess him quickly. 

What kind of woman did he want you to be? More like what kind of girl. He clearly thinks you’re young, maybe new to the job, naive even. 

You giggle and turn toward him, fluttering your lashes. “Am I being that obvious?” 

“Nah,” his eyes flick over you, hungry and wolfish in the dim, ruby light. “I’m just no stranger to a whore. How old are you, honey?” 

Joel had once asked you the same question, though in a different tone, an agonizing, guilty one. This man clearly has no such qualms. 

The back of his free hand presses into your thigh, sliding back and forth over your skin. His touch feels wrong, after so many weeks with only one man, too warm and a little damp and uncomfortable.

His hand looks ancient against your skin, leathery and unforgiving; the skin between the fingers dry and cracked. 

Joel’s broad palms flit to the forefront of your mind, the familiar creases and grooves, scarred and seasoned and skilled. You dream of those hands, long for their firm touch on your skin, between your legs and in your mouth.

You like the way Joel’s hands look against your skin, aged by not old. 

You push Joel from your mind and keep your eyes down, blinking shyly. Nineteen year old you, new to this, embarrassed at being called a whore maybe. “Just turned nineteen last week.”

“Well happy birthday, sweetheart.” 

You giggle again and fidget a little when he curls his hand around your leg, then shifts his fingers to the inside of your thigh, dangerously close to your cunt. Testing you, seeing if you’d squirm.

You do a little and he grins. “You like that?” 

“Yeah,” you say breathlessly and turn toward him. “I could, um, I could make you feel good too?” 

“Aw,” he lifts his hand to run a finger along your cheek, the edge of your mouth. “How many men you fucked so far?”

You count on your fingers, pretending to think. In your peripheral vision, you watch his grin grow. “Four? So far. But one of them fucked me a couple times.” Your voice is bright, a little defensive of your single digit number. 

“Only need one hand to count ‘em all up? You are green, girl.” 

He releases his beer and runs his finger along the bust of your dress. Crimson light pulses over his face, convulsive and metamorphic. His touch makes your skin crawl, beads of moisture slip over his fingers and onto your skin. 

It’s unpleasant to say the least. The wooden bar feels far away and sticky beneath your elbow, his touch rough and demanding when he gropes you, pinching your nipple. 

You moan quietly, biting your lip until he releases you.  “Oh, I guess so.” 

This corner of the bar is dark, and although the club is packed, there’s a breadth of space between you and the next person at the bar. It’s clear he wants to look at your tits, so you turn toward him, your back to the crowd, and push your chest into his hands. 

“And so fuckin’ sweet,” his hand trails higher on your leg. A familiar floating feeling overcomes you, your mind slipping away from your body, the comfortable distance your mind provides from the world. Only distantly do you realize you haven’t felt that with Joel in awhile. “You wanna suck my cock and I’ll be your lucky number five?” 

“Yes,” you murmur.

He laughs and squeezes you hard. “How much you cost?”

You open your mouth when you catch sight of a familiar shadow across the room. Joel, ever faithful, apparently, just a little late.

Dizzying relief washes over you, followed by a self loathing so intense you feel it curdle and squirm in your belly.”

You widen your eyes at him, then glance away. If you want me, come get me. 

The man next to you doesn’t notice, too busy staring at your chest, sliding one finger beneath the neck of your dress, pinching your bare nipple when he gets to it, muttering in your ear about fucking you right here, showing everyone what a little slut you are. His breath is hot on your skin. 

A shadow falls over you. 

“Howdy, Cherry.” 

“Joel!” You jerk back in feigned surprise. 

The man releases you reluctantly, hand sliding back from your leg and chest. Your chest feels sore from his clumsy ministrations and not in a pleasant way. “Oh god,” you say, clasping the man’s hand against the counter. “I’m so sorry. I totally forgot I was meeting Joel.” You roll your eyes, the picture of a too ditzy girl. 

“Well, now, honey, see, we already agreed—”

The shadow looming over you seems to grow thicker. Joel’s hand slots firmly against your back. 

The man clears his throat, “Hey all right, I get it.” He looks at you again, one last soul sucking appraisal. “I’ll find you some other time then, baby.” His hand lands on your ass and squeezes before he pulls away.

Joel starts to turn after him, but you hook a hand against his elbow. “No. Don’t, please. That’s just part of it.” 

“He ain’t got the—” 

“Joel.” 

He meets your gaze, eyes flicking over you, assessing for a long moment. “All right. You okay?” 

“Of course I am,” you dismiss. 

You tuck your hand in his elbow and tilt your head toward the door. But he doesn’t budge. “I’m serious.” 

You blink. “So am I, sweetheart. That was nothing.”

“Nothin’,” he scoffs and shakes his head, but gently guides you ahead of him. 

Joel walks you across the crowded club as he has for many, many weeks in a row now. Too many weeks. You feel the penetrating, disapproving gaze of Crystal on your back.

No doubt she saw him start to turn, how defensive the slope of his shoulders have been. It scares you a little, too, that he apparently feels that protective over you. A bigger part of you likes it, feels safe in the cup of his palm. 

The air outside is hot, penetrating in its humidity but not stifling with the acrid tang of sweat and wanting bodies. Spring had long since transitioned to summer. Even there, in the desolation of the long concreted strip of this poor industrial area, you can hear the songs of night bugs. 

“Not everyone is as gentlemanly as you, as I’ve been telling you for many months,” you remind him. “That’s just how they are. They want to treat me like a whore and I let them.” 

Joel’s jaw is clenched tight, and for a moment he doesn’t answer. “Yeah,” he acquiesces when you reach his passenger side door. “Don’t mean it’s right.”

“Remember the night we met? And I said if you were a different kind of man I’d say I was freshly eighteen?” 

“Yeah,” he answers warily. 

You lean against the side of the truck. “Well, he’s that kind of man, sweetheart.”

He’d wanted to defile you, make you feel the grimy life you’d entered into. The worse part was, as used to it as you were, it still would have stung. He still would have made you feel like trash. 

Joel doesn’t say anything for a moment, his gaze persistent in sweeping you from head to toe and back again. You wish he wouldn’t have seen what he did, because it seems to have unsettled him. He buzzes with a violent, rattled energy. “I didn’t like seein’ him touch you like that.” 

Your stomach sours, a pit opening up that your anxiety plummets through. Fuck. You’re ruined in eyes. Can’t pretend you’re anything other than what you are now. 

“I’m sorry you had to,” you breathe. “Really. I thought you weren’t coming. I’m saving to fix my car so—”

Joel shakes his head. “Ain’t what I meant.” 

You blink. “What do you mean?”  

He opens the door for you, and, like always, gives you a palm to balance on as you settle into the cab. 

The answer never comes. 

Instead of shutting the door and moving back around the cab, he braces one thick forearm against the open door, and looks you over. Joel hooks his opposite hand against the back of your knee, thumb rubbing a soft circle into the flesh. 

You reach for him, untucking the hem of his shirt from his jeans to run your fingers along his belly, the indents of hidden hipbones. You get as far as unbuttoning his jeans when his free hand captures both of yours. “Hold up. I need to. . .We gotta talk.” 

“Oh?” 

“How do you—” He stops and thinks for a moment and you wait, touching him lightly again when he releases your hands. Joel’s skin is warm against your hands, sweat beading on his sides in the heat. 

You tuck your fingers in the waistband of his jeans. His face is shadowed and hard to read. “What? Whatever it is, I want to give it to you.” 

“Ain’t that,” he says, breath hitching a little. He coils his fingers around your wrists and holds them still. You let your fingers go slack in his and he squeezes. “Hell with it,” he mutters, glancing up at you to search your eyes. You tilt your head, waiting. “I worry about you damn near all the time and—”

A bright red flag swings up in your mind and you bristle, hackles raising. You keep your voice sugary sweet anyway. “Do I need to remind you of what this is? I’m not your girlfriend, Joel—”

“I know.” He interrupts, thumb tracking back and forth over the back of your hand. It sparks a confusing warmth. “That isn’t what I meant. We go through this song and dance every week, me comin’ here and pretending like we don’t know what’s about to happen.” He shakes his head and doesn’t continue, eyes fastened to the ground for a long moment as he thinks. 

His jaw works, muscle straining in his throat. Sweat beads in the hollow and you wish more than anything to taste him, sweep your tongue up his throat, feel the bristles of his beard on your lips. 

You meet his gaze and hold it for a long moment when he glances back up, deciding that you believe him, that he understands. “Say it,” you murmur softly, sitting up so your faces are close together, his breath falling over your lips. “Tell me.” 

The muscle in his cheek twitches, fingers tightening on your wrists, like you might disappear once the words flood out. “I want you to come to the hotel, stop comin’ to this godforsaken place. Just come to me.” 

“You’re asking for—you want. . .exclusivity?”

“I guess so,” he sighs, slowly releasing your hand to rub his jaw slowly, nodding almost to himself. “I’ll send you money every Friday, even if I can’t make it out here. Book the hotel, so you can still get away if you need to. If you need somethin’ I want you to tell me. For groceries, rent, hell, I can get your car fixed—”

He seems in no mood to stop talking for once, so you cut him off, shock rolling through your body from head to toe. Already the lines between you are blurred, twisted together into something more than just paid for sex.

This is something else altogether. Uncharted, dangerous waters. 

“Joel, wait, hold on. I think. . . you’re describing a sugarbaby,” you point out and he winces. “I don’t mean to offend you, but can you afford something like that?”

“You don’t gotta worry about that.” 

“Kinda do,” you say, tilting your head to keep his eyes on yours. “It’s, like, the whole point.” 

“I mean I’m good for it.” 

You eye him, still unsure. You like Joel, but you aren’t stupid enough to trust any man at his word. “Are you serious?” 

He dips his head. “Yeah.” 

It’s a much more intimate and personal, formal, arrangement. How much he would expect from you, what he would pay you?

You say as much. 

“I know. We got things to talk about. For now, would ya consider it?”

“Yes.” The agreement jumps out of you before you can stop it. There’s no harm, you tell yourself, no harm in thinking about it, talking about it. 

Joel slides his broad, warm, achingly familiar palm up your thigh instead, leaving your fingers hooked into his belt. You stroke your thumbs there, and his breath catches, sways in the warm breeze around you. 

It’s quiet for a long moment. The lot is desolate around you, the buzz, pop, and flicker of the streetlamp at the corner, the distant hum of traffic on the main road, and the ever present hum of cicadas your only company. 

“Well, okay. Good.” 

Your favorite word on his tongue, the sweet caress of it lodging in your belly, wanting. 

“Do you want me to start calling you daddy?” 

He chuckles, the sound pleasant and surprised, like a balm to your worry. 

“I’d appreciate it if you didn’t.” His eyes slide over you, hook into your gaze as his fingers trail up the inside of your thigh. “Don’t mean much, but I’m sorry for being late.” 

“It means something. I really didn’t want to suck that guy’s dick.” You pluck at his belt buckle again, but leave it in place when his shoulders go still. “You want to tell me about it, sweetheart? Why you were late?” 

He pushes you back across the seats, the leather is warm against the wings of your shoulders. The encroaching darkness paints him in shadow, hands warmer than the humid air when they press your knees wide. “This is what I want.” 

“Okay.”

Joel looks up at you, then around the deserted parking lot. Some of the lust clears from his gaze.

“This parking lot has seen much worse, Joel.”

You get the sense that he’s forcibly letting go, unfurling, untangling the hesitation. You spread your legs wider, trying to show him it’s fine, you don’t mind. It’s not like you have a whole lot of honor to defend in any case, and the parking lot is deserted besides 

He leans over you, huge in the door of the truck, imposing.

Thick fingers tug your underwear to the side, slide through the folds of your pussy, already damp. “C’mere,” he says, the slurred word like a command, arm threading behind your back to tilt your hips in his direction. 

The position is slightly uncomfortable until Joel squeezes your thigh and shifts your leg a little, bent against the seatback. 

His gaze locks on yours, intense and dark, one finger pushing into your slowly. 

Heat blooms in your chest, travels to your throat to lie there in a thick heap. He slides a second finger into you, treading now familiar ground inside you. His fingers move at an agonizingly slow pace, building up the pulsing heat inside you. His face is shadowed, brows tugged down over his eyes in concentration. 

You arch your back, a moan caught in your throat when he strokes your walls, thumb heavy against your clit, messily trailing back and forth across your pussy. 

He fucks you slowly, watching your face until you squeeze your eyes closed and roll your hips against his hand, back arched against the seat. 

You gasp when he presses his mouth to your cunt, lips sealing around your clit, tongue flicking before he sucks harshly. 

You comb one hand through his hair, blinking down at him to watch him finger you, eat your pussy like a starved man. He groans quietly when you pull his hair, short locks falling through your fingers softly. 

He grips your ass and pulls you closer, encouraging you to close your legs around his head. 

The warm weight of an orgasm curls in your gut, twinning around your spine, reaching feathered hands between your ribs, a sharp contrast to the way his facial hair feels on your thighs, a rough burn that you adore. 

He’s patient about drawing it out, taking it slowly from you, to wind your pleasure around his fingers like puppet strings.

Joel groans against you when your cunt pulses around his fingers, the pleasure he gives you like a slow moving storm, a gradual blooming through your veins, body straining to keep his mouth against you, until it passes and exhaustion replaces it. 

His tongue sweeps through your folds, he retracts his fingers and you shiver when you feel his tongue dip inside you instead. Only when you whine does he pull away, swiping his fingers on a napkin in the door. 

You sit up slowly and adjust your skirt, flip down the vizor to glance at your face. There’s something in your features that you like and don’t like, like you’re freshly fucked but, rosy eyed too, virginal.

It’s terrible. 

Maybe Crystal is right and you’re playing with fire, asking to be ruined, but you don’t care. Not at that moment. 

“Are you at the same hotel?” You ask, just to say something, snapping the mirror closed with a bit more force than you mean to. 

“Yeah, same place as always.” 

You lean forward and reach up to swipe your thumb against the seam of his lips instead of lingering on whatever you saw in your own face. “Did you think I’d agree?” You ask, pulling your hand away, sucking your thumb into your own mouth for just a second, to taste yourself from his mouth.  

“I was feelin’ optimistic we’d, uh, spend the night together even if you told me to fuck off,” he answers, sounding distinctly flustered. The blue night air crests in gentle waves around his features. Nighttime seems to soften him. 

You smile, “Well I still haven’t really said yes.”

“Yeah,” he nods, patting your thigh, tongue running over his bottom lip. “But I got a good feelin’. You hungry?” 

“Hungry?” The word is foreign to you. You can’t remember the last time someone asked you if you were hungry. And the truth is you really are. You’ve been short on groceries for days and you can’t spare the money for that sort of thing. “I, uh—” 

“Yes or no?” The question is gentle. “And I’m payin’. Clear?” 

This is what he wants, you realize. Someone to take care of. The realization smarts, you aren’t good at being taken care of. 

This is what you’ll have to deal with, if you say yes to him. 

A fist closes around your lungs. The word is hard to produce for a long moment. “Yeah, I am.” 

“Good.” Joel stokes your thigh again. “Good girl.” He pulls back and closes the door, leaving you momentarily disoriented. It feels as though your whole world has spun on its side with one question. 

The drive is an exceptionally short one. It doesn’t even give you time to offer to blow him. 

Five minutes down the highway, a lone shack sits at the side of the road. Yellow and pink neon light blinks down at you, an electric buzz in the air as Joel parks and you stand in line together. It’s the first time you’ve been in public with him somewhere other than the club. 

Does he want everything that usually comes along with a sugarbaby? Paying for you and fucking, sure. But being out in public together? The companionship aspect? 

You watch him, wondering if you want it. Wondering if you aren’t already living some part of it. Crystal’s words flash through your mind again. 

“So, what’re you thinkin’ about?” 

Joel is squinting at the sign, bathed in a pink glow. Your legs still feel shaky from his mouth and fingers and something in your belly clenches at the sight of him just standing there. 

You peer at the menu with more ease than Joel seems to manage. “Need me to read it to you?” You ask, digging an elbow into his ribs softly. 

“Ain’t that old.”

They have ice cream, which seems to be what most people have ordered. But you need real food, something that won’t make you sick after a bite or two on an empty stomach. “Fries. And a cherry coke.” 

“Cherry, huh?” He slides an arm behind your back and squeezes your hip. Aside from a middle aged woman that glances at you sharply, no one pays you any mind. “That where the name comes from?” 

You roll your eyes. “Okay, Yeah. So maybe I have a penchant for cherry.” 

“Uh-huh. You sure you don’t want a burger or somethin’?” 

The thought of having to perform for him later, fuck him, with a full belly makes you feel ill. “Very sure.” 

He orders and pays and you try not to feel weird about him buying you a three dollar basket of fries and a coke. Especially when he apparently wants to help you with rent and to fix your car. It chafes. You hadn’t sacrificed, entered this life at all, to have someone else take care of you.

You sit on the lowered tailgate of the truck and listen to the fuzzy sound of the radio playing from the shack, slowly eating one fry at a time, watching Joel’s hands, the curve of his knee  hitched on the bed of the truck, pressed into your hip, the other extended toward the ground. 

The night is exceedingly calm, the air balmy and a little cooler than in the city. 

One by one the other diners toss their trash and drive away in a cloud of red dust, leaving you and Joel looking out over the pocked, jagged landscape alone. 

“You’re quiet tonight,” he says eventually. “You sure you’re all right?” 

He’s still thinking about that other man. 

You grin and rub a comforting hand against his forearm. “Just thinking about what you said. Do you come here a lot?” 

He shakes his head and lets you put your legs into his lap as you sip your drink, crushing his burger wrapper in his hands. “First time. I drive by it every time I come through this way though. Usually busy.” 

“How’d you know I was hungry?” You ask, offering him your drink. 

“I pay attention,” he says, taking a long sip.

You chew on your bottom lip. A ring of truth crowds his words. By Friday, you’re usually on your last couple bucks and hungry. Have you been hungry every time you were with him? You hadn’t even noticed.

You don’t have a sharp, witty come back for him, not this time. Being exposed to the night air, stars winking bright in the sky above you, the soft singing of the shack’s owner makes an intense melancholy wrap around your chest. You feel small suddenly, and like you’re making all the wrong choices, that none of it will matter in the end. Your family will still be right about you.

Joel rubs your calf slowly and seems content to sit in silence. You chew on the end of your straw and watch him. “You know you’ve never kissed me?” 

“Yep.”

If he were any other man, you wouldn’t dare ask. You brace anyway, because you’ve learned the hard way that they can flip on a dime. “You don’t want to?”

He thinks for a moment. “I wasn’t sure it was somethin’ you did. And I didn’t want to—Jesus, I already felt so bad about what I was doin’.”

Expectation lingers in his gaze, a question unasked. “Some men don’t like it, so I always wait for them to do it.” 

“Don’t like it?” 

“Who wants to kiss the mouth of a dirty little whore?” You say lightly, a joke but not really. “Putting your cock there is fine, of course.” 

He clears his throat and seems ashamed for some unfathomable reason. “Don’t get all guilty about it, Joel. I really do like blowing you.” 

“Jesus,” he mutters, shaking his head. He hesitates, then says, “I like eating your pussy, since we’re exchangin’ truths.” 

You laugh, the sound exploding out of you. He grins when you clutch your belly. He doesn’t often smile with his whole face, and he’s more handsome for it when he does. “Well,” you laugh, “I didn’t need you to tell me that. It’s painfully obvious.” 

“Uh-huh. C’mere.” 

Tears of mirth are still rolling down your cheeks when he pulls you close and kisses you. It’s surprisingly chaste, or at least begins that way. His tongue sweeps in against yours when you open your mouth. It’s intoxicating and intimate and you don’t ever want to stop. You can feel his beard scrape your cheeks and lips and you like the sharp feeling of it. 

He tastes like cherry coke. 

“Cherry,” he says against your mouth when he eventually pulls back, “Yeah, I get that now.” 

Previous // Next

[let-the-imaginationflow]

is it that sweet? (joel miller x f!reader) 18+

masterlist | a/n i've had no motivation to write lately but this randomly popped into my head the other day and suddenly my brain was like okay let's roll!! let's do this!! let's jump in!! so idk what that says about the current state of my subconscious. anyway this is filth! pls read the warnings! love u. summary: you probably shouldn't let some random middle aged man on the beach take nude photos of you, right? right? rating: 18+ explicit warnings: pervy!joel, age gap, voyeurism, coercion, objectification, sneaky picture taking, nude photos, paying for sexual favors, dirty talk, praise kink, pussy pronouns up the fuckin wazoo, oral (f receiving), nipple sucking, unprotected p in v sex, standing sex, creampie word count: 8.4k ao3 dividers by @saradika-graphics 🤍

He's been watching you for about an hour. You'd sussed him out almost immediately after settling onto your beach towel and digging into your bag for your sunscreen, mildly aware of the shape of him in your peripheral vision. He's old, definitely in his late fifties, but certainly not the most unattractive man who could be eyeing you. You're used to it by now anyway, almost feed into the way men seem to gawk at you sometimes now that you've finally thrown caution to the wind and stopped giving a fuck about your beach body. You used to be self conscious about your curves, your tummy, your thighs - you decided this summer that it had to stop.

And you're glad you did. Because now he's staring at you, this unnamed, completely anonymous middle aged man only a few feet away. And it feels fucking good.

Should it feel good? Probably not. Should you tell him to buzz off and leave you alone? Take a picture, it'll last longer, something like that? Probably. But will you? No.

You like feeling his eyes on you.

Older men like you, you've noticed. They stare. They stare more than men your own age - boys, really. Twenty somethings who try to play it cool and more often than not come across as disinterested in their interest. They're cowardly, obnoxious. And you suppose some older ones are too, especially the ones with wives - they want you to be impressed by them, ooh and awe over their high paying jobs and big mansions, their fancy cars that they think make up for their tiny dicks.

But every now and then you'll come across one like this. You can read him like a book, peering at him from over your sunglasses every so often as he lounges behind a vibrant blue umbrella. His eyes caress your bare shoulders and chest, your exposed stomach, your soft thighs. They linger on the places they shouldn't and it makes you tingle. He's appreciating what he sees, basking in it, taking his time.

You could be content just lying here and letting him look. He is handsome after all, greying curls and soft scruff flecked with white, golden skin that almost glows underneath the sun. His legs stretch out over his own towel, long and lean and strong. He's got a soft looking belly, hanging out a little bit over his trunks, and now your eyes linger for a little longer than they should.

But you won't say anything. If he wants to talk to you, he has every opportunity to. You're not going anywhere for at least another hour, not until the sun starts setting and it's time to head back to your friend's vacation home. You've only been in California for a short period of time, but it's like it's somehow molded you into a different person - a more confident, sexier version of yourself that's been dying to get out for years. A version of you who lets this old man stare and get his fill as you smirk and turn over on your towel, arching your ass up into the air.

Oh, he likes that. You can tell because of the way his jaw clenches, neck tightening as his eyes fall to the globes of your cheeks. With a barely there smirk, you arch a little more, stretching and flexing and letting him take in the way your bikini bottoms barely contain them. Your breasts hang low onto your towel, practically overflowing from their own containment, and you have to admit - you're getting a little wet posing for him like this.

He licks his lips, eyes flickering downward again to something closer to him, something in his hand. You crane your neck a little bit to peer around the blue umbrella, and your breath hitches.

He's taking pictures of you.

It's obvious now, should have been obvious this whole time, really. Only one of his hands has really been visible, the other settled low against his side behind the umbrella. Now you can see that he's got his phone angled toward you, the camera peeking slyly out from behind the blue nylon as he repeatedly taps his screen with his thumb. To test him a little further, make sure you're really seeing what you think you're seeing, you push down into the sand with your hands and rise up a little bit on the towel, almost into a lazy downward facing dog. Your tits jiggle below you, threatening to escape, and out of the corner of your eye you watch as the man adjusts the camera to get a better angle. His thumb and forefinger glide across the screen, undeniably - and unashamedly - zooming in.

You're definitely wet now. You know you shouldn't be. You know this has probably gone too far and you should get up and leave, potentially tell someone about the creep on the beach taking photos of women in bikinis.

Instead, you make eye contact with him, settling back down onto your towel with your ass still perched a little in the air. He seems to freeze, eyebrows going up in the realization that he's been caught. In response, you blink slowly at him, pout a little bit as if to say, Really? You arch your back a little more and shimmy your hips, tilting your head as you continue to gaze over at him, eyes going a little hooded.

Come fuck me, you're almost saying, even though you know there's no way in hell you're gonna let him. It's just funny to watch him squirm, phone gripped tight in his hand as his adam's apple bobs in his throat. You arch a little more and then grind your hips into your towel, flattening yourself against it, holding his gaze. You rest your head and smile at him teasingly.

He's getting up and shuffling toward you in no time at all.

"Hi, darlin'," are the first words out of his mouth when he reaches you, and you certainly did not expect a Southern accent to fall from those plush lips. He's gorgeous really, now that you can see him up close - wide shoulders and big arms that strain against his white shirt, strong chest covered in little freckles, chocolate brown eyes that shimmer in the sunlight.

"Hi," you say with a smile, blinking up at him.

"I'm sure you saw what I was doin'," he seems a little embarrassed, voice apologetic as he scratches the back of his neck, "I know I shoulda asked, but you seemed so relaxed, I didn't wanna disturb you."

Bullshit, you only came over because I smiled at you. Any other reaction and you'd have run for the hills.

"I'm Joel," he reaches his hand down for you to take. For some reason, you shake it without hesitation. "I'm actually a photographer, believe it or not."

Huh. You raise an eyebrow at the words, doubt immediately swimming in your mind as you assess him.

"If you're a photographer, where's your camera?"

He chuckles, "Back at my hotel. I just came out here to relax, wasn't plannin' on takin' any photos. But then I saw you, and, well..." he smiles at you sheepishly, "You're just so pretty, darlin'. Never seen somebody like you before."

The words are not special. They're nothing you haven't already heard, nothing he hasn't probably already used on countless other women. And yet... you smile back at him, cheeks warming a little at the way the compliment sounds coming out of his mouth in particular, all Southern and sweet. "Thank you."

His eyes suddenly leave yours to flicker back toward your body again, scanning the length of you. As if on instinct, almost to show off, you tighten the muscles in your ass cheeks and then release, letting them jiggle a little bit under your swimsuit. He swallows tightly.

"Would you be interested in posin' for me, sweetheart? There's a little spot down the beach, outta sight. Still public though, of course. I wouldn't ask you to go anywhere unsafe," his eyes linger on your ass for a few more seconds before he's meeting your gaze again, soft and sincere, "I'd love to get some pictures of you in that bikini, and some with it off too, if you're comfortable with that."

Oh, he's fucking brave. You can feel disgust brewing in the pit of your stomach, a scowl beginning to dawn on your face. This is where you should draw the line. This is where you should get up and leave, tell him to go to hell, tell him he's a pervert and-

"I'll pay whatever you think is fair," he continues, "How's three hundred as a starting point?"

On second thought...

"Beautiful, baby," he's telling you softly, "You're so pretty like that."

You hum in contentment, laying in the sand with a little smile tugging at your lips as Joel maneuvers around you with his phone, snapping pic after pic as you peer up at him through rays of sun. You're a little ways down the beach now, in a sparser area behind some rocks. He was right about it still being public - if something happened, you know you could raise your voice the tiniest bit and be heard immediately by people on the other side. Somehow though, despite his forwardness and slightly perverted habits, you trust that he isn't going to force anything on you.

You've already got three hundred dollars in your purse. He'd given it to you before you'd even gotten up from your initial spot on the beach, placed it in your hand with a grin as your eyes widened. You suppose you could've taken the money and run, but part of you wanted to play it out, test the limits, see what else he'd pay you for.

Which leads you here, laying sensually in the sand with the strings of your bikini dangling a little looser off your shoulders and hips, a little careless, a little more teasing. The poses so far have been pretty basic, and you've tried your best to emulate what you think a supermodel on the cover of Sports Illustrated would do. Based on Joel's responses - excited nods and gentle praises - you think you're doing a good job.

"Turn over now," he tells you with a playful grin, "Put that cute little ass in the air again for me."

It should be demeaning, the way he's talking to you. There's a lot about this situation that should be wrong, and yet you can't help but feel pride swell in your chest at his directions, his compliments. You do what he says, flipping over to dig your hands into the sand and arch your back, turning your head to eye the camera directly with a sultry little smile on your face.

"Perfect," he's murmuring, thumb tapping the screen like his life depends on it, "That's so perfect, honey." You listen to the fake little shutter sounds the phone makes, still wondering if he's even really a photographer. Would it even matter? Wouldn't you have still let him do this anyway?

With this new angle you can feel the loose strands of your bikini top starting to slip, unraveling at the back and trickling gently against your sides. You watch with what should be a worrying lack of urgency as it cascades down onto the sand below, leaving you topless.

He whistles low under his breath, "Well, would you look at that. The girls are out."

"That's an extra fifty," you say with a coy eyebrow raise, "Or else I cover them back up."

"Extra fifty, no problem" Joel echoes, "Can you shake your ass for me again, darlin'?"

You nod, tilting your head and peering back at him as you tighten and release your muscles with a giggle, basking in the way he stares at it, like it's a five course meal he's about to devour. You do it a few more times, arching your back a little more and spreading your thighs slightly to allow for more recoil, more jiggle. He makes an odd sound in the back of his throat and you grin.

"How much to take these off too?" he lowers the phone and peers at you with pleading eyes, brown and soft, "Huh? How much extra to show me this lil' peach, honey?"

You grimace, looking down at the sand and trying to calculate an appropriate cost in your brain. You bite your lip, "You know that's not the only thing that'll show."

"I know," he murmurs, eyes trailing downward again to eye your ass, still perched high and plump, "Your peach and your pussy then, how much?"

Fuck.

"I won't touch you," he promises softly, "You can just tug it down and show her to me, lemme see her up close, yeah?"

Her?

Her.

"Christ," you mumble under your breath. He's filthier than you thought, and not in a bad way - in a fucking hot way. "Another fifty," you decide, voice firm, "And... and I wanna see you put the money in my purse first. And no touching my... her."

"I can do that, sweetheart," he's already digging into his wallet and yanking out the money, opening your bag slightly to place it inside. It could be counterfeit for all you know; this whole thing really might be a completely worthless venture, and yet -

He watches as you reach backward to untie the strings of your bikini bottoms, doing it in one fell swoop and then spreading your thighs again, knees digging into the sand. You arch and press your face against your towel, feeling goosebumps rise all over your skin at the knowledge that he's staring at where you're now completely bare.

You hear him groan, a rough little sound that goes straight to your core, and a few little shutter sounds go off, "Now, that's a pretty little pussy you got there, baby."

Heat rises throughout your body, up through your chest and to your cheeks. You turn a little to look at him shyly, lashes fluttering when you see where his gaze has settled.

"Yeah?"

"Oh, honey, she's so pretty," he breathes, "She's all wet. Leakin' for me, you see that?"

You can't see it of course, but you can feel it; feel the way you're dripping, knowing that he can see it, has a 1:1 view of the way you throb and drool for him. This random old man who about twenty minutes ago you'd never spoken to in your life.

"And your little clit is sayin' hi to me too, babygirl, can see her pokin' out." Fuck. You squirm a little in place as his camera continues to go off, legs spreading a little more unconsciously as you tilt your head downwards and close your eyes. Your clit twitches under his stare.

"Swollen little thing," he breathes, barely loud enough to hear, "Perfect pussy."

Jesus Christ.

"Roll over for me again, sweetheart," you hear him say quietly, "Show me all those pretty parts."

You don't know why, but you whine a little at his words. It's subconscious, a burning desire you can't describe as you slowly flip over and lazily lay back on your towel to show him your entire naked body. He stands over you with his brow furrowed in a gentle kind of way, eyes appraising you up and down like you're some kind of goddess. And fuck, he's kind of making you feel like one.

"Legs open a little bit, baby, that's it." You obey, spreading your legs and looking up at him with lidded eyes, lips parting a little. You bring your arms up to rest behind your head and he takes note of the way your tits bounce for him, shivering back and forth beneath his gaze. "You're perfect," he murmurs, "You're absolutely perfect."

"Stop," you say, unable to stop a grin from spreading across your face, "M'not perfect."

"But you are, darlin'," he shakes his head, eyes full of wonder as he kneels down to get some closer pictures. You watch as he brings his phone down directly in front of your pussy, snaps a few close-ups of your puffy lips and swollen clit. "I'd love to kiss her, honey, if you'd let me."

"N-no," you say quickly, though your voice cracks, "No touching."

"I'll pay you extra," his eyes return to yours, locking your gazes, "You name it, baby. I'll pay anything to taste how sweet you are down here."

You look at him calculatingly, tilting your head. Anything?

"Two hundred," you practically whisper, "In the bag."

You're half expecting him to tell you that he's run out of money, that he couldn't possibly give you any more than the four hundred he's already blown on this. But he surprises you, reaching back into his pocket to grab his wallet and tug out the bills. It's like he has an endless supply, and you're beginning to wonder if maybe this is a hobby of his, something he prepares for, carries money around to be ready to spend on women like you. Maybe he's rich rich, has unlimited money to throw away, and this is just his weird perverted thing he does on the side of something else.

Maybe you should have asked for more.

But he's already kneeling back down into the sand and you're already opening your legs wider for him, allowing him to settle between them and lean his head forward to place his lips gently against your pussy. You watch with heavy lids as he kisses you so softly there, his mouth tender and inviting and deliciously scratchy from his scruff. Without really thinking about it, you reach down and run a hand through his curls, smiling a little fondly as he kisses you again, and again, and again.

"That feels nice," you breathe, watching as he continues to press incredibly slow and gentle kisses to your cunt in an almost respectful way, a reverent way.

"Good," he murmurs, lips vibrating against your core, "Want it to feel nice for you, baby."

You let out a soft moan the second his tongue breaches your folds, wet and warm. You watch as he closes his eyes and seems to get lost in it, tasting your pussy like it - or she, as he'd said - is some rare delicacy he's never indulged in before. He trails the tip of his tongue through the mess you've made, maneuvering your puffy lips and flicking it against your clit. Your hips buck and another moan slips out, quiet and pitiful.

"That's it," he murmurs against you with a little half smile, "So sweet for me, honey." He dives back in immediately and slowly plunges his tongue inside your entrance, fucking into you a few times before carefully pulling back and opening his eyes to peer up at you again. God, those brown eyes are fucking sinful. He gives you one more smile and then reaches down to grab his phone.

"Gonna get some more pics of this messy girl, okay?" he breathes, and you're a little startled when his left hand is suddenly coming down to touch you there, two fingers carefully scissoring you open. You don't say anything, too horny to protest, too intrigued to see what he's going to do. "Gotta open her up a little," he tells you softly, answering your unspoken question, "Wanna take a little peek at what she's hidin' inside her, baby."

A little whimper falls from your throat again as his fingers scissor you wider, holding you open and baring your hole to his camera. You can feel your walls twitching and pulsing, contracting and leaking; you can only imagine what it looks like. Your eyes roll a little when his middle finger taps your clit, another gush of arousal flooding past your opening.

"Look at this lil' hole, huh?" he's murmuring, but your eyes are closing and your head is falling back onto the towel as he plays with you, "Oh, she's alllll messy for me down here, baby. And it's no wonder your clit came out to see me, she loves gettin' played with, don't she?"

Christ, he knows how to talk. His words send another helpless little sound past your lips, thighs trembling as he slowly caresses your clit with his finger, pressing down on it with just the right amount of pressure.

"Aw, you're all sticky here again, baby," he whispers and you whine, feeling your juices dribble down toward your ass, "Shh, I'll take care of it," and then he's leaning back in to lap at your folds, a little faster this time, more desperate, "Tastes so good, pretty girl. So sweet."

He suckles your clit into his mouth and you let out a breathless moan, brow furrowing as he suctions the swollen nub and lets one of his fingers fall to slip inside your entrance. You're so close you can feel it, coiled inside and ready to snap at any moment, his thick index plugging you deliciously as his tongue swirls. You tighten around it, thighs squeezing a little around his head, and then-

He's pulling away, removing his mouth and finger. Your eyes flutter open and you watch as he stands up with a little groan, older age apparent in the way he clutches at his back and exhales once he's upright. You want to tell him to get back down here, finish what he started, but part of you feels like it'd almost be letting him win, somehow. This perverted creep on a public beach that's somehow managed to lure you away and get you naked, take photos of your body and eat your pussy. He doesn't deserve to have you beg for him - even if you want to.

"Can you stand up for me now, honey?" he tilts his head, squinting against the sun and smiling like he didn't just ruin your orgasm.

On shaky legs, you manage to pull yourself up from the sand and stand before him in all your naked glory, legs crossing a little as you squeeze your thighs together. He smirks but doesn't say anything about it, instead angling his phone toward you again and snapping some full length photos. You immediately do your best to go back into Sports Illustrated mode, posing a little and trying to ignore the ache between your legs, the relentless throb of where his mouth just was.

"Squeeze your tits together for me," he tells you, voice a bit deeper, rougher, full of arousal, "Cup 'em a little, show me those cute lil' nipples."

You do as he says, biting your lip and showing the camera exactly what he wants to see. Your nipples are peaked and hard, begging to be teased and tugged, but you refuse to do it yourself - you're not giving him the satisfaction, not after what he just pulled. He takes a few up-close pictures, camera so close to them that you shiver with sensitivity, the smallest bit of air from his movements causing them to tighten even more.

"Those are so beautiful, baby," he murmurs softly, gaze trailing upwards to meet yours, "Can I give 'em a kiss too?" God, his eyes are so fucking soft and sincere, like fucking boba pearls. You wonder if anyone's ever been able to say no to him.

You swallow, keeping eye contact, "For another fifty, sure."

He chuckles at that, "You drive a hard bargain, darlin'."

"I know what I'm worth."

He smiles, nodding slowly, "That, you do." He pulls out his wallet and slips another bill into your bag, then shuffles toward you again. You try to keep your breathing calm when one of his hands comes up to cradle your bare back, pulls you in a little bit as he lowers his mouth to your right nipple. With hazy eyes, you watch as he presses the softest little kiss to it, then does the same to the left.

Part of you wants to pull back and say that's it, that's all you get, just to see what he does, give him a taste of his own medicine. But then he's wrapping his lips around the pebbled bud and suckling, your eyes going glassy, jaw dropping a little as your hands come up to hold his shoulders. Your pussy throbs at the sensation, thighs rubbing together again as he suctions just the right amount and swirls his tongue all over the hard peak. It's impossible not to let a quiet moan fall past your lips, something he returns with a little mmhmm around your nipple, a wordless I know.

It feels so good that you feel your guard going down even more than it already has, feel your head falling forward to rest against his. His greying hair is so soft, so warm from the sun. You blink slowly and inhale, cheek smooshing into his temple as he sucks and sucks and sucks, then turns his attention to the other one. Little whimpers are tumbling past your lips, your hands squeezing and caressing his shoulders as you feel yourself starting to drip down your inner thighs.

It's so fucking intimate, much more intimate than you anticipated. And when he finally pulls away and comes back up to peer into your eyes again, leaving your nipples puffy and a little sore, you betray yourself by leaning forward to kiss him softly, tugging his bottom lip into your mouth and returning the favor with a little suckle. You feel him smile against you, the hand on your back tightening as he brings his other one up to tangle in your hair. His lips are plush and wet - a little chapped from what he's just done to your nipples - and he tastes like pussy.

It's fucking heavenly.

"I wanna show you somethin', babygirl," he murmurs against you after a moment, and you nod a little too quickly, a little pathetically. You're starting to realize that you're losing the battle here, if there ever even was one.

He pulls back a little, eyes still soft. You watch as he reaches down to his swim trunks and unties them, heart suddenly in your throat as he slips his hand inside and comes out with an absolutely beautiful dick. It's long and thick, rounded and full at the tip with an extremely suckable looking mushroom head, as well as a prominent vein trailing up his shaft that makes your mouth water. You both stare at it for a few seconds without speaking, your lips parting but no words coming to mind.

"You wanna take some pictures with my cock, honey?" he asks you quietly, and you think he's probably looking at your face now, watching your expression, but you're still just staring at his dick.

"W-what?"

"Just a few, like...well..." he shuffles forward a bit and very gently presses the warmth of his cock against your bare stomach, letting the tip sit just above your belly button, "Like this."

Your brain is blank.

"That okay?"

His cock is so heavy.

"Darlin'?"

And warm.

He pushes some of your hair behind your ear, cradles your face in his big hand, "I know, honey," he murmurs, "You just gotta say okay."

Okay?

"O-okay," you finally whisper.

"Yeah?"

Yeah. You think it but don't say it, can't say it. You feel beyond overwhelmed, eyes still glued to where his throbbing tip is smooshed into your belly. You can't stop looking at it, ogling it, awed by its impressiveness and girth, the way it leaks a little onto your skin. You've never seen a dick this pretty before. You almost forget that you're standing there without any clothes on, barely aware of the shutter sound as he snaps multiple pictures on his phone.

"Good girl," he murmurs softly, "That's a good girl, just look at it."

Every few seconds he repositions a little, pulling you in closer to capture the way his cock stands at attention between your bodies. Precum gurgles from the tip and makes a sticky mess in his happy trail, dribbling down onto your skin. Without thinking about it at all, completely unaware of even doing it, your arms are suddenly around his waist, holding him close with your gaze still locked onto his cock.

"Yeah, that's for you, baby," he tells you softly, grinding his hips a little bit against yours and essentially fucking his cock against your stomach, "You did that to me."

It's only when he suddenly takes a small step back, holds the base and angles it downward to gently prod the sticky head against your pussy lips, that you finally come to your senses.

"Wait," you gasp out, yanking yourself back from him and shaking your head, "W-wait a second."

"M'sorry," he says quickly, brow furrowing as he puts his hands up. His cock hangs from his trunks almost comically, bobbing up and down as he takes a step back, "Shoulda asked first."

"Y-yeah, you should've," your voice cracks, heat flooding your face, "I'm sorry, I don't know what came over me just then, that was too far." Why the fuck are you apologizing to him?

"S'not too far," his words are gentle, alluring, "We're just havin' fun, aren't we honey? You were havin' fun, got lost in it. It's okay."

You take a breath, staring at him as you try to get your bearings. Were you having fun? Is this fun? What the fuck are you even doing right now? Your thoughts are cloudy, hazed with arousal and attraction to this complete stranger in front of you. Are you really gonna let this continue? Is it really worth it? Your gaze falls back to his cock and the question is almost answered for you.

"What am I doing?" you ask aloud, a breathless little laugh escaping your lips.

"You're just havin' fun with a new friend, s'all it is."

You raise an eyebrow at him, trying to ignore the way your hands tremble, "Is that what you are? My friend?"

"I'll be anything you want me to be, darlin'," his mouth turns up at the corners, eyes sparkling, "I sure would like to be your friend."

He peers at you for a moment, waiting for you to speak. Your mouth opens a few times but no words come out, your thoughts scrambled as you try to make heads or tails of this situation. You're suddenly painfully aware of the fact that you're still completely naked, and you quickly peek your head over the rock formation to make sure there's nobody nearby - there isn't.

Why are you checking?

"C'mere," Joel finally says, and you turn back to look at him with your lip between your teeth. He's standing there with his arms open a bit, cock still heavy between his legs. By all accounts, a fucking perv. And yet...

And yet.

Fuck it.

You're back in his embrace in no time, hooking your head over his shoulder and allowing his cock to press warmly into your skin again. You close your eyes and sigh as he brings one of his hands downward to squeeze your ass.

You know what he's going to ask before he even says it.

"Can I put it inside you, darlin'?" he murmurs softly, pleadingly, "Just to get a pic of your pussy all full?"

You don't say anything.

"Won't take more than a minute," he urges, "I promise, baby. Just wanna see it stretched around my cock. Don't you wanna see that, pretty girl? I'll pay extra, whatever you want."

More silence.

"I know you wanna see it," he's relentless, his other hand coming down to squeeze your other cheek and pull you impossibly closer, "You wanna feel that, don't you, baby? Big cock fillin' you up before you go?" His middle finger slides between your cheeks and settles at your pussy, slowly teasing your entrance, "Don't gotta do anything at all, just gotta stand here, we'll do it standin' honey."

"Standing?" you ask softly, pulling back to look at him with intrigue, and your response suddenly has him grinning from ear to ear as he slowly inserts his finger. You shiver, eyes fluttering closed as he fills you with it.

"Standin'," he repeats, "Just like this, baby, don't gotta do anything 'cept open your legs a little for me. You can do that, can't you?" The hand on your ass comes up to hold your chin; he pinches it gently between his finger and thumb and gives you another soft look as he starts to fuck you in earnest, "I know you can, 'cause you're a good girl, yeah?"

"Y-yeah," you breathe, arms tightening around his body.

"Yeah," he adds a second finger, smile faltering into a sympathetic pout when you let out another soft moan, "And you want that cock, don't you? I can see it all over your face, honey. Don't gotta pretend."

"I do," you whisper with a nod, swallowing thickly and trembling in his arms, "I want it, I do."

"So..." he's waiting for you to say the words, to tell him to go ahead and put it in, do what he wants, let him take control. His fingers are relentless inside of you now, plunging in and out at a speed you know he's purposely using to distract you, cloud your decision making.

Which is why his eyebrows go up in surprise when you're suddenly reaching down to grab tightly to his wrist, yanking his fingers out of your pussy in one swift pull.

"Three hundred," you state, "Take it or leave it."

To your surprise, his face alights with a gigantic smile, a deep laugh tumbling past his lips as he nods and digs his hand into his pocket, seeking his wallet one more time, "Yes, m'aam," he grins, "I'll take it."

You've never had sex standing up before. Not like this, face to face and completely upright with your feet planted on the ground. It's a little awkward at first, Joel having to crouch a little to align his hips with yours, one hand gripping your waist while the other grips his phone. God, this fucking phone. You're pretty sure you'll never wanna see a phone case with this ugly shade of cerulean blue again, let alone hear those obnoxious shutter sounds.

Your annoyance is quickly overpowered by the sensation of the warm head of Joel's cock pressing gently to your pussy. You look down to watch, lip between your teeth again as Joel snaps image after image of the way his tip crowds your outer lips, pushes them apart. You have to admit, it's certainly a sight to behold.

"Yeah, look at her open for me, baby," he's murmuring, thumbing the base as he slowly rubs his cockhead back and forth through your folds, "Bloomin' like a little flower."

The top of your head rests against his shoulder, face angled down to watch what he's doing. A tiny whimper falls from your lips when he very slowly eases the head of his cock inside of you, the stretch barely noticeable with how wet you are. He releases your hip to reach down and open your pussy lips with his thumb and forefinger, exposing where you're joined.

"Tell her to smile for the camera, babygirl," he whispers, and while part of you wants to roll your eyes, another part can't help but feel a gush of arousal at his words, soaking his cock even more, "Good, that's good."

He feeds his cock to you slowly, making sure to take as many pictures as he can. Little whines and squeaks erupt from your throat and your hands claw at his back, fingers tangling in the white crocheted material as he fills you up. It's only when he's fully sheathed inside of you that he suddenly tugs his trunks down a little more to expose his balls, heavy and round and full. You stare at them with a longing in your eyes you can't describe, lower lip trembling as you watch them bounce and settle against where you're joined.

"There you go," he murmurs, snapping one last picture before tossing his phone into the sand and bringing his hands up to cradle your back, pulling you close, "All done, baby, that's it."

Your toes curl in the sand as you embrace the feeling of being so full of him, his tip pulsing delicately inside the deepest parts of you. A distant thought in your brain wonders why he just threw his phone on the ground, but it doesn't seem to matter when you feel like this, so full and wet and warm, lost in a hazy glow. You bury your face in his shoulder, letting out quiet little whimpers as he pulls you in tighter. He presses a gentle kiss to the top of your head, seemingly reveling in the moment too as you stand there listening to the ocean waves, impaled on a stranger's cock.

"How's that feel, honey?" he asks you softly, thumbs tracing shapes along your bare back, "Hm? Feel good?" You don't answer, just nuzzle your face against his skin and let out another soft whine, hands clamoring underneath his shirt to grip his back. He chuckles, "Yeah, I know, baby."

You both stand there for what feels like forever, until you finally have enough sense to pull away from his shoulder and get a look at his face. He's watching you fondly, brow furrowed, eyes still incredibly soft and inviting. He really is gorgeous. Pervy, but gorgeous.

"You dropped your phone," you mumble, words faint and slightly slurred.

"Don't need it anymore," he murmurs, "Got my pictures."

"Then why are you still inside me?" you ask softly, eyelashes fluttering, "If you're done?"

He shrugs, smiling, "'Cause it feels good, don't it?"

You stare at him for a few seconds but end up nodding regardless, turning your face a little to peer over at the ocean, "It does," you admit, "Feels really good."

"Mmhmm," he kisses the top of your head again, then your temple, stroking his fingers through your hair. The way he touches you is reverent, delicate, like you're something fragile he needs to keep safe. It's not what you'd expected, that's for sure. But something you're not as sure about is what happens now, where you both go from here.

It doesn't take long for him to decide.

You feel his thumb on your clit, drawing your attention away from the ocean and back to his presence. You peer at him through bleary eyes, a dazed little smile curving your lips as he carefully rotates the swollen nub. His belly caresses yours, warm and soft, and you smile even wider.

"Feel good?" he asks you again - tender, kind.

"Yeah," you whisper.

The hand on your back comes up to cradle your hair, pulling you in close again and allowing you to rest your head against his smooth chest. You moan as his thumb picks up speed, the sound muffled by his tan skin.

"You want me to make you come, honey?" he murmurs, fingers brushing carefully through your hair, "You wanna come all over that big cock inside you?"

"Yeah," you repeat, a little broken this time, "W-wanna come."

"You've been so fuckin' good for me, you know that?" he breathes, barely a whisper, brow furrowed as he continues to rub your clit, "Posin' all pretty, showin' me that soft little pussy, lettin' me taste her," he gives a low whistle, shaking his head, "And now she's all full, huh? She full?"

You nod, eyes rolling a little, "Y-yeah." Apparently yeah is currently one of the only words in your vocabulary.

"She all messy for me?"

Again, you nod, expression blissful as you let out a moan, "Yes, Joel," you whimper, and you're pretty sure it's the first time you've said his name this whole time. It's like you've been trying to be disconnected from it, from him, and now suddenly he's everywhere; inside you, in front of you, above you - there's no escaping him. And you don't want to escape - what you want is him. Badly. Desperately.

He seems to realize this at the exact same time you do, the moment he hears his name fall from your lips. Which is why you're not surprised in the slightest by his next words.

"What if I wanted a pic of my cum leakin' outta this little pussy?" he whispers, mouth suddenly directly next to your ear, sending insane amounts of pleasurable tingles throughout your whole body, "Huh? How much would that cost? Tell me."

"You can't," you mumble, lightheaded, but you're lying to yourself, completely lost in the pleasure he's giving you, the movement of his thumb and the girth of his cock.

"Only take a few seconds, honey, m'already close," as he speaks, you feel his hips slowly begin to buck, cock pulling from you for only a moment before easing back in, making you shudder, "You don't gotta do nothin', 'cept show me how she drools when she's full. You can do that, can't you baby?"

"Joel," you whine again, eyes shut tight as you dig your toes into the sand, holding tight to his back as he slowly starts to fuck up into you. He's so big, so thick, plugging you full and then leaving you again, slow and warm. You can only imagine how it would feel to have him burst inside of you, to fill you to the brim.

"I wanna see her drool, honey," he murmurs, voice desperate again, full of arousal, "Wanna see her push it out."

"Fuck," you moan, high and whiney as you suddenly grip both sides of his face in your hands to peer directly into his eyes, "A thousand," you whimper, your hands clawing at his scruff as his hips pick up speed, as his hands fall to your waist and hold tightly as he starts to pound up into you, "A thousand and you can come in my pussy."

He presses his forehead against yours, lets out a guttural sound and then hisses, "Deal."

And for some reason, you believe him.

Getting pounded while standing upright is a fucking trip. His nails dig into the pebbled flesh of your hips, knees bending and unbending as his cock fucks up into you relentlessly without stopping or slowing. Your hands are still holding his face, eyes locked with his as your mouth pops open in a silent scream, thumbs digging into the apples of his cheeks. Holy fucking shit.

"I know, I know, I know," he's groaning, voice wild and unhinged, groans vibrating in his chest, "Fuckin' take it, s'what you were made for, honey. Knew it the second I saw you, knew you were gonna go wild on that dick."

"Please," you moan out, tears pricking in your eyes, the sensations almost too much to bear, "Please, please." You don't even know what you're begging for, thoughts muddled as you release his face and wind your arms around his neck, "Keep fucking me, keep fucking me, don't stop, please."

"I got you, honey, I got you," you feel his thumb return to your clit as he speaks, the sounds of your skin slapping together almost rivalling the sound of the ocean waves, "You gonna come, pretty girl? Huh? You gonna cream on my cock?"

"Yes," you practically squeal, and before you can really process what you're doing you're suddenly jumping up from the sand to wrap your legs around Joel's waist, ankles tangling together behind his back. He has no issue shifting positions, his arm cradling you and holding you in the air while his thumb continues to ravage your clit. You feel it building in your stomach, tightening more and more with the insistent pressure of his thumb and the continuous thrusts of his dick hitting your cervix over and over.

"Ohh, I feel her, baby," he groans in your ear, "Sloppy little cunt wants to make another mess, doesn't she?" And that's all it takes for your orgasm to hit you, your legs squeezing tighter and tighter and tighter around Joel's body as you moan and whine and cry, grabbing fistfuls of his hair and shaking in his arms. It's like having the wind knocked out of you, arguably one of the best orgasms you've ever had in your life, your eyes rolling back into your head as you sob into his neck.

"Joel," you whimper, pussy pulsing repeatedly around his dick through the aftershocks, "Joel, come inside her, please."

"Oh, fuck."

You feel it then, the twitch of his cock and the warm ropes of his release pumping into you. You sigh almost dreamily, burying your face in his shoulder and listening as he groans, feeling the way his fingertips dig into the soft plush of your ass. It's steady - there's so much more than you thought there'd be, and the sensation is enough to make you whimper again, murmuring his name one more time as he empties himself.

You stay like that for a moment, the ocean loud in your ears, all other sounds seemingly drowned out by the hiss of sea against rock and sand. Eventually, he carries you a few steps to your towel, your ears ringing and his body trembling a little as he carefully lowers you down. You let go of him a bit reluctantly, a pout on your lips as he lays you out and then slowly pulls himself from you with a wet squelch.

"Good girl," he's murmuring - you realize he's been saying it the whole time - "Good girl, that's it, open your legs."

There's no hesitance at all anymore, not after that. You open your legs wide with abandon and sit up on your hands, watching with heavy lids as he grabs his phone from where he'd discarded it, bringing it down to your leaking pussy.

"Look at that," he breathes, awestruck, and your eyes trail downward to see what he sees. You feel heat return to your cheeks when you see the way his creamy white release is slowly beginning to dribble out of you and onto the towel.

"Wow, that's a lot," you whisper with a faint little giggle, eyes coming back up to look at his face as he watches it drip. You're not sure he hears you, intensely focused on where you're swollen and leaking, but you don't mind. You push back lazily on your hands and smile fondly at him as he takes his precious photos. In the afterglow, you find that the shutter sounds aren't that annoying, not really.

"Open her up for me, baby," he tells you softly, "Spread her wide and push it out."

You sit up a little, feeling drowsy and dreamy as you reach down and pull yourself open with your hands. You apply a little pressure, closing your eyes in a daze and hearing the wet little sounds as you push his cum out of you and onto the towel. You hear him groan, hear the shutter sounds again, and you can't help but grin.

"Are they good?" you ask him, genuinely wondering, "Is she pretty?" As you speak you pull yourself a little wider, allow him to take one more picture as close inside as possible before he pulls it away.

He looks up from his handiwork with that familiar soft smile on his face again, brown eyes shimmering in the sun that's already beginning to set, "You're perfect," he tells you, "And don't argue with me, I just gave you almost two thousand dollars."

You snort, releasing yourself and falling backwards onto the towel to stare up at the sky. Your limbs feel heavy, eyelids drooping as you watch Joel in your periphery slipping his soft cock back into his trunks, as well as his phone.

"It's real money, right?" you ask, a little unsure.

"I promise it's real money," he says with a chuckle, walking over to stand over you, "D'you wanna come back to my hotel with me and get cleaned up? Maybe have some more fun?"

You bite your lip, "Would you pay me?"

"I'd pay you."

Admittedly, as reality begins to wash over you, the idea doesn't sound anywhere near as appealing as it might have an hour ago. With a little effort, you sit up again and reach for your bikini, half buried in the sand near your feet.

"Nah, I think I'm good."

Joel reaches his arm down and you take it, letting him help you to your feet. As you put your bikini back on, you watch with a little smile as he digs the rest of your money out of his wallet, slipping it into your purse like it's just second nature at this point - which, it basically is. He stands there then, a little awkwardly, like he's not sure what to say.

"Well, uh, thank you, darlin'," he finally says, taking a step back and nodding toward you with a kind expression, "Not many girls would have, um... not many would've done this. I'd offer you my number, but I get the feeling that's not what this is."

You wince, shaking your head, "Yeah, this, uh- this isn't gonna go anywhere, sorry. But it was fun."

He nods, "It was. And, I mean, those pictures aren't just gonna collect dust, I can tell you that much."

You laugh, walking forward a little to pick up your bag. You stop in front of him and, after hesitating for only a moment, lean forward to press a soft kiss to his lips. Just a peck - a goodbye.

"Have a good rest of your summer," you tell him as you pull away, heat rising in your cheeks again as he looks at you with those beautiful eyes, "And uh- maybe try to be a little more covert with that camera."

This time it's his turn to blush, his cheeks tinging a dark shade of pink as he laughs and tosses you a wave, turning to begin walking away from you. He only makes it a few steps, and then-

"Hey, Joel?"

He turns on the spot, a hopeful look in his expression that makes you wonder, if only for a moment, that maybe you're making the wrong choice.

"You're not really a photographer, are you?"

His blush deepens, a look of embarrassment crossing his features, "No, I'm not. But after today, I just might try my hand at it."

[let-the-imaginationflow]

If you see this on your dashboard, reblog this, NO MATTER WHAT and all your dreams and wishes will come true.

[let-the-imaginationflow]

Wedding Crashers (dilf!joel miller x f!reader)

18+ account - minors do not interact

dilf!joel miller x f!reader

Word Count: 5.5k

Rating: E

Summary: You and your best friend accidentally crash a lavish wedding in the Hamptons believing it's a networking event, and you unexpectedly fall for the charming, handsome architect and owner of the venue - who's the father of the bride.

Warning: dilf!joel, implied age gap (joel is 46), sexual tension, flirting, language, fluff (romcom vibes?), pet names, dirty talk, praise, semi-public sex (outdoor pool lounge furniture vibes), size kink? (of course joel is huge), oral (f – receiving), a little spanking, some nipple play, unprotected p in v sex, breeding kink (if you squint), wealthy!joel

A/N: This is my submission for the HOT DILF SUMMER CHALLENGE. I was inspired by a recent trip to the Hamptons I did this summer. Sadly, I did not meet Joel Miller there. However, like reader, I was invited to somebody’s house and the Hamptons really is as fucking crazy as what you see in the movies. I enjoyed my Gossip Girl moment and then went back to my reality. It was truly sad. Everyone pray that Kiwi wins the lottery one day. I have been brain rotting over all these summer challenges and then I swear I will wrap up with Defying Algorithms – the final chapter is coming soon!

@hellishjoel

xx

Montauk, Town of East Hampton

The summer sunbathed Montauk in a golden glow as you parked your old Honda Civic—uncomfortably close to a gleaming red Ferrari that looked like it cost more than your graduate school tuition.  

“This has to be the right place for the networking event, right?” Maria said, adjusting her oversized sunglasses with confidence.

“I think,” you replied, swiping your hair over your shoulder and adjusted your dress, a simple but chic number that you had borrowed from Maria’s closet.

You both stood in front of the grand entrance to the estate, glancing at your respective invitations. Each card was embossed with an elaborate gold seal that read “Networking Gala – Columbia Master’s Program: Economics.

Maria had invited you to the Sag Harbor to stay with her boyfriend’s family for a few weeks. His family was loaded, which was a huge contrast from yours and Maria’s own humble backgrounds – but you had to admit that they were genuinely some of the kindest people you had ever met in your life. One of the reasons you took Maria up on her invite was because there was a job networking event out here this summer and you were on the fence about deciding whether to pursue a PhD in economics after graduation or try and get a job in the private sector.

Maria emphasized to you that the Hamptons was widely recognized as a playground for the affluent, attracting individuals who had substantial financial resources and significant industry influence. You knew attending an event like this would introduce you to successful people that held prominent positions in their respective fields. You hated networking because it felt so transactional and fake, but you had to admit that engaging with these individuals could open doors to job opportunities.

Once inside, the opulence struck you like a wave. Lavish floral arrangements cascaded from every corner, gold and crystal glimmered under the soft lighting, and guests floated about in beautiful gowns and tailored suits. You felt woefully out of place as you swallowed hard.

You and Maria made your way to the bar, mingling with a few guests who mentioned how stunning the bride, Sarah, had looked walking down the aisle and that they were excited about the reception.

By now, you had taken in the surroundings and figured out what this was. “Oh, Maria, we’ve got to leave. This isn’t a networking thing; it’s a wedding,”

The address on the invitation must have been wrong. Or you two were idiots and didn’t fucking know how to get around this town.

She waved her hand dismissively. “We can still stick around. Just act natural. There’s like probably 400 people at this party,” Her eyes darted around the venue, taking in the extravagant decor and probably realizing that “natural” seemed miles away. “Nobody is going to notice us, and we can still ‘network’ if we want,” she winked at you.

It was then that you realized that despite the sudden chaos of crashing a wedding, maybe it wouldn’t be a total waste of a night after all.

You and Maria exchanged determined looks, and she gestured to the food table stacked with decadent hors d'oeuvres. “Let’s grab a bite and figure out our game plan before we get swallowed up by the crowd,” she said.

So, you followed Maria to a lavish spread of shrimp cocktails, truffle arancini, lobster tacos, caprese skewers and mini beef wellingtons. As you snacked, you and Maria plotted how to blend in seamlessly, devising your cover story.

“Okay,” Maria said, scooping a shrimp with her fork. “We’ll be ‘consultants’ visiting the area. We can keep it light—just play it cool,”

You couldn’t help but chuckle. “Play it cool? We’re hardly dressed for this crowd!”

“Details,” she waved off, her confidence infectious. “Just remember, no one here knows who we are,”

As more guests started to mingle around you, the conversation began to flow effortlessly. You listened intently while exchanging opinions with Maria and laughing softly at the absurdity of it all.

You made it halfway through the reception (and made sure to avoid the bride and groom) before you were approached by a tall, handsome man with a warm smile and tousled dark hair—a perfect mix of charming and rugged, clad in tailored suit pants and a button-down shirt, sleeves rolled up with effortless ease.

“Can I help you ladies?” he asked, with a southern drawl that made your knees go weak. His gaze was friendly but scrutinizing.

You cleared your throat, immediately trying to channel the essence of someone who belonged. “Oh, hi,” you gave him your name. “and this is Maria. We’re friends of… Sarah…?”

The way his brows knitted together for a moment made your stomach twist.

“Sarah?” he echoed, almost suppressing a laugh right as Maria opened her big mouth.

“Yeah! You know, Sarah Miller!” She quickly gestured toward him as if he and she were old pals.

The man’s smile grew, but confusion danced in his eyes. “I’m Joel Miller, Sarah’s father.”

Your cheeks burned, and you shot a nervous glance at Maria, who looked equally flustered but was trying hard to maintain an air of nonchalance.

“Oh, wow, um, Mr. Miller! What a lovely event you have here,” you stammered. You were shocked, this man was so fucking attractive and looked far too young to have a daughter that appeared to be in her twenties.

“Joel, please. No need for formalities,” he said, flashing a disarming smile, the corners of his eyes crinkling. “Glad to have y’all. So, how do y’all know Sarah?”

“We, uh… met at a conference… years ago,” you said, mentally kicking yourself for not preparing a more thought-out backstory.

“Ah, I see,” he responded, his eyes scanning the room as if looking for anyone who might come to your rescue. “Well, I hope you’re enjoyin’ yourselves. We always love to see new faces ‘round here.”

We?

You didn’t see a wedding ring on his left land, but you realized a man this fucking gorgeous was probably taken.

In a moment of desperation, you decided to steer the conversation. “The architecture of this home is incredible,” you said, gesturing wildly to the ornate chandeliers hanging like massive crystals in the entryway. “I mean, look at those ceilings! What year was the house built?”

Joel’s interest piqued, and a proud smile appeared on his face. “Thank you. It was originally constructed in the 1930’s. My granddaddy built it and my dad, and me and my baby brother sure put in a heap of hard work fixin’ it up in 2003. It’s a real labor of love for our family.” How old was he in 2003?

A flicker of genuine admiration crossed your face as you glanced around, taking in the intricate woodwork and lush surroundings. “You must be so proud of it. It feels like I’ve stepped back in time.”

As Joel described the nuances of the house’s restoration, you found yourself leaning slightly closer, eager to catch every word.

“You really captured its essence. I can’t believe this is a family home,” you responded, genuinely impressed. “I mean, this place could easily be in a magazine.”

“Sure, does have its charm,” he agreed, leaning slightly closer, his southern accent wrapping around each word with warmth. “And the view—you should see it at sunset. Ain’t nothin’ quite like it.”

Your heart skipped a beat as he continued to look at you with a level of intensity that made you hyper-aware of the space between you. Maria nudged you lightly with her elbow, a playful glint in her eye and subtly shifted away, leaving you and Joel alone.

As the music outside the garden area shifted into a slow, melodic tune, Joel flashed you a smile again, the kind that made your stomach flutter with excitement. He leaned in just slightly closer. “Care to dance?”

Your heart raced at the invitation. “I’d love to, but I have to warn you, my dancing is... more faux pas than finesse.” You chuckled.

“I think I can handle a lil’ faux pas,” he replied, extending his hand, and without thinking twice, you placed your palm in his. As you and Joel made your way onto the dance floor, he led you to a more spacious area where couples swayed to the music. Instinctively, you moved in close—his warmth and scent enveloping you and he pulled you into a gentle sway.

“Well now, let me get this straight,” he drawled, a smirk just dancing on his lips. “So, you and Maria just happened to waltz into my little girl’s weddin’, claimin’ y’all know her from some fancy conference? You really think I’m gonna fall for that one?”

“Oh?” you managed, trying to brush it off, though your cheeks warmed.

“You know, crashin’ a weddin’ is a bold move.” he said, his voice warm above the music.

“It’s not what it looks like,” you laughed nervously. “We didn’t mean to…”

“Hey there, darlin’, no worries at all. Ain't nobody gonna be escortin’ ya outta here… not just yet,”, he teased, leaning in closer, his lips almost ghosting against your ear as he whispered. “The truth is I’ve noticed you for the past two hours and I haven’t been able to take my eyes off you,” he said with a blush creeping up on his cheeks.  

Darling.

Your heart raced, caught off guard by his words. The music played softly in the background, “Is that so?” you replied, trying to keep your composure.

“Yes,” He winked. “So, tell me bout’ yourself, sweetheart,”

Sweetheart. The endearment went straight to your pussy.

And so, you did. And then you turned the question to him. Turned out he was originally from Austin (explained his accent), lived there part-time and lived in the Upper West Side the other half of the year. He ran his family business—an architecture firm specializing in residential design from pre-war renovations in Manhattan to beach homes and vacation homes on Fire Island, Long Island, and in the Hamptons. He was single, Sarah was 25 and seemed to be his whole world.

You also explained to him how you and Maria ending up here tonight was an honest mistake and then he asked you more about your degree program.

You pulled yourself together, grateful for the chance to engage in a topic that you were passionate about. “Well, I focus on behavioral economics,” you said, and as you spoke, you noticed his eyebrows lifting in interest. “Understanding how psychological factors can influence economic decisions.”

Joel’s gaze sharpened, and a slow smile crept across his face. “Well, ain’t that a fascinatin’ area. It’s downright amazin’ how our instincts can be at odds with all that traditional economic theory.” He leaned a little closer, and you could smell the subtle hint of cologne mingled with a warm, inviting musk.

“Exactly!” you replied. “It’s like when we make choices based on emotions rather than logic. I think it’s central to crafting better policy.”

“Tell me, what are your plans after graduatin’ school?” As he asked the question, the intensity in his gaze seemed to deepen.

“I’m at a bit of a crossroads,” you admitted, your voice slightly more vulnerable than intended. “I’m considering either continuing my studies with a PhD or I’ll need to see how the job market looks after graduation. It’s... confusing.”

“It’s a tough choice, but sometimes divin’ into the real world can provide clarity,” Joel suggested, scratching his chin. “You’re young darlin’… you’ll figure it out,”

You furrowed your brows and couldn’t help but bristle ever so slightly at his implication. “Young, huh?” you echoed, trying to keep the playful sarcasm at bay while raising an eyebrow. “How young do you think I am, exactly?”

Joel chuckled, seemingly unfazed. “I’d say mid-twenties, maybe?”

A teasing smirk stretched across your face as you shook your head. “Nice try, but I’m actually a little older than that.”

His eyes widened in mock surprise. “Oh really? How much older?”

“Don’t you know it’s never polite to ask a woman her age?”

Joel's smile faltered for a brief moment, caught off guard by your playful retort, but then he chuckled, clearly amused by your confidence. “Fair enough. But you should know I’m 46,” he said, tilting his head slightly as he studied your reaction.

You paused, your heart racing as you processed his age. Forty-six? It felt like a leap from the realm of dating that you were accustomed to. For a brief moment, uncertainty washed over you. But he was so fucking hot, and he held himself with a certain charm and good manners that felt refreshing. And maybe it was the alcohol you had been drinking, but then you found yourself saying something that didn’t sound like you at all.

“I think you’re sexy, Joel,”

The words slipped out before you could fully process them, hanging in the air between you two. Joel’s eyes widened slightly, and you could see the surprise blend into genuine delight on his face. A slow smile spread across his lips.

As the music transitioned to something softer, Joel drew you even closer. “You know, no matter how you ended up stumblin' in here tonight, I reckon I’m real glad you did,” he said softly, his breath brushing against your cheek.

“Me too,” you whispered.

“Can I see you again after tonight?” he asked, genuinely hopeful.

“Uh, yeah, I’m still here in Sag Harbor for the next two weeks,” you stammered, but your heart leaped at the prospect. “I’d love to.”

Maria made her way back through the sea of guests, her eyes scanning the dance floor until they landed on you and Joel. You could see the brief flicker of surprise cross her features before a knowing smile took over.

“Hey!” she greeted, glancing between you two. “I thought I lost you,” She raised an eyebrow. “Time to go?” Maria asked, pulling her phone from her purse to check the time. “I mean, unless you’d prefer to stay…” She was slowly giving you that best friend look of ‘Are you trying to fuck this man?’

“One more minute,” you said, biting your lip as you faced Joel.

“It was nice to meet you, I hope I’ll see you around Mr. Miller,” Maria teased, the noted formality a jab that only made her more charming.

Joel chuckled. “It was nice to meet you as well, but I’d like to keep her round’ for a bit longer if that’s all right," he replied, his attention firmly on you. “Now, how ’bout we swap numbers before you head on out?,” he asked shyly.

As you fumbled for your phone, Maria stood just a bit away, her smile massive. You entered Joel’s number quickly, feeling a giddy rush as you took a second to glance at him, savoring the way he examined you with such attention when you then swapped to populate your number in his phone. Joel’s expression softened, and before you could think twice, he leaned in close and pressed a gentle kiss on your cheek.

“I think you two are better at crashin’ weddings than y’all give yourselves credit for. Just don’t let Sarah catch you—she might just put you to work servin’ drinks.” he said, his voice lowering as he brushed a strand of hair behind your ear.

You laughed at that, glancing over to where the bride mingled with her guests, her smile bright against the ornate background.

“I’ll call you,” Joel urged as you and Maria turned to leave.

“Okay,” you replied, your heart fluttering with the thrill of potential.

You turned back to Maria, who wore an amused expression. “So, that went well,” she teased.

“Shut up!” you laughed, trying to hide the smile tugging at your lips.

xx

A little over a week had passed since the wedding, and you found yourself sitting at a seaside restaurant, the sun hanging low over the horizon. It was your third date with Joel, and you couldn’t help but replay the events of the past few days in your mind: his soft laughter, engaging conversations, and charming smile that had become your recent obsession. Every encounter had been pure delight, yet with every passing moment, you found yourself wrestling with the secret anxiety of uncertainty. He still hadn’t kissed you. Maria thought it was romantic. You on the other hand were extremely horny, desperate and feeling rejected.  

Tonight, you were tucked into the plush interior of his sleek Aston Martin, the luxurious leather seats enveloping you both as you pulled away from the restaurant after indulging in a decadent meal. The streets glimmered under the glow of streetlamps, and warm ocean breezes wafted through the open windows, slightly mussing your hair.

With the sunset fading and the cool air settling in, an idea flashed through your mind “How about we head to your place, and you can show me that sunset view you mentioned?” you proposed.

He looked momentarily surprised. “Uh yeah, I’d like that,” he swallowed hard, clearly still taken aback by your request but intrigued.

The drive to Joel's place felt electric, the tension in the air crackling with each mile that passed. You could sense his nervous energy, the way he stole glances at you from the corner of his eye, a slight smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

As you pulled into his driveway, your heart raced. “So, this is where the magic happens?” you teased, stepping out of the car and stretching your limbs. You gave him a playful wink, and he chuckled, his cheeks flushing slightly.

“Somethin’ like that,” he replied, his voice low and warm. You could see he was still caught between excitement and hesitation. He led you through the living room, before you stepped outside into the backyard that overlooked the vast expanse of water. The sunset was a splendid canvas of oranges, purples, and pinks, casting a warm glow that danced upon the waves.

“Wow,” you breathed, taking in the beauty around you as you joined him on one of the plush lounge outdoor sofas near the pool. “I can see why you love this view.”

Joel settled beside you, an unmistakable nervousness in his posture. “I thought you’d like it,” he replied, his eyes flickering to yours.

You turned to face him, leaning in slightly, eager to bridge the gap. “You know, I’ve really enjoyed spending time with you.”

“I feel the same way,” Joel said, his eyes finally meeting yours.

You reached out and placed your hand softly on his knee. “So, what’s holding you back?”

His brow furrowed, confusion crossing his features. “Holdin’ me back?”

“You haven’t kissed me yet,” you said bluntly.

His eyes widened, an endearing mixture of surprise and shyness flooding into his expression. “It’s just…” he hesitated, seemingly at a loss for words.

“Just what?” you pressed gently, feeling your heart race as you neared closer, the sunset casting a dreamy veil around you both.

“If I’m honest, I’m sorta outta practice,” he drawled, as a faint blush crept up his cheeks. His fingers fidgeted with the hem of his shirt, twisting the fabric between his hands as he continued. “But I’m not tryin’ to rush you or anythin’ either,” he said finally. He offered a shy smile, but it didn’t quite reach his eyes. “I wanna make sure that when I do, it’s right.”

“Then why don’t we make it right?” you asked, emboldened by the intimate setting and your growing feelings for him.

He leaned in just a fraction, his face hovering barely an inch from yours, his breath warm on your lips. His gaze flickered briefly to your mouth before returning to meet your eyes. Then, almost in an instant, his lips found yours, and you slowly slid your hands across his chest, your fingers trailing up to his shoulder blades. You brought one hand to weave through the curls at the nape of his neck, eliciting a low, contented hum from him. He tangled his fingers in your hair, crushing his lips against yours as he devoured the moan you released when his tongue met yours. His thumbs brushed against your cheeks, kissing you deeply and he sucked your lower lip into his mouth making your entire body shudder. You pulled back slightly, and realized you were both breathing heavily.  He planted soft, playful kisses on your forehead, nose, cheek, your neck, and your collarbone, each kiss becoming more teasing, and it had you feeling so wet even though it was so innocent. He leaned down to kiss you again, soft and gently before pulling away.

“I’ve been waitin’ for that,” he breathed, running his nose up your jawline.

“So, does this mean you actually like me?” you giggled, playfully biting your lip.

His grin was infectious. “Oh, sweetheart, you have no idea,” he said, softly brushing a strand of hair behind your ear. His eyes stayed locked with yours as he pulled off his shirt, exposing his tan chest, broad shoulders, and defined abs. Suddenly, you realized he wasn’t shy anymore, which had you practically panting.

You licked your lips and wiggled out of your sundress, exposing a red bra that pushed up your breasts and revealed a matching red thong. A man that looked like Joel was probably used to being with women that looked like supermodels and suddenly your nerves kicked in.

As if he could sense it, his voice pulled you back to the moment. “You’re fuckin’ stunnin’ baby,”

Baby.

You helped him remove his pants and boxers and then gasped when you took in his naked frame and what was between his legs. He was huge. His cock sprung up, thick and angry with arousal. Your heart thudded out of your chest, and you chewed on your lower lip trying to imagine how he was going to fit inside of you.

You saw him smirk and you realized that your reaction was probably something he was used to. He kissed you again, burying his hands in your hair and used his body to move you so your back would hit the outdoor lounge sofa. Then his mouth started kissing down your body and he placed a tender kiss below your belly button. A whimper escaped you when you saw him look up at you as he spread your legs.

“Will you let me taste you?”

You nodded weakly.

Joel gripped your thong between his teeth and licked you through the fabric, before trailing down the panties with his teeth. He took his time, blowing his warm breath along your legs. He threw your panties on the ground and lifted your legs to place them on his shoulders and nestled between your thighs.

“Look at that pretty pussy,” he whispered, as he inhaled your scent and gently stroked your folds before slipping a finger inside of you to feel your wetness.

His hands held you open and then he flicked out his tongue between your folds and you felt yourself shut your eyes and raise your hips as you threw your head back, moaning loudly.

“So fuckin’ soft,” he hummed against you. He widened out his tongue flat, licking at you while his right hand massaged your breast over your bra. It seemed as if he was just as desperate growling into your cunt and lapping at your wetness and holding you down whenever you squirmed.

“Oh Joel,” you gasped pulling on his hair as he continued to flick his tongue in circles over and over again on your most sensitive spot.

Considering you were outside, you realized you needed to cover your mouth with your hand to keep quiet not to bring attention to his neighbors, but Joel didn’t like that one bit, and shoved your hand away.

“I wanna fuckin’ hear you,” he growled, cursing, and saying your name against your heat. “Don’t fuckin’ hide your sounds from me,”

“J-Joel,” you cried out, the burn in your belly was growing and growing and you arched your back, and your legs began to tremble as he started working on your sensitive bud and he continued to lick and suck hard on your clit as you whined and fisted your hands in his hair.

Panting, you shut your eyes tight while you felt your orgasm hit you and felt your body shake with spasms. He worked you through it and talked you through it telling you how perfect you were for him, how good you tasted, how much he was enjoying himself, and how badly he wanted you.

“That felt incredible,” you gasped, a little embarrassed since you felt like he had made you come so quickly.

He kissed the inside of your thigh, and you saw him looking smug as he saw your chest heaving wildly.

“Good,” he said grinning at you with your release on his chin and beard, wrapping his arms around your hips and kissing your stomach.

You turned him until both of your spots were reversed and Joel stretched beneath you, his hands gripping your ass as he pushed you to him so that he could kiss and nip at your throat. You rolled your hips slowly over him and his hands lifted to remove your bra and he stared wolfishly at your breasts. He ran the tips of his fingers along your nipples and his eyes got impossibly dark as he leaned forward to put one into his mouth and started sucking on it deliciously. You continued to straddle him and tightened your hands on his shoulders and teased your heat and slickness against the top of his cock.

“I have a condom in my wallet,” he gritted out painfully.

“I have an IUD,” you said softly.

Joel's eyes bore into yours, a mix of hesitation and desire swirling within them. The muscles in his jaw twitched. “You sure?” his voice low and gravelly, like he was trying to ground himself in reality.

“Please… Joel, I trust you,” you pleaded. “I want to feel you,”

A flicker of something primal ignited in his gaze, and with a swift motion, he leaned in, capturing your lips with his.

The truth was you had never had unprotected sex during casual encounters. You were religious about condoms, but there was something about him that made you feel safe. This didn’t feel casual, and you wanted to turn your brain off and let him have you.

You threw your head back and spread your legs wider to allow him to see you on display. He laid his head back against the cushion of the outdoor lounge sofa and growled at you.

“Jesus fuckin’ Christ,” he hissed.

You finally took him slowly, inch by inch, taking a few tries to get him fully inside of you and his hands slid on your back, pushing you forward to kiss him.

He was so deep, and you could feel him touch every part of you as you stared at his face – it felt intimate. You breathed deeply as he slid deeper inside and you found his eyes bouncing from your lips to your breasts, to his cock sliding inside of you, then back to your lips. His eyes were wide with desire and his lips parted. He started pulling you back, allowing himself to be at a tighter angle inside of you as you kept your hands on his shoulders panting hard.

“So fuckin’ beautiful,” he groaned as his hands returned to your ass to spank your tortured flesh and to pull your body forward roughly to urge you on but let you lead. You cried out as he gripped the top of your thighs, and your eyes clamped shut as you started to quicken the pace moving your hips to take him harder and faster.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he said through clenched teeth.

“You’re so big… so deep,” you breathed. “Please… harder,” you groaned.

“Fuck,” he muttered and then he took over rolling his hips up into your cunt over and over again having you choke down on his cock.

You pinched your eyebrows together realizing that your orgasm was slowly sneaking up on you.

“I’m close,” you whispered, feeling your nipples harden against his chest and couldn’t help the soft moan that escaped your lips as he squeezed your ass, and you rocked your hips.

His eyes focused on your face, and he moved one of his hands down to have his thumb brushing your clit simultaneously. You screamed out in pleasure and felt your eyes rolling in the back of your head while your legs started to shake, and Joel had to use his body to keep your legs spread out.

“Eyes on me, baby. Wanna see that pretty face when you come.”

You opened your eyes and noticed that his eyes had gone impossibly dark.

“Oh fuck, oh – don’t stop,” you begged as you felt him hit a spot inside of you and you bit onto his shoulder dragging your nails along his back causing him to shudder.

“Come on my cock, give it to me” he commanded.

“Fuck… Joel,” He was pounding into you fast and hard, and you felt the moment when you came apart.

“I’m c-coming,” you moaned, and he pushed himself up to you deeper and deeper. You cried out in pleasure as your walls clenched hard on him and he watched you with his mouth wide open.  

“That’s it, good girl,” he praised. “I can’t hold on much longer. Where?” He painfully spit out, and you could tell he was close with how erratic his movements were becoming.

“Inside, want to feel you,”

“You want me to come deep inside this tight little pussy?”

“Yes!” you cried out, his words making you feel crazy. You wanted him to claim you in this moment.

“Fuck, say it again. Tell me how badly you want it,” his thrusts became sloppier as he chased his own orgasm.

“I need you to come deep inside of me,” you whimpered, locking your eyes with his gorgeous brown ones.

His arms were around you, holding you so tightly that you could feel his heart slamming against his ribs. He started mumbling your name as he buried his face in your neck and came hard inside of you, spilling inside of you and coating your walls. Joel wasn’t saying much at this point, just cursing and panting as he watched the glistening mess currently at the base of his cock.

You melted in his strong arms and realized he could probably feel your own heart pounding through your chest. You ran your fingers through his hair and along his shoulders.

“That felt good,” he murmured running both his hands up your thighs and along your waist. “You’re gonna kill me,” he said dramatically.

“Not today,” you said while kissing his jaw.

He tilted his head up, smiling at you. “Let me clean you up,”

You felt sensitive when you pulled yourself off him and sighed while he kissed your forehead before laying you back down on the outdoor lounge sofa. You watched him disappear into the house as you stretched out your limbs and felt like jello. You felt utterly exhausted and sore.

He emerged minutes later with a wet washcloth and wiped the mess that was between your thighs and some that had spilled over to the sofa. As he gently cleaned you up, you couldn’t help but let your mind wander. You watched him, the way his brows furrowed in concentration, and his full lips curled into that soft smile that made your heart skip a beat. A mix of warmth and uncertainty washed over you. Fuck, you liked him so much.  

He then tossed the washcloth aside, rejoining you on the sofa.

“What are you thinkin’ bout?” he asked, kissing you again and sweeping his tongue across your top lip.

“Nothing,” you murmured against his lips, your voice barely above a whisper.

He propped himself on one elbow, eyes searching yours. “You’re worried,” he said softly, as if he could read your thoughts.

“Not worried… Just curious,” you replied, trying to keep your tone light.

He raised an eyebrow, intrigued. “Curious ‘bout what?” His voice was gentle, coaxing, as if he wanted to draw you out without pushing.

You hesitated, the weight of your thoughts settling in your chest. “About this” you finally admitted, the words spilling out before you could catch them. “I mean… is this just a fling?” You bit your lip, searching his eyes for a reaction.

He paused, a flicker of surprise crossing his face before settling into a contemplative expression. “What do you want it to be?” he asked.

You felt your heart race again, this time from the vulnerability of the moment. “I don’t know,” you said honestly.

“Well tomorrow is tomorrow,” he said, a reassuring smile replacing the seriousness. “But I don’t want to treat this like it’s just a fling.”

“Really?”

“Yeah,” he replied, his drawl smooth and sincere. “I like you, and wanna see you again in the city,”

You let out a breath you didn’t realize you were holding. “I like you too,” you finally confessed. “I just didn’t want to assume anything.”

“Silly girl,” he whispered, and your breath caught as he stroked your cheek with his fingertips, dragging them tenderly to your chin and lifting you to meet his lips for a soft kiss.

Both of you smiled through the kiss.

“Spend the night,” he asked softly. You felt a warmth spread through your chest at his request and began to nestle deeper into the cushions.

“Okay,” you breathed, feeling a wave of comfort wash over you.

He shifted closer, curling his body around yours, protective and intimate. You nestled your head against his shoulder, breathing in his scent.

As you both settled back into the couch, the warmth of the evening enveloping you, you realized that whatever this was — whether a fling or something deeper — in that moment, you simply let yourself embrace the possibilities.

Tomorrow is tomorrow.

xx

So transparently there is a series/story I’ve written that has been removed from my Masterlist and some of the smut – I took inspiration/leveraged from that story, but I changed it up to make it unique for this story. I think I didn’t like how it had been written in my previous story. I’m here for all the pointers I can get on smut writing 😭

Curious if other authors have ever played with their writing this way? AKA realizing a smut scene may fit better in another fic. Anyways, ignore my rambling. Hopefully, dilf!joel hit right for y’all.

[let-the-imaginationflow]

Peek

Series Masterpost | Main Masterpost | Support a disabled creator

A/N: Haven’t written about these two for a while! I hope you enjoy!

Summary: Joel finds an excuse to get out of watching the Olympics but only so he can go upstairs and find you getting ready to go out while listening to the summer’s biggest album.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader/you (no y/n)

Tags: +18 smut, basically pwp, dad’s best friend, age gap, immorality kink, dirty talk, groping, fingering, possessive behavior. pet names, Daddy kink, unprotected piv sex, rough sex, anal threat, creampie, y2k vibes, brat summer

Word count: 4.2k

Link to this work on AO3: https://archiveofourown.org/works/58023772

Peek

The TV is loud in your father's living room as the Olympics are on but Joel can concentrate on nothing but the thought of you being upstairs even if he had looked forward to seeing the competition in gymnastics this afternoon. He is here because it is tradition to watch whatever sports are on during the summer with your father, his best friend, but nothing feels the same since he started seeing you behind his mate’s back.

Carefully, he shifts his weight on the leather couch cushion, the heat of Texas making the material stick uncomfortably to the slightly exposed skin of his thighs. It creaks as he changes his position, leaning forward to grab his near-empty beer and sneak a look at your dad out of the corner of his eye. He tries to figure out if he knows that Joel has had his face buried between his daughter’s thighs just yesterday but he doesn’t even flinch, too absorbed in the intricate routine on the screen.

He leans back again and takes a long sip of the bottle in his hand, emptying it in case he has to think of a reply to a sudden question about you. It doesn’t come but instead, he receives a raised brow.

“You sure are thirsty there, Miller,” he says with a gentle grin, playful and normal in everything he does so that Joel may relax a little more. He laughs with embarrassment in return, a blush of guilt that he hopes is taken as shame creeping up from under the neck of his t-shirt.

“Hot day,” he answers simply. He covers up his train of thought with a conversation, “Did you see that landing? That was something else.”

Your father seems satisfied with that answer to the degree where he turns back to the television, “And that dismount. They’re gettin’ better and better each year.”

Joel follows his line of sight, fixated upon the tight suit of a female gymnast, and chuckles under his breath. He puts the bottle back on the coffee table, knowing he is no better than that; he can almost hear your soft laughter from upstairs as you chat with someone on the phone, can almost feel the warmth of your gorgeous body against his. This push and pull between what he should do and what he wants to do is slowly driving him to insanity.

Your father slaps the armrest in excitement as another woman does her routine without faltering, “Did you see that? Gold medal for sure.”

“Yes,” Joel lies like he has gotten so good at lately, for the first time in his entire life not very interested in sports, “Best thing I’ve seen so far, think you’re right.”

He is more busy with thinking about how to act in case you make your way downstairs, wearing a cute sundress and smiling at him like you always do but still in a way that it took him way too long to notice. He hopes you might give him the thrill of making an appearance soon.

During commercial break, your father gets up from the couch to get more beers from the kitchen and Joel has time to glance towards the stairs. He cranes his neck to see if you are standing at the top but he is left disappointed, left to imagine what you are doing upstairs in your childhood bedroom with the Hello Kitty computer mat. He remembers the way your tits were pressed against it the first time he fucked you and shamelessly hopes he’ll get to have you in this house again just once before summer ends. Perhaps today? No, he shouldn’t want to do anything with you in this house.

Time passes. Nothing happens. It’s with relief and disappointment that he concludes that he won’t see you, with a smile as he is handed another cold beer to not quite quench his thirst.

“Five more routines to go,” your father says with his glasses resting on the tip of his nose as he looks through the program on his phone, “Sprints later. Always exciting.”

“No volleyball?” Joel hates himself for joking with a wink.

“Not watching women in tiny shorts, are we?” Joel nearly jumps at the sudden sound of your voice, blushing at his own distasteful joke, “Didn’t know you were a pervert, Mr. Miller.”

“Mind your own business, you,” your father tuts with his eyes on his phone. It takes a moment before he glances over the back of the couch, giving Joel’s own eyes a second to stare at you while he clenches his jaw at the sight of your white sundress, tied in around your waist. You look radiant, pure, and forbidden. He wants to reach out to touch the bit of your thigh that peeks out.

“Another shitty day for women,” you roll your eyes teasingly and nudge him playfully in a way that sends electricity through his entire being. However, Joel tenses up at hearing you use foul language, an inside rule between you that he cannot tell you that you’ve broken.

Your father says your name in disapproval and glances apologetically at him, “Where did you learn to talk like that? Sure as heck ain’t from me. The kids you’re hanging out with tonight?”

Joel’s grip tightens on the couch as you giggle sweetly, the sound enchanting him to the point where he thinks of everything off-putting that he can come up with so his cock might flag again. He hopes it doesn’t strain against the loose fabric of his shorts. You are doing this on purpose, teasing him relentlessly now that he can do nothing about it, and he is so turned on that it makes him feel ill.

“Oh, you old man. You can’t keep me in line anymore. I’m over 21; I can do whatever I want,” you stand behind the couch and wrap your arms around your father, kissing his cheek from behind. Joel looks at the way your ass sticks out, quickly catching himself ogling when your father’s eyes fix on him with embarrassment.

“She’s incorrigible,” he says with resignation, patting the hand that you rest on his shoulder. Joel can only imagine what would happen if your dad knew what he was thinking about.

“I can imagine her being her own boss,” he laughs to make himself feel less like a creep but doesn’t quite succeed when your dad joins in.

“Why are you here?” Joel hears him finally say.

“I’m not drinking tonight,” you begin, pulling back a little to look at your father properly, “Can I borrow the car?”

He frowns for a moment but then nods, “Alright but be careful.”

“Always am, thank you, Dad. Love you,” you peck his cheek again to feel him smile, stretching to your full height. The wind blows in from the door to the garden and Joel catches a sniff of your perfume as you leave the living room, “I’ll go change now. See you, Dad! Joel!”

You disappear upstairs again and the atmosphere shifts significantly. Your absence sends him into small talk with your father, going over the usual topics of work, sports, and family. He tells your dad about a big upcoming project, that Sarah’s doing well at college, and that he actually never really cared much for cycling despite it being a massive hit each time the Olympics are held.

“Actually, I might head up for a sec,” he says when thoughts of you have raged long enough in his mind, making him shift in his seat before pushing himself to stand. He is too curious about seeing you, too desperate to have you alone, “Nature’s calling, and I can’t wait for the commercials.”

Your father chuckles, eyes still glued to the television where they are handing out medals, “Sure thing, Joel. You know where it is. Tell my offspring to get out if she’s barricaded the door.”

Joel nods, giving a relieved smile, and quickly makes his way upstairs. His heart pounds with the anticipation of the moment ahead. As he reaches the top of the stairs, he hesitates briefly, listening for any sound of where you might be, and sure enough, he hears the faint hum of music coming from the bathroom and walks towards it.

Without knocking, he opens the bathroom door and finds you in front of the mirror, applying makeup to a song that he has never heard. The sight of you makes his erection come right back; you have changed into a pleated miniskirt that stops way above your knees, making the skin where your thighs meet your ass peek out. Above the waistline, he can see the waistband of your pink underwear and he has to adjust himself in his shorts.

“Where the hell are you going looking like that?” He demands to know, shutting the door behind him with a click. The music fades to the background as you wiggle your hips automatically.

You look up from your lips, catching his eye in the mirror, and smile sweetly while applying lip gloss. The color makes your lips seem plumper, the shine most likely to accentuate your cupid’s bow if you were to stretch your lips around his cock. You look away again, purposely acting like a brat, “Out with friends. No boys allowed.”

“Seems like you’re dressed to impress someone,” he retorts. If you were to check him out again, you would see the way his eyes are going down your intoxicating figure. He stops at your ankles, knowing how you would be standing on your toes if he touched you between your legs, before going all the way up to your face again.

You snap the lid of the lipgloss closed with a click and place it on the counter. You grab the edge with both hands, still looking at him through the mirror, “Did it ever occur to you that I might be dressed to impress you, Daddy?”

Joel does a sharp intake of air at hearing his nickname. He takes a step closer and you allow him. Without a second thought, he places his hands on your gorgeous hips and squeezes until your giggles make the upbeat song sound like garbage, “You’ll have me thinking about you all night with this skirt, kiddo. I’m not sure I’ll have it.”

“So what you’re saying is that I’ll feel your menacing presence all night?” You grin playfully, making a show of arching your back the way you sometimes do when he hits the right spot inside of you.

“I should run behind you to make sure you don’t expose your pretty pussy to strangers,” Joel lets his dominant hand slide down your thigh until he can clutch the fabric of your miniskirt. He pulls it down roughly to stress his point, covering you up as much as he can.

“You’re pulling it the wrong way, Daddy,” you tell him with a bratty grin, chewing your bottom lip to play innocent, “Don’t you want to have a peek? I’ll let you see up under it.”

“Daddy can’t promise only a peek,” he replies, making a point of his words by letting his bulge graze your ass. You push back into him to allow him whatever he wants without saying it explicitly, earning a moan that’s loud enough for you to reach for the small Bluetooth speaker and increase the volume a little. Your father must question the noise but he hopes that he simply thinks you’ve gone to your bedroom instead, letting the door stay open.

“What the hell is this garbage music?” Joel asks as he steps back to allow you to reach back effortlessly. You reach behind you to grip the hem of your skirt, lifting it with deliberate slowness. It is a teasing gesture, more about the act itself than the reveal of your lacy underwear that clings to your cunt and gives him the perfect outline.

“Stop sounding ancient,” you tease, shifting your weight from one foot to the other to strut your ass. You’re leaning forward a little to be more appealing, so easy to push forward so you have to grip the sink.

“You’re making it sound like a problem, Princess,” he replies with a chuckle. Yes, he could shove you down onto the counter but he chooses to finger the crotch of your barely-covering panties. You don’t seem to have predicted that he would actually dare to touch you in your father’s house, so you fall forward when he pulls your underwear to the side and sinks two fingers into your wet slit. He smiles tauntingly at you in the mirror, “Don’t act like you don’t cream yourself over older men like me or we wouldn’t be in this mess together.”

“What are you doing?” You ask with your glossy mouth hanging open. He turns his wrist to press against your g-spot and sure enough, you’re already on your toes with a filthy moan tumbling out your mouth. He admires the way you always manage to look stupid and cute when he touches you, and he notices that whenever he doesn’t pump his fingers inside of you, you fuck yourself onto them.

“I ain’t doing nothing,” he says casually and slowly drags his two fingers over the spot that belongs to him, the spot he always searches for and likes to stay on. The song is horrible for fucking but it’s loud enough that you can’t be heard downstairs and quiet enough that he can hear the wet squelch when he goes a little faster, “I’m just giving you something to remember me by when you’re showing your pussy to the whole world.”

“That’s not… Joel,” you say his name and he almost believes that you want him to stop but then you arch your back just how he likes and he slips his thumb between your folds to rub your clit. He has your cunt in an iron grip, flicking his wrist repeatedly to see beads of slick threatening to drip onto the tiled floor.

“Nuh-uh,” he sternly says and halts just a few seconds, “You don’t get to call me that when I hear you use your potty mouth around here. Who do you answer to?”

“You, Daddy, I’m sorry,” you whine and earn added pressure to your clit. You keen but then the song ends, and the both of you hold your breath for a moment. Courageously, you whisper, “He’ll hear.”

“Not if you shut your mouth,” Joel barks quietly back, relieved when another annoying pop song comes out of the speaker. He catches the pout on your lips in the mirror, the fake offense on your face that has his dick throbbing in his shorts. He needs to fuck you soon, hasn’t got a long time to do it before your father will get suspicious of what he is up to, but he won’t shove his cock in you before you have begged him to do it.

Then the line comes with a breathless moan, “You shouldn’t be doing this.”

Oh, so that’s the card you want to play to get fucked. He pushes his fingers deeper into you until his knuckles brush your ass, avoiding your g-spot altogether, and practically lifts you on his digits. Your whole chest lays down over the sink and counter, your whole weight on your front instead of on your toes. It must hurt but not more than a dull ache when he pays attention to your clit as he does it.

“I sure as fuck shouldn’t but I didn’t think I’d find you dressed like a little cockhungry girl in here,” he tuts and abuses your perfect cunt. God, it sounds like he is splashing with water by now.

“I-I should be with someone my own age,” your voice shakes, your walls start to pulse slowly around him. It becomes hard for you to continue your chastising, ”God, you feel so good, Daddy.”

“Yeah? Ancient Daddy should pull out his fingers and fuck you while you’re on the verge of coming for him?” Joel mocks. He pushes down and drags the pads of his fingers against your front wall on the way out. His fingers are white with your creamy slick. He smears it over your quivering slit, talking softly while you are almost cross-eyed, “I need you, baby. Daddy has to do it even though it’s wrong.”

“No,” you protest but don’t mean it. You look back at the sound of his shorts being pulled down, whimpering feebly as his hard cock comes into your view.

“Yes, sweetheart, I gotta,” he holds the base of his cock in his hand, slowly dragging the tip through your messy folds. He pushes against your ass first, chuckling darkly when you tense up and shake your head. He teases you, “No? That’s not where you want it? Don’t want to get ass-fucked with your old man downstairs? This skirt surely tells me you like taking it up the ass.”

“N-no,” you let your head hang between your shoulders, exhaling shakily, “I want it in my pussy, Daddy. Please. Until you come inside.”

Joel gives in when you ask so nicely. He presses the head against where you need it the most, slowly letting your warm walls engulf his length while you release a relieved breath. He growls from low in his throat as he buries himself deep inside, touching where his fingers have been just moments before.

“You sure change your mind quickly, baby,” he points out after starting a rough rhythm that makes his thighs smack into your ass, the crotch of your panties straining against your cheek that bounces in rhythm with his thrusts. He settles his hands on your hips, dragging you onto his cock as much as he spears you onto it, “First you say no, and now you wanna get bred? What happened to my good girl?”

“I know it’s bad but it feels so good,” you pant softly, nearly sounding animated with how you moan and groan. You’ve reached to grope your tits through your lime green top, caressing yourself greedily as you are drowned out by some lady singing about Von Dutch, “Don’t stop, Daddy, please don’t stop.”

“Fucking hate this song,” Joel grumbles breathlessly while he keeps a steady pace, nudging something just right inside of you because you fly forwards, “Don’t tell me you’ll go out dancing to this.”

“I’ll come to it,” you groan, sucking in a breath as you start to squeeze around his girth, “Gonna come.”

“Give it to me,” he demands with heavy breathing. He lets one of his hands slide up your spine until it sits on your neck. He tilts his hips forward so he can pound you, rewarded with a squeak that he finds adorable.

Suddenly, the room goes completely quiet. The both of you turn your heads towards the speaker, noting at the same moment that its battery has run out and the possibility of getting heard has upped dramatically.

None of you say a word. Joel even tries to stop his heavy breathing, putting pressure on the back of your head when you squeeze him by wriggling slightly. He makes a quiet noise of disapproval, “Stop it.”

“We aren’t done,” you whisper with a wounded whimper. You try to fuck yourself onto him, “Daddy.”

“Shut the fuck up,” he bites, listening for potential footsteps that could lead to his doom. Instead, he hears your father cheer in reaction to something on the television. Should he? He can’t go downstairs again with a raging hard-on and there’s no way in hell that he is jerking off in here alone like some perverse madman. He makes a decision.

Leaning down over your very still frame, he catches onto the tears that have welled up in your eyes and whispers, “I’m gonna fuck a load into you and you’re gonna be quiet all the way through, got it?”

You nod frantically. Joel’s hand on your hip tightens and he pushes to stretch to his full height again. He bottoms out inside of you, “If you can do that, I’ll let you come on it, okay?”

You nod again, pushing back eagerly to impossibly swallow more of him. With determination and efficiency, he draws back and slams into you with all the muscles in his neck straining to keep quiet. You feel like you have been molded into a perfect sleeve for his cock, like he couldn’t imagine that anyone could ever live up to what you are giving him right now; cheeks bouncing, spine arching, and walls clenching as you teeter on your high.

You come with a tiny whine that he’ll allow and he comes right along with you, high on the danger and the fact that you belong to him so desperately. He manages to just sound like he is doing a sharp intake of air, hinting at a growl, before he fills you with his warm seed, each pulse of your soft muscles milking him dry.

It is a dangerously addictive sensation. He pumps in and out of you until he is too sensitive, slipping out of your used cunt so he can see the drip of his load. He stumbles backward, tucks himself, sticky and overstimulated, back into his shorts, and watches you pull down your underwear and move to the toilet to not spill all over the floor.

You sport a lazy little smile, satisfaction all over your face. It dawns on him what he has done - the deprivation of it - so he tries to distract the feelings of disgust that he has towards himself, “Why are you going out anyway?”

You are both still panting. He grabs onto the sink to steady himself, feeling old as he leans against it while you pee, your knees falling inwards so you look innocent compared to what you have just done together.

“Getting a tattoo,” you reply with a dirty little smile.

That surely changes Joel’s train of thought. He straightens a little, “Of what?”

“Don’t know yet but I’ll tell you where,” you reach to point to your hip bone, measuring about an inch with your thumb and index finger. You beam girlishly at him and he feels his chest tighten with affection, “Right here. Cute, right?”

“Cute,” he manages to say as his mind automatically imagines it right there on your hip but the word comes out a little rougher than intended. He is let in on a little secret that only a few will be allowed to see. Perhaps, he’ll be the one who gets to be the very first to see it, or maybe the one who gets to be the closest.

You finish, wipe yourself, and wash your hands. Then once again, you are close to him but this time it is chest to chest. You link your arms around him, leaning close, “Perhaps I’ll get something that reminds me of that one time I hooked up with Joel Miller, my dad’s best friend.”

“Dangerous game you are playing,” Joel reaches down to graze the spot on your hip with his thumb. He is so into you that it is ridiculous, smirking as you bat your eyelashes at him and filling him with youthful energy that he remembers from crushes in his teenage days. The idea of you marking yourself for him has his head in a spin and has his cock stirring again.

“What can I say? I’m a brat,” you shrug with a grin and when you both hear your father shout at the TV again, you grin with your tongue in your cheek. Yes, you are.

“Oh, babydoll, you make me wanna kiss you,” he almost growls as he leans into you, eyes focused on your cute glossy lips as he tries to capture them despite knowing that he won’t be allowed to touch them.

“Nope, not the gloss,” you tease and gently push him away on his chest. When he tries again, you hold your hand over his mouth and he groans against your soft fingers like from not getting his way. You grin, eyes shining with affection, “Now get out so I can clean myself up. And don’t tell my dad about the tattoo.”

“Fine,” Joel gives you one last lingering look, squeezing your hip before pulling away. He leaves the bathroom reluctantly, stepping backward as he walks out the door to keep his eyes on. You roll your eyes at him without being able to stop smiling.

When he is out in the hallway again, he heads back down the stairs and into the living room. He pats the back of the sofa to make himself known in the room once more, startling your father slightly.

“There you are,” he says, watching Joel walk around the sofa, “What took you so long?”

“Got talking with your kid,” he answers as casually as he can muster. However, your father seems to be completely disinterested in whatever he has been doing upstairs.

“What? Oh, yeah. At least you got her to turn off that awful noise she calls music. Come on, you’ll miss the final run,” he says obliviously, and so Joel joins him in the chair opposite his couch to make sure he doesn’t smell how he probably reeks of sex.

.

.

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[let-the-imaginationflow]

𝐑𝐎𝐔𝐆𝐇 𝐎𝐍 𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐒𝐔𝐑𝐅𝐀𝐂𝐄

PAIRING: JACKSON!JOEL MILLER X FEMALE READER

RATING: EXPLICIT (18+ MDNI) | WORD COUNT: 1.5k

SUMMARY | Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

AUTHOR’S NOTE | One glimpse of Pedro as Joel in the new season has turned me into a woman possessed. Thank you @undrthelights and @janaispunk for giving this a read for me 💕

ways to help palestine

WARNINGS | explicit sexual content (18+ minors do not interact), no use of y/n, porn without plot, mild angst, able bodied reader, no physical reader descriptions or age mentioned, jackson era, mentions of joel's weight (in the context of looking healthier in jackson), emotionally constipated joel, dirty talk, praise, pet names, kitchen sex, oral sex - f receiving (while standing), unprotected p in v, limited aftercare. let me know if i’ve missed any!

A noise breaks through your dreams, a loud banging that startles you from sleep and leaves you blinking at the ceiling. Thoughts still fuzzy, you stumble down the stairs and through your kitchen to the back door that rattles in its frame with each pound of a fist against it. You glance at the neon red numbers of the stove clock and at this hour, there can only be one culprit.

“Joel, what the fuck,” you groan, opening the door. “It’s two in the morning, what is wrong with you?” He doesn’t answer, simply shoulders past you and into your house. “Oh, sure come on in, make yourself—“

Your sarcastic remark is abruptly cut off by his lips crashing against yours, mouth hot and hungry as he skips any semblance of pleasantry and dives straight into carnal desire. His teeth graze your lip, the sting soothed by his tongue before it tangles with yours. Your fingers curl into his jacket sleeves, hanging on for dear life as he backs you into a wall, the two of you hitting one with a dull thump that disturbs the picture frames.

He shoves a knee between your thighs and pins you to the plaster, every sense invaded by him as he continues to consume you. When his mouth leaves yours and begins to leave hot kisses like brands across your neck, you finally find your voice again.

“Joel, what—“

“Shut up,” he grunts. You’re taken aback by the command and you have half a mind to smack him across the head for it, but he’s got his teeth on your earlobe and he adds, “I just, I need this, okay? Please?”

The fight leaves you in one fell swoop because you’d do anything for Joel if he just asks nicely. You nod and he returns to his task of turning you into a puddle with a single minded determination. When you start to rock your hips against his denim clad thigh in a desperate bid for friction, you feel, rather than see, the grin on his face.

“Mm, just as needy for me, ain’t you?” He teases. You frown.

“Don’t push your luck, Miller,” you snap. He laughs, a deep rumble that reminds you of the thunderstorms in the spring. “I can still kick you out of my house.”

“You won’t.” Confident, cocky, a man who knows he has you in the palm of his ridiculously skilled hands. “If you’d been smart, you would have kicked me out the first time. Now I’m just like a stray dog, ain’t gettin’ rid of me now.”

The first time, when he showed up in Jackson with a chip on his shoulder and a frown on his face. His hair had been shorter, his frame a bit smaller, his eyes a lot more vacant. He walked you home one night from the Tipsy Bison and when he kissed you under the glow of your porch light, his mouth tasted like whiskey, not unlike it does tonight.

Nowadays, he’s got the look of a man who’s discovered safety after survival, more life in his face, more weight on his bones. His hair has grown out, curling around his neck and more prominent streaks of gray at his temples and in his beard. This thing between the two of you remains undefined, comes and goes like waves crashing on a shore, but you’ll take what you can get because you’ve never been good about avoiding temptation.

While your thoughts drifted to the past, Joel has dropped to his knees and is curling his fingers into the elastic of your underwear, dragging the fabric down your thighs.

“In the kitchen? Really?” You huff. “There’s a perfectly good bedroom upstairs.”

“Too far,” he says, tossing your underwear aside.

Despite your complaints, there is something undeniably sexy about having Joel kneeling before you, impatient enough that he’ll take you right where you stand. He shuffles closer, lifts one of your legs over his shoulder and lavishes your clit with broad swipes of his tongue.

Your head drops back as you moan, your fingers tangling in his hair as he pulls out every trick in the book of your pleasure, alternating between fast circles and sucking the bundle of nerves between his lips. It’s not long before you’ve reached the precipice of your release, teetering on a razor thin edge before finally falling into oblivion with a gasp of his name. He groans against you as you come, waves of it rolling through you.

“So fuckin’ good,” he says as he pulls away. You look down at him with a half-lidded stare, his chin wet in the low light and his own gaze dark with lust. He stands, slowly, with a bit of a wince because of his bad knee that he tries to hide with a grin. “C’mere.”

You let him pull you away from the wall and into his arms where he kisses you, his lips and tongue drenched in your taste. He walks you back to your little kitchen table, kicking a chair out of the way so that he can turn you to face it, a palm between your shoulder blades urging you down until you’re bent over the wooden surface.

The clink of his belt buckle falling to the linoleum makes your muscles clench in anticipation. Joel’s palm smooths down your back, almost reverently, before reaching your ass and giving it a rough squeeze.

“You’re killin’ me, you know that?” He asks. You turn your head, glancing at him over your shoulder.

“Me? I’m not doing anything, I’m waiting for you to quit teasing.”

“That’s just it,” he says, sliding the head of his cock through your messy pussy before notching himself at your entrance. “You ain’t gotta do anythin’ except exist and you’ll drive me crazy.”

Any response you had dies a swift death as he presses inside of you, filling you in the most tortuous way. The ache of the stretch quickly fades as he bottoms out with a deep groan, his hands gripping your waist tight enough that you know you’ll feel the phantom sting of bruises in the morning. He sets a rough, demanding pace, the sound of skin against skin cacophonous in your little kitchen. You can’t hold back the noises of pleasure he wrings from you as he slams in deep with each thrust and pulls out so far that you’re practically empty before doing it over and over again.

“So fuckin’ gorgeous like this, so tight,” he grunts. You arch your back the slightest bit, changing the angle so that each drive of his cock drags against that spot inside of you that has you seeing stars and whimpering his name. “God, that’s it, sweetheart. Take it so pretty.”

“Joel,” you moan. “Please, please, please.”

“Beggin’ to come again?” He asks. “So greedy, ain’t that right?”

“Yes,” you sob. “Need to come, please, Joel!”

“I gotcha, baby.” His hand slips between your thighs and his fingers pinch your sensitive clit. “Come on, come on my cock so I can fill you up.”

It’s an empty threat, but one that works. Your muscles go tight with your second orgasm, your cunt pulsing around him as his thrusts grow erratic, uncoordinated as he chases his own high. He pulls out just seconds before making good on his word, painting your skin with warm release.

As you catch your breath, his warmth leaves your side. You vaguely register the sound of running water before a cold rag is wiping away the mess on your ass and cleaning up the slick between your thighs, the rough fabric over your sensitive flesh making you jump. Joel shushes you, another pass of his soothing palm down your back as he finishes wiping you clean.

You stand up straight on shaky legs and collapse in the chair that he’d kicked from the table to make room for your bodies. He’s already pulled his pants back up, the only evidence of your tryst in the sheen of sweat on his brow and his hair in disarray. His jaw grows tense as you watch him and he shoves his hands into his pockets, shifting his weight from foot to foot in the awkward aftermath.

“Thanks,” he says. “Needed that.”

“So you said,” you reply. “Did something happen?”

“Just some bullshit with Tommy.”

“Brother bullshit or town bullshit?”

“Bit of both.”

“Oh.”

He nods, glancing at the door. “I should get goin’.”

“Right.”

Joel doesn’t move for the door, though. No, he steps in close, taking your face in his warm hands and kissing you softly, gently, a wild juxtaposition to his earlier attentions. When he pulls away, you can’t help but reach up and smooth a thumb between his eyebrows, trying smooth the line of concern there.

“You don’t have to leave,” you whisper. You’ve said it before. You’ll say it again. You’ll keep saying it, until the ship that passes you in the night returns to your harbor.

“I do,” he replies, stepping back. You give him a tired smile.

Tonight isn’t that night.

Thank you for reading! Please consider reblogging or commenting if you enjoyed! You can find more of my writing below:

Joel Miller masterlist | All character masterlists

[let-the-imaginationflow]

Texas Heat | A Joel x Reader Series

Summary: You've just finished a Masters back home in England, and, with little idea of what you want to do next, decide to spend the summer in Texas, staying with your mum's cousins, the Adlers. What you didn't bank on was living next door to Joel. The two of you strike up a friendship, and then something more, as the Texan summer heats up.

Tags/warnings: slow burn, eventual smut, age difference (reader is 25, Joel is 37), AU! no outbreak, porn with plot.

Chapter 1 You've just finished a Masters back home in England, and, with little idea of what you want to do next, decide to spend the summer in Texas, staying with your mum's cousins, the Adlers. But its not the Adlers who pick you up from the airport: it's their handsome neighbour, Joel.

Chapter 2 Your first tutoring session with Sarah goes as expected, until Joel gets home and sends your head spinning.

Chapter 3 You get a job at a coffee shop. It just happens to be across the street from where Joel's working a construction job.

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

[let-the-imaginationflow]

hot artists don't gatekeep

I've been resource gathering for YEARS so now I am going to share my dragons hoard

Floorplanner. Design and furnish a house for you to use for having a consistent background in your comic or anything! Free, you need an account, easy to use, and you can save multiple houses.

Comparing Heights. Input the heights of characters to see what the different is between them. Great for keeping consistency. Free.

Magma. Draw online with friends in real time. Great for practice or hanging out. Free, paid plan available, account preferred.

Smithsonian Open Access. Loads of free images. Free.

SketchDaily. Lots of pose references, massive library, is set on a timer so you can practice quick figure drawing. Free.

SculptGL. A sculpting tool which I am yet to master, but you should be able to make whatever 3d object you like with it. free.

Pexels. Free stock images. And the search engine is actually pretty good at pulling up what you want.

Figurosity. Great pose references, diverse body types, lots of "how to draw" videos directly on the site, the models are 3d and you can rotate the angle, but you can't make custom poses or edit body proportions. Free, account option, paid plans available.

Line of Action. More drawing references, this one also has a focus on expressions, hands/feet, animals, landscapes. Free.

Animal Photo. You pose a 3d skull model and select an animal species, and they give you a bunch of photo references for that animal at that angle. Super handy. Free.

Height Weight Chart. You ever see an OC listed as having a certain weight but then they look Wildly different than the number suggests? Well here's a site to avoid that! It shows real people at different weights and heights to give you a better idea of what these abstract numbers all look like. Free to use.

[let-the-imaginationflow]

i watched one (1) video on how to draw hands that changed my life forever. like. i can suddenly draw hands again

these were all drawn without reference btw. i can just. Understand Hands now (for the most part, im sure theres definitely inaccuracies). im a little baffled

[let-the-imaginationflow]

So we all know that Tumblr is US-centric. But to what degree? (and can we skew the results of this poll by posting it at a time where they should be asleep?)

Reblog to increase sample size!

[let-the-imaginationflow]

Bridgerton shade of blue

Benedict Bridgerton x Female Reader

Benedict bumps into you, quite literally, at a ball while trying to escape his mother's attempts to find him a partner. You decide to humour him with a dance, not realising just how entwined you would become with him. It seems the universe will find every excuse to push you and Benedict together, no matter how much you fight it.

♡♡♡

Season One

Chapter One - Mr Bridgerton

Chapter Two - Empty drawing rooms

Chapter Three - Becoming acquainted

Chapter Four - Roots for friendship

Chapter Five - Diamonds

Chapter Six - Splendid

Chapter Seven - The prince

Chapter Eight - Sparkling diamond

Chapter Nine - Late night scandals

Chapter Ten - Duel at dawn

Chapter Eleven - Ruse to ruse

Chapter Twelve - Beautiful day for a wedding

Chapter Thirteen - Passionate

Chapter Fourteen - Scandals in abundance

Chapter Fifteen - Rhythm of our hearts

Chapter Sixteen -

♡♡♡

Season Two

Work in progress!!!

Please ask if you wish to be added to the tag list!

[let-the-imaginationflow]

Killing Me Softly | (Joel Miller x teacher!f!reader)

Chap. 1 : Your Name

Series Summary: You've nursed a broken heart for two years. ‘Love’ felt like a foreign term, but maybe it wasn’t so far out of reach. Chap. 1 Summary: When you catch the eye of your students' dad at a school dance, he starts showing up everywhere. Rating: 18+ MDNI (for the future smut) Word Count: 6.8k Warnings: pre-outbreak AU, age gap (joel is 36 reader is 27), no smut (yet), sexual tension, flirting, pining, mentions of alcohol, language, angst, reader's last name is 'Smith' for no other purpose than the fact she is a teacher A/N: This will definitely be a slow-burn fic, so please hang tight!! Tropes include: second chance at love, strangers to lovers, secret relationship, etc. I'm actually so excited about this one, so I hope you guys stick around to see where it goes :')

Masterlist

PROLOGUE

You never thought you’d be the girl sitting at the steps of an abandoned altar with your wedding dress covered in mud from the rain.

 Just minutes before you were supposed to take your first steps down the aisle, your fiancé fled. You watched the blur of his suit in the distance as he ran through the rain and left your family and friends in shock. Motionless at the back of the rows of chairs, you dropped your bouquet and stood in heartbreaking silence as the cords of the violins faded into the air. Your parents and siblings swarmed around you, trying to break the paralysis that kept your eyes locked on the vacant spot under the archway and steps of what would have been the place you said your vows. You still had them in your hand; the words scribbled neatly on a folded paper torn from your journal. You’d never get the chance to say those words aloud; he never would have deserved them, anyway. 

The ring sat heavily on your finger now as you watched it glisten under the pelting rain. Your dress clung to your body in layers of silk and lace, a taunting reminder of who you had become for a man unworthy of your love and devotion. 

Five years together, all stripped away in a matter of minutes. 

You’d never love again. 

“Everyone’s gotta do it,” Maria sighed as she stood at the student drop-off with you.

By ‘it,’ she meant chaperoning the father-daughter dance later in the week, which you seriously wanted no part of. You had been through enough school dances in your three years working at the middle school, and you were tired of watching pre-teens grinding on each other to god-awful music. You had better things to do with your Friday nights, like sitting on the couch with a pint of ice cream and a horror movie playing in the background—you’d sworn off rom-coms long ago.

“Yeah, I know,” you grumbled, waving another line of kids across the road. 

You watched as they trudged across the crosswalk with their backpacks slung over their shoulders, eyes bright and broad at the realization school was over for the day. If only they were that chipper in class, maybe you’d have an easier time teaching them how to write three-point essays. 

Maria chirped goodbye to each one as they passed, her cheeks pinched with a fake smile only you could recognize. You knew she loved the kids but loved the final school bell even more. You, on the other hand, hated it. The end of school was just another reminder that you’d go back to an empty home and an empty life. 

Two years had passed since Bennett ran from your wedding ceremony—two years without closure or an answer. By the time you had pieced yourself together and returned home from the would-have-been ceremony, his things were gone, and the house filled with the ghost of his presence. Your in-laws went radio silent, avoiding all calls and emails from you until they eventually moved out of state and changed numbers. The hours leading up to the ceremony would forever be a mystery as to why he left, and you would spend the rest of your life fighting for an answer as to why you weren’t good enough to love. 

Dragging you from your thoughts, Maria bumped you with her hip, giving you a concerned look. You shook away the memories and returned her stare with a fake smile you had mastered over the last two years. You couldn’t even remember the last time you had genuinely smiled or laughed without feeling the force of a facade washing over you. Concealing the pain of it all made it easier; maybe if you believed you were okay, you’d start feeling okay. But you never did. Not even the countless hours of therapy had helped reconcile the person you once were. Bennett had left and taken every vulnerable part of you with him, leaving nothing but a raw and broken shell in his wake. 

“You’re doing it again,” Maria scolded. 

“Doing what?” You asked, already aware of the answer.

“Wallowing. You really should get back out there again.”

You focused on the next grouping of kids setting out to cross the street, your hand instinctively coming up to hold the passing cars at a standstill. You plastered on a fake smile as they waved goodbye to you, and you glanced back at Maria once they finally stepped foot on the next sidewalk.

“I’m not interested,” you stated. “I’m fine on my own.”

Her eyebrow lifted as if challenging your blasé response. Your answer always remained the same, yet Maria relentlessly attempted to change your mind.

“You’ve got to at least try. What if there’s already someone out there just waiting for you?”

“Maria, I promise no one is waiting for me.”

“I wish you’d just give it a shot. You deserve to be happy.”

You had heard that phrase often over the last couple of years; a pitying tone always accompanied the words. People loved to soothe you with words that held no weight or purpose. You learned to nod along to their sympathies and turn a deaf ear to their suggestions of what you deserved. 

The final round of kids made their way toward the line of parents waiting in their cars, and you followed Maria back to your classrooms to clean up before leaving for the day. Her words stuck with you on the quiet drive home; the radio wasn’t enough to drown out that taunting voice in your head reminding you that you’d never be enough. 

Your single-story house was nestled into an older neighborhood of Austin, only a handful of miles from the middle school. You’d argue that the house was the best thing to come out of the failed engagement; its personality stood firm against the other houses with a vibrant shade of blue painted over its wooden panels and wrap-around porch. You spent the last few months sprucing up the front yard, planting rose bushes and trees to liven up the house. It hadn’t fixed all your problems but pacified them temporarily as you dirtied your hands in the soil. 

It became second nature to shut your garage immediately after putting your car in park. You didn’t want the typical neighborly interactions or shallow conversations. You were content with living between closed doors and drawn curtains. The less of an interaction with the world, the better. 

Dropping your purse and work bag on the kitchen counter, you sunk onto a barstool, staring blankly at the fridge and knowing all too well there was hardly anything inside it. You’d settle for another frozen meal and glass of wine, a typical meal these days to satisfy a hunger you no longer had. Despite the colorful kitchen cabinets, the mustard yellow couch in the living room, and the obscure wallpaper…your life was dull. How could one person suck out all the energy from another human being? How could pain last this long? 

You stabbed a fork into the TV dinner meal before you and wondered if you’d ever feel happy again. 

**

You managed to survive another week of teaching, only to now be standing in the shadows of the school gymnasium, nursing an overly sweet fruit punch. The PTA had done a decent job of turning the space into a somewhat realistic dance floor: string lights hung corner to corner of the ceiling, a DJ booth in the center of the basketball court, and colorful balloons circled the air. You spotted a few of your students dancing with their fathers, their eyes squeezed shut from their too-wide smiles and bubbling laughter. A foreign ache in your chest reminded you how you would have had a father-daughter dance at your wedding. Your father even took it upon himself to brush up on dance lessons to sway you across the floor to some overly emotional song. As corny as it was, you had been looking forward to that moment throughout your engagement. 

“Look who got all dolled up!” Maria hollered as she strolled over, fruit punch in hand.

“I would hardly call this dolled up,” you said, tugging at the hem of your dress.

You only had a handful of dresses in your closet, this particular one being a flowy black cocktail dress with a halter top and ruffled skirt. It was barely passing the school dress code, so you decided to pair it with a low kitten heel to try and deter the admin’s scrutiny. You did, however, spend a little more time than usual on your makeup and hair, hoping if you looked pretty, then maybe you’d feel it, too.

“You’re too hard on yourself,” Maria sighed.

“You look great,” you said, sidestepping her lecture.

Maria had chosen a plum floor-length maxi dress decorated with embroidered blue flowers. Her curly hair was pinned in a bun, and several sparkly barrettes were clipped to the side. Her makeup was no different from usual: a rosy red lip and simple mascara with a hint of blush on her cheeks. 

“Really, Maria. You do.”

“Well, thank you,” she blushed, looking back toward the room full of bodies dancing.

Your eyes followed hers, settling on the duos as they swayed to a slow song. Every father was dressed up in some sort of button-up or the occasional suit except for one—the same one who happened to be twirling around your student, Sarah Miller. You nudged Maria, pointing secretly at them with a questioning glance.

“Is that her dad?” You asked.

He wore a basic cotton T-shirt, jeans, and dirty work boots. There was barely any thought behind his appearance as if he had rolled up to the school right after a long shift at work, forgoing any effort or care. Some part of you hated him for it. The least he could do was get dressed up for a silly school dance, especially when Sarah wore a lavender tulle dress that complimented her olive skin tone. 

“Yup,” Maria elongated the word. “That’s Joel Miller.”

“Sure looks like he doesn’t care to be here,” you grumbled.

Maria barked a laugh, looking at you through narrowed eyes.

“As opposed to you?” She questioned. “Correct me if I’m wrong, but weren’t you bitching about this dance all week long?”

“Well, at least I put some effort into my looks tonight,” you defended.

You glanced back at Sarah, seeing her father twirl her one last time. You caught a glimpse of his face for the first time in the flow of his movements. Messy dark curls framed his head, curling in every which way as if he’d run his hand through them a million times. Even from a distance, you could see the patchy beard and short mustache covering the lower half of his face, alongside the several creases around his eyes as he smiled.  And his eyes… They looked like big brown saucers under the lights, reflecting a genuine softness as he watched his daughter dance. 

And then they snapped up to meet your gaze through the crowd as if you had silently called out to him. Everything slowed around you for a moment as he studied you from afar, his eyes drifting down your body and back up with a hint of a smile teasing his lips. A rush of heat crawled up your neck, and you broke the eye contact between you. Maria cleared her throat beside you, tearing you away from the man holding your sincere interest. 

“What was that?” Maria chirped. 

You shook your head, glancing between her curious face and the dancefloor. Joel had since moved on, steering Sarah toward the refreshment table. He never once looked back at you, which left you unexplainably disappointed. For a moment in time, someone looked at you and saw you. 

“I–I don’t know,” you stuttered. “Probably nothing.”

“It looked like something.”

You turned to face Maria, a scowl twisting up your lips entirely. You were tired of her pushing nonexistent things on you, and that’s what this was— nonexistent. Whatever moment between you and Joel had gone as quickly as it came. You were done with the night and standing among so many cheerful people. You couldn’t stand it any longer. 

“I think I’m going to take off,” you announced, placing your half-drunk fruit punch on the table behind you. 

Maria was defeated, knowing you'd still leave no matter what she said. Stalking out of the gymnasium, you grabbed your purse from the teacher's booth and booked it to your car with your heels in your hands. You carefully walked along the sidewalk toward your car, catching a conversation drifting through the wind between the other vehicles. 

“...Dad, you promised we’d watch movies tomorrow!”

“I know, sweetheart, but Uncle Tommy needs help on the job sight.”

You hid between two cars, listening to their voices bounce back and forth. It wasn’t until you peeked out to see the two figures that you realized it was Sarah and her father, Joel. For fucks sake. You tiptoed around the car's bumper beside you, attempting to make a getaway before either of them saw you. You must have done a terrible job because Sarah called your name as you edged closer to your car.

“Miss Smith!”

“Shit,” you muttered to yourself. 

With your purse in one hand and heels in the other, you turned toward them with your rehearsed fake smile. Sarah was standing beside her dad—Joel—a small smile shining up at you. You knew her usual upbeat personality in class, always laughing and joking with other kids. She was an A+ student, too, and her work showcased her smartness. But in her father's shadow, a distinct sadness clouded her eyes. 

“Hello, Sarah! How did you like the dance?” You asked. 

“It was really fun,” she grinned, forcing her smile wider. You saw through it. 

“I’m glad you enjoyed it.”

Joel cleared his throat, extending a large hand toward you. You blinked at his open palm, afraid of making that same startling eye contact as you had in the gymnasium. Shuffling your purse into your other hand, you took his into yours, focusing on the warmth of his grip crawling up your skin. His fingers dwarfed your own, tightening around your hand until you were forced to look up finally. 

“S’nice to finally meet you, Mrs. Smith,” he said, his thick Southern accent shining through.

“Miss Smith,” you corrected. It was hard to hide the bitterness in the statement. 

“Miss Smith,” he echoed. “I’m Joel, Sarah’s dad.”

His eyes still hadn’t left yours, their piercing stare making you shiver despite the September humidity. You pulled your hand away, overly aware of how his fingers lingered a moment too long. Shifting your weight from one leg to another, you were starting to feel the asphalt dig into the soles of your feet. 

“It’s nice to meet you, Mr. Miller,” you replied.

“Joel,” he insisted.

You nodded politely, giving him another faltering smile. Hauling your purse over your shoulder, you said a soft goodbye to them and bolted to your car. In the confines of the driver's seat, you rested your head against the wheel, inhaling deeply as you steadied the nerves inside your body. Why did such a simple interaction light up your body with emotions you had spent so long suppressing? And why did Joel’s smile haunt you even when your eyes were shut?

Forcing your keys into the ignition, you tore out of the school parking lot and back to the confines of your tiny blue home. 

The weekends were usually filled with nothing more than grading papers and lesson planning. The coffee beside you on the kitchen counter had gone cold hours ago as the morning sunlight faded into the afternoon. Through tired eyes, you glanced up at the oven clock: 2 pm. You needed a break from reading through piles of essays, and your fridge desperately required replenishing. Grabbing your keys off the counter, you forfeited any plans of changing out of your sweat set and headed to the supermarket.

The packed parking lot and crowded store were daunting reminders of why you typically decided to leave your fridge vacant. But as you pushed your shopping cart down each aisle, you had no choice but to comply with your basic human needs and stock up on miscellaneous food you would want throughout the week. Rounding down the next aisle, your eyes caught on a tall figure standing in front of the bakery section, his face scrutinizing every cake in the display case. Shit. 

You tried—and failed—to maneuver your way into the next aisle, somehow crashing into an older woman’s cart, forcing her carton of eggs to fall and smash onto the linoleum floor.

“Dammit,” you hissed, crouching down to try and help them clean up the shattered eggshells.

“S’alright, sweetheart,” she assured. “I’ll just holler for a worker to come clean it up.”

“No, I—I can help,” you stammered, fingers still running over the broken yolks spreading across the floor.

“Miss Smith?” You heard a deep voice above you.

Your head snapped up to see Joel standing above you; his forehead creased with concern. The woman you had crashed into was already down the next aisle looking for a store employee, leaving you alone with a mess you had caused. Joel crouched beside you, his hands folding over yours to slow your frantic cleaning.

“It’s alright, I got it!” You snapped, pulling your hands back.

“Just tryna’ help,” he said. “That’s all.”

“It’s my fault. I can fix it.” 

You had said those words to yourself many times before, and never once did they prove true. 

“Someone will come and clean this up; you ain’t gotta do all that,” Joel said softly. “C’mon.”

He offered a hand, which you took reluctantly, leaving you both standing awkwardly in front of the mess. You shifted your gaze downward, too afraid to meet those deep brown eyes that had plagued you the night before. 

“Hey,” Joel said in a soft tone. “Everything okay?”

“Yeah,” you mumbled.

“Doesn’t seem like it.”

You huffed a sigh, gripping the handles of your cart to start moving. Today was going downhill rapidly, and you only wanted to go home and hole yourself away…like you always did.

“I, uh, was tryna’ pick out a birthday cake,” he rambled. “S’my birthday tomorrow, and Sarah wants to make sure I have a cake, ya’know? Any ideas on what she might like? I’m not sure if y’all ever have parties at school with sweets and all that.”

Your eyes snapped to his, a scowl forming on your face. Sarah’s dad was asking you what she liked? He was proving to be worse and worse by the second. But you were her teacher and needed to hold your tongue.

“I’m sure she’ll enjoy anything,” you said, a tight smile forming. “Happy birthday, Mr. Miller.”

His eyebrows furrowed together, clearly seeing through the mask you put on. It was infuriating how easily he had wove his way through your bloodstream, even in just twenty-four hours. 

“Joel,” he insisted. “You don’t need to do all that formal stuff.”

“I kind of do,” you laughed. “You’re my students’ father; that’s how I’m supposed to address you.”

“S’all I’m sayin’ is that you’re free to call me Joel. No harm in it.”

There was a lot of harm in it. 

You didn’t know what else to say, so you dipped your head to say goodbye and pushed your cart past him. You weren’t being the kindest nor the most respectful person, but your anger was at a low simmer. Any longer around him, and you might explode. You weren’t used to someone getting under your skin like he was. And the worst part was that he wasn’t even trying. You couldn’t understand why you reacted so strongly. 

“Miss Smith!” Joel called, catching up as you moved down the next aisle.

You inhaled and stopped walking, mustering another fake smile to appease him. He gripped the side of your cart with a large hand, a simple gesture to keep you firmly in place. Clearly, he decided when the conversation was over.

“Yes, Mr. Miller?”

“Did I do somethin’ to upset you? ‘Cause I swear, I didn’t mean anything inappropriate by what I said back there. 

“No, no, you’re fine,” you lied. “Just having a bad day, that's all.” That wasn’t a lie.

Joel ran a hand over his neck, studying you quietly for a moment. Something about the atmosphere around him was intoxicating and so fucking dangerous. 

“Well, I’m sorry ‘bout that. Guess I was just tryna’ make small talk, and clearly, I ain’t doin’ a good job.”

“It’s fine—no need for apologies. I hope the cake and birthday celebration go well. I’m sure Sarah will tell me all about it on Monday.”

His eyes shifted over you again, lingering on your lips, set in a firm smile. You tried your best to hide the shiver that ran up your back as he drank you in. 

“Y’probably think I’m a terrible dad, huh?” He sighed.

“What?” You blinked away the thoughts swarming your head.

“I mean, I know you probably heard us arguin’ last night, and I’m out here asking her teacher what her favorite kind of cake is. You ain’t gotta be polite about it. I know I’m not doin’ the best job,” he confessed.

“Mr. Miller, I don’t think that at all. I just think maybe asking your wife would be more helpful than asking me.”

That garnered a laugh from him, a genuine and sincere laugh.

“Never had a wife to begin with. Sarah’s mom left us when she was only a year old,” he explained. “Been doin’ it all on my own.”

“Oh.” Dammit, you really were a bitch. 

“Trust me, I get it. I could do a better job, bein’ a dad and all that. I’m tryin’.”

“I think you’re doing just fine,” you said. “I’m sorry I didn’t know.”

He brushed it off, replacing the sad look cresting his eyes with a lopsided grin. You wanted to hate it, but your body reacted traitorously. You felt the softness in his gaze crawl over you, slowly replacing the anger coursing through your veins with something else…something you hadn’t felt in a long time. No one had looked at you that way since—well, since Bennett. Even if Joel was only being friendly, you were drawn to the charm he exuded. Dangerous, you reminded yourself.

“Anyway,” he continued. “I won’t hold ya’ up any longer. I hope your day gets better, Miss Smith.”

“Thank you,” you replied. “And Happy birthday, again.”

Joel’s eyes settled on your lips again as you talked, and you felt your cheeks warm under his gaze. His eyes flicked back up to yours, a flash of something behind them, and you were ready to bolt. He muttered a thank you and left you standing in a vacant aisle, your hands still covered in egg yolks and your mind reeling.

**

It was hard to maintain your good mood once Monday rolled around. Seeing Sarah sitting in class was an unwelcome reminder of your interaction with Joel on Saturday, and you had to refrain from overstepping boundaries and asking about his birthday. She didn’t need to know you cared, even though you struggled not to care. You wondered what kind of cake he decided on, how old he turned if he blushed when she sang Happy Birthday. Every thought burned a hole in your head that you tried to patch up and forget. 

The final bell rang for the day, and the kids began to pack up in a rush. You straightened out the papers lining your desk, avoiding eye contact with Sarah as she slung her backpack over her shoulders and lined up to leave. Grabbing your whistle and bottle of water, you followed them toward the front gates, taking your usual place alongside Maria—who was overly chipper for a Monday.

“Soooo,” she prodded. “How was your weekend?”

“Uneventful,” you lied, walking with her to the crosswalk. 

“You really need to go out and have fun! You’re young, and you need to enjoy your 20s!” She exasperated. 

“Maria, I’m 27,” you groaned. “My 20s are practically over.”

She folded her arms over her chest, leveling you with a heavy glare. Maria was in her late 40’s and clearly exuded a motherly-type attitude. You shifted your focus to the kids crossing the road, watching as they reunited with their parents. 

“We go out on Wednesdays for Happy Hour! Join us this week,” she suggested.

“I don’t know,” you sighed.

“Come on!” Maria pressed. “If you hate it, I’ll never ask you to go out with us again.”

There was no point in arguing with her, so you relented and agreed to one night out. A few drinks and hours of mindless conversation could be good for you. It would be better than sitting in front of the TV with a bland meal and another glass of wine.

You managed to evade all thoughts of Joel somehow the next two days, putting all your time and energy into prepping your students for their first test of the year. Lesson planning and preparation took up your free period and late evenings, leaving you little room to think about those brown eyes and disarming smile. It was Wednesday evening, and you were knee-deep in your closet, trying to find an outfit for Happy Hour. You had changed at least five times, discarding every top and skirt onto your bedroom floor. Eventually, you gave up, settling on tight jeans, a flowy red blouse, and black flats. You left your hair in wavy curls over your shoulders and simple makeup to balance everything out. 

The group took their Happy Hour rituals to a local dive bar on the outskirts of town, a row of motorcycles and trucks lining the entrance. You felt a bit out of place walking into a smoke-hazed bar, with the patron's wandering eyes crawling over you, but you quickly picked out the huddle of teachers in the corner laughing over a round of beers. They welcomed you with bright smiles and hellos, offering to buy your first drink. After about an hour and a few drinks, you felt warm and far more relaxed. Conversations about quarterly goals and admin meetings flowed over the table, each teacher complaining about something. You chimed in when necessary, keeping quiet when you had nothing to contribute. You were on your fourth beer when the girls around you started whispering low about a group of men entering the bar. You stole a peek over your shoulder, eyes settling on the last person you wanted to see. 

Joel Miller.

He had on his usual simple work attire, the fabric of his cotton shirt stretched out over his broad chest. His neck was tanned, most likely from working outdoors, and his hair was just as unruly as you remembered. The man beside him, shorter but with similar features, clapped Joel on the back and steered him towards the bar. You lowered your head, taking a longer gulp of your drink to try and steady your nerves. Of all fucking places, he had to be here. 

“He’s just so handsome, isn’t he?” Maria nudged you, tossing back a look towards Joel.

You shrugged, feigning disinterest. Joel was handsome, but no one needed to know how you felt. Because what you felt was very, very confusing. 

“He’s my students’ father, Maria.”

She rolled her eyes, swirling the contents of her drinks before taking a sip. 

“Okay, and? There’s nothing inappropriate about dating a student’s parent.”

“Yes, there is,” you snapped. “And I’m not even considering dating him.”

“But you think he’s attractive,” she stated.

You didn’t want to respond to that, knowing the warmth in your cheeks was already enough of a giveaway. If you shrunk far enough into yourself, you might go unrecognized the rest of the night.

Maria thankfully dropped the subject, returning to the conversation around the table. After another hour, the ladies started to trickle out of the bar and home for the night. You, on the other hand, still had to wait a bit longer until the alcohol phased out of your body. Which meant you were sitting alone in the same space as Joel. You could feel his eyes on your back the longer you sat there, and to your detriment, decided to steal a glance over your shoulder. Joel’s eyes raked over your body, returning your stare with a soft, welcoming smile. Shit.

You watched as he slipped off the barstool, waltzing towards you with a beer clasped in his large hand. You tried so hard not to notice his thick fingers wrapped around the bottle, and you most definitely tried not to think of what his fingers would feel like inside—

“Miss Smith,” he greeted, silencing your awful thoughts.

“Mr. Miller,” you said.”

“Are all these formalities necessary in a bar?” he teased. 

“A couple of drinks won’t change my mind.”

Joel slid into the seat beside you without an invitation, his arm brushing against yours as he settled into the stool. It was instinct to flinch away, afraid of the reaction his touch would cause to your body. 

“What will change your mind?” he pressed, keeping a steady gaze on you.

“Nothing,” you shrugged, deciding to change the subject. “How was your birthday?”

Joel ran a hand through his hair, that stupid lopsided grin forming on his lips. 

“Can’t say I love gettin’ old, but celebratin’ was sure nice.”

“And how old are you, Mr. Miller?”

“Ripe age of thirty-six, Miss Smith,” he grinned. 

“What cake did you choose?” you asked, watching him take a long sip of his beer. 

“Vanilla. Everyone’s gotta love vanilla, right?” 

Was he… flirting with you? 

You’d blame your following response on the beers coursing through your bloodstream, but truthfully, you just wanted to play along, even only for a moment. 

“Hmm, I don’t know. I don’t always love vanilla, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s eyes darkened, falling to your lips as you took another drink. It was bold and stupid of you to say that, but at this point, you didn’t care. 

“What other flavors do you like?” 

He leaned forward in his chair, his thigh pressing against yours. The heat of his body and the smell of smoke on his clothes was a dangerous combination for your self-restraint.  

“I have a few guilty pleasure flavors,” you smirked.

Joel’s hand damn near crushed the bottle when you said those words, his entire body tensing beside you. You couldn’t care at that moment about how you spoke; the drinks started speaking for themselves. You hadn’t dared to flirt with a man since Bennett left, too afraid of what falling in love again might do to you. But, for some reason, flirting with Joel felt so simple. He was older than you, and maybe that piqued your interest, knowing he was far more mature than anyone else you had considered. 

“Indulge me, Miss Smith,” he whispered. 

“I think I’ll leave it a mystery,” you whispered in return. “I’ve already said too much as it is.”

“I reckon you ain’t said enough,” he countered. 

Heat flared through your neck and face as he leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. This had gone too far. You had broken any rules you had previously set in place, and now you were dancing on a fragile line between professionalism and indecency. 

Glancing at the clock above the bar, you watched as the hands ticked closer to midnight. Just like in the fairytales, your time was up. Back to reality. 

“It’s getting late,” you started. “I should get home.”

Joel’s demeanor shifted, and his grin faltered as he watched you rise from the barstool. He brushed his hand over your arm, barring you from walking away. 

“Not real sure if you should be drivin’ home yet, Miss Smith. Y’had a few drinks tonight,” Joel protested.

“How do you know? Were you watching me?”

“Gotta make sure my daughter's teacher is safe. Who else’s gonna make sure she gets straight A’s?” 

He was trying to make light of the situation, but you knew better. You knew he had been watching you since he had arrived; his attention had never been on his group of friends. 

“I assure you, I’m fine,” you argued. “You go enjoy your night with your friends, Mr. Miller.”

Joel’s brows furrowed as he considered you. His hand still lingered on your arm, thick fingers flexing against your skin. You glanced between his hand and his eyes, trying to make sense of his intentions. This was far past a coincidental run-in; this was a strange desire out of reach. 

“Can I drive you home at least?” He asked. 

“I’m okay. Thank you, though.”

“Can I at least drive behind you to make sure you make it alright?” He offered.

You looked back toward the bar, seeing the man he walked in with staring at you with an apparent scowl.

“I don’t think that’s fair to your friend,” you said.

Joel peered around you and huffed loudly. 

“That’s my brother, Tommy. S’all good, he’s probably ready to hit the road, too.”

“He doesn’t look too happy.”

“He’s fine,” Joel grumbled.

Tommy noticed you both staring at him and decided to join the mix. He walked up with a grin despite the scowl he had just worn and extended his hand to you.

“I’m Tommy. Joel’s brother.”

“Hi, I’m Sarah’s teacher.” You gave him a quick shake and tried to sidestep to leave.

“Wait!” Joel called out.

“I’m okay, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. “Be safe tonight.”

You made a beeline for the door, hoping to escape him before he reeled you back in. You let yourself float in his atmosphere for too long, testing the waters you knew were off-limits. There was still an alcohol-induced haze lingering in your head, but the sooner you could leave, the better. Tomorrow would come with a headache and a post-drunken clarity to put you back on the right track. You needed to steer clear of Joel before you slipped up and allowed another man inside the walls you built. 

You attempted to retrieve your keys from your purse, only to fumble them out of your hands and onto the dirt ground of the parking lot. 

“Fuck,” you groaned.

As you bent to pick them up, footsteps crunching on the ground grew closer. You already knew who it was.

“Miss Smith,” Joel’s voice sounded pained. 

“I’m fine!” you shouted, whipping your head around to find him nearly toe-to-toe with you. 

The moonlight above you illuminated his brown eyes, which darkened the longer he looked down at you. You shrunk away, letting your body hit the driver's side of your door while Joel stepped closer. 

“Please. You shouldn’t be drivin’ right now. Lettin’ you leave like this wouldn’t be right of me.”

Your only focus was on his lips as he talked. The plushness of his lips enticed you, leaving you imagining how soft they’d feel pressed against yours. Your control was slipping, and the alcohol was pulsing faster in your veins. 

“You’re not going to give up, are you?” You wondered aloud. 

Joel looked at you like he knew the layers of the question. He knew what battle you were fighting inside and saw the fear plastered on your face.

“No,” he whispered softly.

Your eyes bounced between his eyes and his lips, trying to grasp the moment's weight. You needed to be firm and say no; your future self would thank you for it. Gripping your keys, you exhaled and turned towards your car door. 

“Have a good night, Mr. Miller,” you tossed over your shoulder. 

The warmth of his body pressed against your back, the smell of smoke and liquor wrapping around you and enveloping you in a cocoon of temptation. Joel’s hands reached around to grab your keys from your shaking hand, dangling them between you and the car. 

“M’taking you home, Miss Smith. Ain’t gonna argue anymore,” he said as his mouth fell to the shell of your ear. 

“I’m—.”

“Don’t,” he interjected. “Go to my truck.”

He had the exact tone you did when you reprimanded your students, but the deep rasp of his accent made it all the more inviting. You didn’t want to listen to his demands, but you were getting nowhere successfully. Joel sidestepped to free you of the cage he had you in, watching you intently as you sulked to his truck. It wasn’t hard to know which one it was; only a few cars were left, and the truck exuded the same masculinity as the owner. 

“What about my car?” You protested, folding your arms across your body as you leaned against the truck. 

“I’ll give Tommy the keys,” he said. “He’ll drive it behind us.”

You were about to ramble another slew of protests when Joel yanked the passenger side door open and tilted his head toward the interior. 

“Get in.”

His tone left little room for arguing, so you did as he said without another word. Despite the anger radiating off his body, Joel shut the door softly before heading back into the bar. 

You fidgeted with the seatbelt, the press of it against your chest not strong enough to stabilize the rhythm of your heartbeat. You were in his truck, meaning you’d be alone with him for the next several minutes. It was enough to force a roll of nausea through your stomach. Leaning your head against the window, you watched him reemerge from the bar with Tommy in tow. There was a clear expression of annoyance etched on Tommy’s face, all at the cost of your own stubbornness. 

Joel tossed him the keys to your car before rounding the truck's hood and climbing into the driver’s seat. You couldn’t bring yourself to look at him, so you kept your eyes on the road as it blurred past with each passing mile. 

“Where do you live?” he asked, passing through another vacant green light. 

You rambled off your address, still keeping your gaze steady on the streetlights as they passed by your window. He didn’t attempt to make small talk after that, and the silence settled onto you like a heavy blanket. Your control of consciousness was slipping the longer you sat beside him, but you willed yourself awake. The streets started to become familiar, and you shifted in your seat. Taking a risk, you looked at Joel, finding him white-knuckling the wheel with his jaw clenched. 

“I’m sorry,” you muttered. “I—I don’t go out and drink normally. I should have just stayed home tonight.”

“S’okay,” he said, glancing at you. “Just don’t get why you’re so stubborn about askin’ for help. First at the supermarket and now at the bar. I don’t get it.”

A rush of tears stung your eyes, and you quickly looked away, trying to blink them back before he noticed. Joel’s hand fell onto your thigh, sending a jolt of shock through your body. You wanted to shy away from it, but there was no use in fighting at this point; you were already failing miserably. 

“Hey,” he prodded. “Shit, I’m sorry. Don’t cry, alright?”

You swiped away the tears running from your eyes, schooling your emotions back into a state of numbness. Your little blue house came into view, and you pointed a tired finger toward it to guide him in the right direction. 

“This is me,” you sniffled. 

“Big ol’ house, Miss Smith. Y’live here alone?”

“Yeah,” you exhaled. “Thanks for the ride, Mr. Miller.”

“I really wish you’d stop callin’ me that,” he sighed, parking his car at your home's fence.

“It’s all formalities.”

“Yeah, I know. I just think after tonight, we’re far past all them formalities and shit.”

Your hand lingered on the door handle as you took one last look at him. Joel’s eyes looked over you with a softness you didn’t deserve. You deserve to be happy. Maria’s words rang out in your head the longer you stared at him. ‘Happy’ was a foreign word to you now, out of reach and out of your control.

“Can I just know one thing?” He asked. 

You nodded, your fingers wrapped around the door handle.

“What’s your name?”

Blame the alcohol…blame your vulnerability…but you told him.

[let-the-imaginationflow]

AND we have the video! By @/joeismillers on X! 🥵🥵

https://x.com/joeismillers/status/1768350621411782707?s=46&t=67rZ3XA7w2z6szQQNcLc1Q

[let-the-imaginationflow]

Le Paris des mannequins (1962), dir. François Reichenbach

[let-the-imaginationflow]

They are already selling data to midjourney, and it's very likely your work is already being used to train their models because you have to OPT OUT of this, not opt in. Very scummy of them to roll this out unannounced.

[let-the-imaginationflow]

Part 2 of Dancing With Fire is out! In love with how protective and brooding Joel is in this one. I hope you lovelies enjoy this! (Part 3 coming soon)

- Summary: You’re starring in the ballet Swan Lake, taking on the lead role in New York. You practice day and night and are always staying after hours. You keep seeing Joel around the theater, the hot maintenance worker you can’t keep your eyes off of. You aren’t the only one though because you think he’s watching you too.

- Tags: No outbreak, protective Joel, angst, fingering, oral, cream pie, abusive dance partner, tension, longing, porn with plot, smut, dom! Joel (reader mid 20’s, Joel in his early 40’s) Joel x you, No use Y/N

- Word Count: 9,190

- Rating: Explicit (18+ only)

Part 1

The long days seemed to blur together. You were constantly being worked overtime. Carlotta was insistent that you stay over every day and practice till you got every single move perfect. It was grueling, excessive and honestly a chore. You had absolutely no free time to yourself except some weekends. Not that it mattered. You had no friends in New York, but it’d still be nice to have some room to breathe and relax.

Today was an exceptionally bad day because you had to spend the entire day dancing with Pierre, your awful dance partner. He was tall, had slicked back short blonde hair, beady blue eyes, and had a short temper. A lot of the girls fawned over him, gushing how handsome and nice he was. You wanted to laugh every time you saw it happen because you knew how he really was behind those thin walls.

He was cruel and brutally wicked. A pig at best.

You’d never forget that day where the company threw a celebration party for the cast after auditions. He’d introduced himself and offered you his hand as he congratulated you for getting the lead. He seemed friendly enough until he tried to smother you and demand you let him take you out. You politely declined, not interested in fraternizing with your co-star.

What happened next was something you wanted to forget entirely. When you turned to leave after saying no, he’d grabbed your hips and pulled you to him, securing his hands around your waist. You tried to pull out of his grasp, but he dug his nails into you so hard that you couldn’t. You snapped at him and demanded he get his hands off you, but he wouldn’t listen. He had other intentions. Intentions you didn’t want to revisit.

“Let me make this clear. Refuse me and I will make your time here a living hell,” Pierre had warned, leaning into your ear and whispering so nobody else could hear the conversation around you in the busy foyer, the two of you standing in the corner of the shadows where no one looked over to. You squirmed and stomped on his foot in defense.

He finally let you go, wincing from the pain of your foot. You kicked his shin with your long heel and cursed him for laying a hand on you. He intended to sleep with you, but there was no way in hell you were letting that happen. He even tried again a week after that, but he had failed miserably.

You tried to confront Carlotta about the whole thing, but she had shut you down and said Pierre would never do such a thing, and it had made you want to quit right then and there. But you worked for this your whole life, so you decided against it. You’d just roll with the punches until the last show was over. It was just a few months. Which couldn’t hurt. Right?

“Alright, let’s take it from the top. Pierre, the first dance with the swan. Go on,” Carlotta commanded, pointing to you with cat-like nails to get ready.

As the slow, romantic music filled the auditorium, you took your spot and got into fifth position, placing your arms over your head like the delicate swan queen you were.

Pierre was smirking at you from the other side of the polished stage, his blue eyes narrowing into slits. Before Carlotta spotted him, he put on a huge fake smile and turned his eyes friendly.

What a fake.

You rolled your eyes and then started the routine as he danced over to you, grabbing your hands and twirling you around the stage in a frenzy. You hated every second you had to dance with him, wanting to push him out of your hold and smack him across the face.

You kept your vision on the red velvet walls as he spun you over and over, lifting you over his head and catching you after your big leap, pirouetting from his hold until he joined you again, clashing you to his chest.

“Smile pretty now. Don’t want Carlotta to get on to you,” he smirked, turning you again so you were facing him.

You scowled up at him and glared. “Don’t worry about me.”

When he turned you back around to face Carlotta, you put on a big smile, not showing her just how uncomfortable you truly were. Before you took another step, Pierre stomped on your pointe shoe hard and tripped you, almost falling over before he grabbed you.

“Stop, stop! Start again. None of that,” Carlotta huffed as she put a hand on her forehead like she was in agony.

You turned fast and gritted your teeth at him. “What the hell was that?”

He laughed quietly and smiled down at you. “Just having a little fun,” he teased, taking his hand and fixing a flyaway on the top of your head.

You grabbed his hand and shoved it away from you. “Don’t touch me unless we’re dancing,” you hissed, stomping away from him back into your starting position. You could still hear him quietly laughing as he took his place across the stage, smirking up at you with a dare in his eyes.

Fucking idiot.

You went through the same dance time and time again that day, Pierre always doing something to mess up the routine so you’d have to start from the very top. You were absolutely done with him, wanting to just go home. It was almost 4:00pm, and you still hadn’t had a break. Your body was about done for.

“You two, I want you to go through a few more times. I have a meeting I can’t be late for,” she said hurriedly as she grabbed her stack of folders and pink iPhone.

No.

She was leaving you alone with this thing? Fear crept through your body and slithered down your spine, leaving no room for breathing.

“Wait, Carlotta…”

She cut you off fast. “No buts, you’re staying and that’s final. You two work it out. Today was not your best work. The two of you need some bonding time, so go focus on perfect form and pointed feet,” she said harshly.

Her cell phone started buzzing and she picked it up and answered with a laugh, walking away until her high pitched voice was out of range and she was disappearing through the back doors. Leaving you all alone with Pierre.

You slowly turned and gulped away your fear. Focus. He couldn’t do anything to you. Could he? No. He wouldn’t. Surely not.

As soon as you turned, he was staring down at you with cold calculating eyes, a smirk plastered against his mouth as his sunken cheekbones reflected off the auditorium bright lights.

“Looks like it’s just you and me, princess,” he scoffed.

“Let’s just get this over with,” you insisted, taking a big step away from him.

“Oh come now, you don’t wanna spend a little quality time with me?” he said in a deceiving way, sticking his lower lip out like he was pouting.

“No,” you said back in a hard tone, your eyebrows furrowing at the cruel man that stood before you. “You did this on purpose! You kept messing me up in practice so Carlotta would make us stay longer. You thought that was okay?”

“Of course I did it on purpose,” he laughed.

“You’re making me look bad in front of her! And you’re really fucked up for doing that, you know that?” you bit back bitterly, almost biting down on your tongue.

He was laughing at your words, a wicked cackling sound escaping his throat. He just stood there taunting you, asking you to throw another insult his way. Daring you to keep on.

You rolled your eyes and got into place. “Enough. Let’s just do this already,” you said firmly as you raised your arms into your starting pose.

“Fine by me,” he said as he got into his own position, signaling you to begin.

You started the routine, moving your arms gracefully up and down as you made your way to center stage, putting your pointe shoes to use as you dug your toes into the ground, twirling around as he chased you across the stage. You were the swan that got away, and he was on the hunt for you. Carlotta always said seduce him, make him fall in love with you. That’s the last thing you wanted. It was all for the act, the ballet. That was your mission in this dance routine, and it was your least favorite because of it.

You performed your best, making every turn sharp, pointing your toes with perfect precision, elongating your arms to be as graceful as a flower, lifting your legs as high as they’d go. Making every single move pristine so this would be the only run through you’d have to do tonight.

He was the hunter in this scene, and you were the beautiful, untouchable swan. His mission was to catch you, and yours was to keep away until he could finally reach you. He chased you throughout the dance. With every turn you’d make, he’d try to get closer. Reaching, fighting, trying with all his might to snatch you. He stretched out an arm, but you jumped out of his wavelength. He tried again as you flew across the stage in a graceful run.

But in the end he won. Finally winning you over as you stopped in the middle of the stage motionless as he grabbed your waist and spun you on your toes in place, catching your arms above your head and then stopping your rotations. His arms were still on your waist as you faced him, almost chest to chest with him. Suddenly he turned you and positioned you in a laying back position when the song ended, signaling the end of the routine.

You took a breath before getting up and then attacked instantly. “Why didn’t you just do that in practice today? That was spotless, clean. We could’ve been done a lot earlier if you wouldn’t have kept messing me up,” you huffed, crossing your arms over your chest.

“Remember that night I said I’d make your life a living hell? Well, I wasn’t kidding,” he said with a laugh, his blue eyes piercing into you like a knife, making your insides instantly icy. “I can make it go away, you know. I can stop taunting you every day. All you have to do is change your mind.”

You dropped your arms to your side as they grazed the white tights, trying to make your mind focus on anything but that night. “No,” you said firmly.

“No? You sure about that?” he asked as he grabbed a hold of your wrist and pulled you into his chest, his grip on you not letting up.

You tried to pull away, but he grabbed you tighter, digging his fingers into your skin. Searing it with a tinge of pain. You winced in response. “Let. Go,” you said slowly as you glared up at him, daring him to try anything else.

“I don’t think so,” he said as he pulled you tighter, pain resonating through your wrist.

“I mean it, Pierre. Let go or I’ll scream,” you warned, giving him your best dirty look you could muster.

He narrowed his eyes as he locked his jaw, weighing his options carefully. He dug his fingers in one more time and then released you, letting his fingertips leave marks against your sore wrist.

“Little bitch,” he muttered under his breath as he turned the opposite way, about to head out.

“Prick,” you muttered quietly.

He must’ve heard you because he spun around so fast that you could’ve sworn he got whiplash.

“You better watch it,” he warned, pointing a finger terribly close to your face.

“Or what?” you asked confidently, wanting to fight back.

“Or else I’ll have no choice but to do this,” he said as he took a step towards you and pulled your arm, forcing you up against his chest.

“Let me go,” you demanded as you hit him in the chest, trying your hardest to pull out of his grasp.

“Change your mind then maybe I will,” he smirked, laughing at you while you struggled against him.

“Get the fuck off me,” you shouted as you pushed at his upper body, slipping away from his sharp grasp.

He tried grabbing you again as he caught your wrist, his fingernails digging into you. You spit into his face, and then he did something that shocked your entire system. He slapped you hard across the face as you felt a sudden searing, stinging pain fill your cheek. Then he pushed you down against the hardwood floor as you landed with a hard thud on your hands and knees.

“No more saying no to me, little swan. Have to teach you some manners. Let me show you how it’s done.”

He took a step closer and you cowered over, shutting your eyes so you could block out the ringing noise that was blasting through your eardrums. So close to having a panic attack, not wanting him to lay another hand on you. You shaded your eyes against the shining floor and sank down as far as your body could go.

You waited for the next blow to come, but it never came. Instead, you heard a loud crashing sound behind you, like something had just collided into the wall.

You looked up and glanced behind you, freezing once you saw just what it was. You gasped, too stunned to move.

There he was. Joel.

Joel had Pierre cornered into the red wall, slamming his body hard against it as his hands dug into Pierre’s white shirt. Bunching the material so much that it looked like the shirt would rip at any moment.

“Think you’re such a tough guy, huh? Do ya get off on hitting women for fun you twisted fuck?! Huh? Well, do ya?!” Joel yelled into Pierre’s horrified face, digging his fingers deeper into his shirt, bringing him closer to the bared teeth of his scowl.

Pierre stuttered and couldn’t get a single word out, mumbling nonsense quietly to Joel.

“Answer me!” he growled, his eyes going the darkest shade of brown you’d ever seen them turn. Almost like a dark charcoal color, pupils getting larger by each second that ticked by.

“N-n-nooo,” he stuttered, chattering his teeth together as the whites of his eyes expanded.

Joel shoved his head against the wall, grabbing his blonde locks and pulling hard, making Pierre yelp. “If you ever lay a hand on her again I’ll break your fucking jaw. Do you understand?” he roared. His massive fingers moving up around Pierre’s neck to hold him in place, the veins in his hands growing larger, and his breathing coming out rough and winded.

“Y-yes,” Pierre shrieked.

“Repeat it!” Joel growled, jerking Pierre’s blonde locks so hard that you swore he was about to pull out a fist full of hair or snap his neck all together. You weren’t sure which would come first.

Joel pulled harder, making Pierre scream out in pain. “Alright, alright! I won’t touch her again. Unless we’re performing for the show.” He looked scared as his eyes were bulging out of his skull and his face was scrunched up into absolute terror.

Joel accepted that answer and muttered a groan. His eyes were locked on Pierre, hounding him with those dark brown eyes. He was feral, unhinged, overpowering as he stood there holding Pierre in place, punishing him for putting his hands on you. It was so hot. Making your insides feel all sorts of warmth as you sat there in awe, watching your protector defend you.

It was absolutely exhilarating.

Joel slowly released his hand from his shirt and backed up just the tiniest bit from Pierre, giving him room to breathe. Pierre pressed against his shirt and smoothed it out, fighting to catch his breath as his eyes were wild with fright. He took a step past Joel, but Joel stopped him, putting a strong hand against his bicep as he grasped him firmly, turning him so he could face those burning brown eyes.

“I’ll be keepin’ a close eye on ya. Better learn where your fucking place is before I put you in it,” he warned, turning his mouth into a hard scowl as his forehead hardened into wrinkles. “You do anything to give her a hard time and I will have words with you. Words that lead to fists,” he stated firmly as his right hand clenched into a tight fist.

His jaw flexed as his eyes glanced over Pierre’s timid face, finally releasing his grip and letting him run off the stage in complete fear. Not wanting to stay in Joel’s fuming presence anymore.

You sat on the floor gawking at the tall, broad man in front of you who had just saved you from God knows what. Your breath was coming out shallowly as your eyes were wide, staring at his large biceps that were flexed and pulling at his denim button up. His sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, exposing those long protruding veins that you couldn’t get enough of.

You watched as his colossal hands went from tight, flexed fists to relaxed fingers against his dark jeans. His jaw went from tensed to tempered as he continued glaring in the direction that Pierre had fled in. A faint smolder setting his features that made you weak in the knees. A vision you wanted to burn into the back of your mind. The man that made you ignite with desire.

Your savior.

Joel finally dropped his tight fisted knuckles and relaxed his glare, turning in your direction. The moment he saw you he dropped his furrowed eyebrows and came to your side, kneeling down to be eye level with you.

“Are you hurt?” he asked with concerned brown eyes as he reached his arms out to place on your shoulders, making you shutter at how warm his hands were on your bare skin.

“No, I-I’m alright,” you responded breathlessly, forgetting about your aching jaw. Too focused on the gorgeous man that was right in front of you, bending at the knee to examine your frail body.

“Here, let’s get you up off this floor so I can take a look at ya.” He held out a hand, and you didn’t hestitate to take it, feeling right at home when his rough fingers met your smooth skin. Sending electricity through your fingertips.

He grabbed a hold of your waist and hoisted you up off the cold floor, bringing you over to sit on a beige upholstered bench behind the stage. He sat down next to you and turned you to face him, his concerned honey eyes looking over your face carefully. He reached out a hand and slowly lifted your chin, gently bringing his fingers to the left cheek that was raw from the hard slap.

He moved ever so gently, sliding his fingers slowly over your jaw. Examining it to make sure there was no damage to the skin. His calloused fingers brushed against your cheek, making a tingle run down your neck, sinking its way to your lower region. You fought back a blush as he continued looking you over thoroughly. He hit a sensitive spot and you winced against his touch. He apologized as he dropped his hand, leaving your cheek cold and untouched.

“I don’t see any bruises, but you might wanna ice that tonight,” he said as he ghosted his fingers over your thigh, barely putting his fingers on you. But it was enough to make you jolt in place.

“You alright?” he asked quietly, noticing your jumpiness. You couldn’t help it though. He made you feel like a complete nervous wreck, never able to fully calm yourself when he was in your presence.

“Yeah, just a little shaken up still,” you stammered out, eyes fixed on the thick fingers that laid against your thigh.

You peered back up into his face as it changed from relaxed to apprehensive as he furrowed his brows. It made your eyes go that much wider, not fully understanding why this man made you feel the things you did when you barely knew him.

“Is that the first time he’s hit you?” he asked with a serious gaze, his jaw clenching into a fist.

“Yeah, that’s the first time,” you sighed, trying not to think about how scared you were in the moment. What you were afraid he would’ve done if Joel wasn’t around. Just to spite you and take what he thought was his to take. It made you sick.

“And it’ll be the last time if I have anything to do with it,” he said with bared teeth, his eyes growing darker the more he talked about it.

You sat there gaping at him, your eyes sinking deep into his as you were swooning at the way he was talking about defending you. Making every single fiber in your body want to melt into his chest, wrap your arms around him so he’d never let go.

You got your wits about you and focused back on the brooding man that sat in front of you, his fingers still laying against your toned thigh.

“Thank you. For saving me,” you said slowly, looking up from underneath your long lashes, your fingers digging into the soft material of the bench nervously.

Joel’s large veins tightened up in his neck as he flexed his jaw again, eyes still alight with anger, but then he slowly relaxed as he gazed into your eyes.Those amber eyes simmering into yours.

“‘Course, darlin’. I wasn’t gonna let him hurt ya,” he said gently as he brought his hand to your cheek, slowly caressing you tenderly. He looked so composed, so soft as he ran slow circles across the skin, easing away your pain.

And fuck, did it feel good.

“You hungry?” he asked as he let his hand fall back to his side.

Your stomach growled at the mention of food. You were more than hungry. You were starving. Ravenous almost. “Starving,” you answered almost too quickly.

“You like Italian?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Do I like Italian? It’s my absolute favorite,” you said excitedly, almost bouncing out of your seat.

Joel noticed the response and laughed casually, his dimples forming over that beautiful mouth of his, making your insides buzz with glee.

“Alright then. C’mon, I’m taking you to eat,” he said as he stood up and held out a hand for you to take.

You glanced at his rough hand for a few seconds, blinking slowly, trying to process that Joel was about to take you to dinner. You finally got up the nerve to reach your hand out, sliding your fingers along the back of his calloused hand until he closed his fingers around you.

It felt so good. So right. Like putting on the perfect fitting glove. A warm, gentle embrace that was only for you.

He started pulling you towards the side door, but you stopped fast. Painfully pulling your hand away from his tight hold. “Just a second. Let me go change real quick,” you said hurriedly as you started to head towards your dressing room.

“Alright. I’ll be here when you’re ready,” he stated.

As you rounded the corner to the back of the stage, you turned your head, stealing one more glance at Joel. Your heart skipped when you saw he was staring back at you. You gave him a quick smile before you ran fast to your dressing room, nearly knocking over the pink wardrobe dresser as you threw off your pointe shoes and leotard, stripping your tights to expose bare skin.

You pulled on a pair of yoga pants and an oversized purple sweater, quickly slipping on the white Converse to finish the job. You swiftly undid your too tight bun and ran a hand through your messy hair, trying to tame the long waves that went down a little past your shoulder blades.

You checked yourself in the mirror one more time before you decided it was good enough. You were ready.

As you made your way out of the dressing room and rounded the corner to the stage, you found Joel with his hands in his pockets, waiting patiently. As soon as he caught a glimpse of you his eyes went wide as his brown eyes trailed down over your waves, past your long legs and then back up into your face. He looked mildly surprised, like this was the first time he was actually seeing you. And that made you shiver with anticipation.

You walked up to him slowly, batting your long eyelashes at him and giving him a gentle smile. Trying your best not to look like the absolute wreck you were and instead trying to look as flirtatious as you could come off as. “Okay, I’m ready,” you beamed, giving him your best smile.

A small smile crept up to his lips as he ran a hand through his tousled curls, making something stir deep inside you. You wanted to know what it felt like to slip your own hand through his hair, wanting so badly to tousle it even more, dig your fingers into his scalp. You wondered if it was just as smooth as you imagined, just as coarse.

He brought you back to reality as his deep voice smothered all your senses. “C’mon then. I’m gonna show ya my favorite restaurant. It’s jus’ bout a ten minute walk from here. Not too far.”

And then he was leading you out of the massive auditorium and out of the theater, stepping into the chilled breezy evening as the wind howled and the orange leaves blew across the busy road.

It didn’t take you long to get to the restaurant. Matter of fact, it took no time at all as Joel was easy with conversations. Something that came naturally to him. You weren’t usually the best talker, but with him it was different. It was simple, just like a walk in the park. It was unforced, carefree, and casual. You never felt like this with anyone else which was strange, but you’d take it. Because every minute you spent with Joel, the more you liked him. The more you wanted to be around him. The more your insides burned for him.

Once you were inside, a waiter led you to a back booth. Joel took one side and you took the other, sitting back into the black cushion as your hands went to the menu the waiter placed out for you. He took your drink orders and left the two of you alone.

As you looked around, you took in the laid-back, quiet ambience of the restaurant. A single white rose adorned each table, the chiffon curtains draped over the lavish tall windows, and soft music played over the speakers faintly. It smelled like garlic bread and serenading pasta in here, making the inside of your mouth water with hunger. The back booth that you sat at was a little private as no one sat around you. The restaurant was quiet, peaceful as the dinner rush had not yet entered. Giving you the perfect opportunity to talk to Joel without the weight of a loud crowd or overstimulating environment.

As you looked over the luxurious menu, you could feel Joel’s eyes on you, suddenly averting your gaze from the jumbled words on the page.

“Know what ya want?” he asked coolly.

You quickly scanned the menu and decided on the first thing that popped out at you. “Think I’m gonna go with the chicken Alfredo pasta.” Your go to always.

“Not a bad choice,” he nodded.

When the waiter came back, Joel ordered for you, telling the waiter you’d have the chicken Alfredo pasta and he’d have the classic Italian spaghetti. The waiter left a basket of fresh garlic bread in the center of the table before heading off and placing your order. It smelled amazing as the warm buttery scent wafted through your senses.

You reached out and grabbed a hot piece and sunk your teeth into it, quickly devouring it as the melty goodness ran down your throat. You held in a moan as the taste hit you hard, pulling at that hunger that had been attached to you all day.

“This is the best bread I’ve ever tasted,” you gushed, taking another bite without wasting time.

“Glad ya like it,” he said with a smile that curved at the corners. One that could make you weak at the knees.

After you finished the first piece and sat in silence for a few moments, Joel spoke again. “So, tell me about yourself. You go to college out here?”

You looked up after wiping your hands on the crimson napkin, dabbing at the corners of your mouth. “I attended Juilliard. Just graduated a couple of years ago.”

“You went for dance I assume?” he asked with a raised brow.

“Mhm. They actually gave me a full ride after I submitted my audition and application to them. Guess they were impressed by me,” you said as you shrugged your shoulders.

Joel let out a low whistle, leaning back in his seat to take a better look at you. “Full ride, huh? Impressive,” he said with awe. “And ‘course they were impressed. I mean, look at ya. The way ya dance says it all. And not to mention you’re easy on the eyes,” he said lowly as his coffee colored eyes flicked over your face, making your cheeks burn as you simmered in his presence.

You pulled back a lock of hair behind your ear and fidgeted in your seat, suddenly a nervous wreck again from the smolder he was giving off. Making your insides complete jelly. “Oh, uhhh, thanks,” you said shyly.

“You always know that’s what ya wanted to do? To dance?” he asked as he leaned his elbows against the table, placing his hands under his chin so he could give you his full attention. You gulped at the sight.

“My parents said I was dancing before I even learned to talk. They put me in some classes after I learned to walk, and I never looked back since. That’s what I love,” you said knowingly.

He gave you a small nod and continued staring at you, making you that much more nervous. Before he could ask you anything else, you threw a question in. Wanting to know about him.

“What about you? You aren’t from around here are you? Not with that southern accent you have. Where are you from?” you asked curiously.

“Austin, Texas,” he said with a thick accent coming off the s.

You nodded in response. You should’ve guessed that. Of course he was. How could you not hear it in that sultry southern accent?

“And what on earth made you move from Texas to New York? That’s quite the change,” you said questionably, observing his stature as he sat up just the tiniest bit straighter before he spoke.

“I found some high paying contract jobs up here and couldn’t pass ‘em up. Money was too good. Thought a change of scenery might do me some good too. Been in Texas all my life, wanted to see what else was out there.”

Made sense. “And now you’re working for the theater?” you asked with raised eyebrows. Questioning his choice in work.

“Stumbled upon them from a client of mine. Said they were lookin’ for someone to help keep the theater in one piece. Always needin’ something fixed. And the pay and benefits were worth it. So now I just do contract work on the side. Keeps me busy, but that’s how I prefer it,” he said straightforward as he took a swig of his water and sat back against the booth seat.

“I see. Well, I’m…” You stopped yourself from what you were about to say, biting your tongue as you felt the tinge of blood run down the back of your throat.

He raised an eyebrow and kinked his neck while his honey eyes bore into you. Making you gulp at the sight. “Well, go on. Finish your sentence,” he urged.

You took a breath and finished what you were holding back. “I’m glad you decided to come to New York.”

“And why’s that?” he asked as he leaned forward, elbows going on the table, and eyes growing darker. Making something stir deep inside you.

You leaned forward as well, digging your fingers into the cushioned material, getting a grip on yourself. “Because I met you…” you whispered bravely, staring up into those dark eyes that turned a bit more primal but yet stayed soft. Triggering heat inside your legs.

The waiter interrupted the tense moment and placed the food on the table, quickly disappearing once again. The suspense ended as you looked down at the glorious plate of food that sat in front of you. Carbs galore. Exactly what you were craving.

You didn’t waste a second as you dug your fork into the creamy noodles, scooping up a large amount and shoving into your mouth. You nearly moaned at the taste as the marinated noodles slid down your throat, the Alfredo sauce setting off all your taste buds into a frenzy. You scooped up more and pushed another fork full into your mouth, almost forgetting Joel was right in front of you.

You nearly coughed up your food as you looked up to see him watching you carefully, an amused look on his face. He wasn’t even touching his food yet. He was just sitting there watching you closely, while a noodle was hanging out of your mouth.

How embarrassing.

You quickly swallowed the noodles and wiped your mouth with your napkin, making sure there was no sauce left on your face. You were mortified at what he just saw. He probably thought you had no table manners. Christ. You did not want to give off a bad impression to him.

“Sorry, I got a little carried away. The food is absolutely sensational,” you stated quickly as your cheeks burned bright red.

He laughed a little at your hurried apology, his eyes glowing brightly as he watched you. “No need to apologize, sunshine. Glad ya like the food.”

There it was. That nickname. Sunshine. The one that pulled at your heartstrings and made you want to shriek with admiration.

God, he got you good.

Something shifted in his eyes as he watched you twirl the spoon in the bowl full of steaming noodles. A concerned, caring look. He leaned forward again and concentrated on your facial features.

“They’re starving you, aren’t they?” he asked with fleeting brown eyes, carefully registering your hesitation to the question.

“What? Well, I wouldn’t quite say it that way…” you said too quietly, digging your fork into a cooked piece of chicken.

“Don’t lie to me, sunshine,” he warned, a serious look glossing over his eyes, causing them to grow darker.

“They…well, they don’t really let me have breaks often when I’m at the theater. And by the time I do get to the break room, someone has already thrown my food out…”

He didn’t like that answer. Not one bit. You saw his jaw clench and his lip twinge, watching as the veins in his neck bulge.

Oh, no. He wasn’t just mad. He was furious.

He leaned all his weight into the table, leaning forward so you could look him straight in the eyes, making it known that he wanted you to pay attention. “From now on you leave your lunches with me. And you will have breaks,” he said with gritted teeth.

You gasped at the force in his voice, the way he was making it known that you would be taken care of. You were swooning then, loving how protective he was being.

“But Carlotta, she doesn’t let me…”

He cut you off quick. “I don’t give a fuck what she says,” he growled, nostrils flaring as his breath came out ragged. “You will eat and you will have breaks. I’ll make damn sure of that,” he promised with a thick, deep tone as his dark eyes penetrated straight through your walls, sending you into a spiral of overdrive. “Okay?”

“Okay…” you whispered. Slowly watching as his brooding eyes turn into softer chestnut colored eyes.

“Alright, well go on and eat. Don’t want your food gettin’ cold on ya.”

He was being so dominant. Dare you say even primal which sent a shot of warmth in between your thighs, making you squeeze your legs shut at the growing arousal that was building.

He was being so vigilant with you, so careful. You just couldn’t wrap your mind that this was actually happening. That he was happening. That he cared that much about what happened to you. This was all you ever wanted. He was what you needed. A protective, overbearing, gallant man. He was exactly what you pictured in your mind over the years. And it was happening.

This was happening.

You went back to eating your pasta, making sure you took slower bites, trying to savour the rich flavor in your watering mouth. You made sure to look up every few seconds to watch Joel down his spaghetti, watch as he twirled the long strings of noodles with his fork, trying not to drool at the way he was wiping the corner of his mouth with his thumb. Gaping at the way he licked his fingers clean from the red sauce. Wishing that those fingers were your own.

You didn’t realize you were staring until he cleared his throat, lurching you out of your mind numbing thoughts of the brooding man that sat in front of you. He smiled gently, the corners of his mouth crinkling up as he focused on you. Only you.

“How old are ya, sweetheart?” he asked with charm in his voice, a lilt that could hum you to sleep.

“25,” you answered as you smoothed a lock of hair behind your ear nervously. “And you? How old are you?” you asked with your ears practically perked up.

“How old do ya think I am?” he asked as he tilted his head in curiosity.

You slowly studied his features, gathering as much information as you could before you guessed a wrong number. You carefully examined him as if you were drinking him in. Taking in his sensuous big lips, going over the slight wrinkles that lined his forehead when he was tense or angry, holding yourself back from running your hands through his thick, tousled dark curls, lingering on the scruff that lined his jaw, noticing the patchy grey areas along his hair. Gazing over his calm, collected composure. Fixing your sight on those warm, inviting deep brown eyes that pulled you in. Nearly losing yourself in the way his bulky arms were clinging against his denim button up.

And then you made your assumption, finally feeling confident enough to guess an age. “38,” you said with finality in your voice.

“Good guess, but you’re wrong. I just turned 40,” he said with a smirk, leaning up against the side of the booth.

“Ahh. I was close enough,” you laughed quietly.

40 huh? The perfect age. Only 15 years older than you. And you were perfectly fine with that. You were always attracted to the older men. The way they were more experienced, knew what they wanted, were more confident, sophisticated, protective, handsome…

“That don’t bother ya now, does it? That I’m a little older?” he asked with concern flashing in his dark eyes.

“Not at all,” you said with a laugh, giving him your best smile.

“Good,” he stated, relaxing his shoulders at the answer.

You twirled your fork around a lone noodle, getting up the courage to ask your next question. You peered back up at him and asked before you lost your nerve. “You’re not seeing anyone…are you?” you asked with a nervous stutter.

“Now if I was seein’ anyone, would I be taking ya to dinner?” he asked with a raised brow, a mischievous look playing at his features. Making you gulp at the way he was looking at you.

Taking you out? Was this a date? Holy…

“Oh, I mean…I wasn’t sure. You’re uhhh…you just seemed like the type of guy to have someone is all,” you shrugged, cursing yourself for being a blubbering mess around him.

He laughed at your response, apparently finding you humorous by the way you were talking. “No, I’m not seein’ anyone. Haven’t had someone in years,” he replied factually.

“Why not?” you asked timidly, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Guess I just didn’t find the right one,” he said matter of factly. But he was looking at you with such intensity that maybe he was insinuating that someone could be you. You gulped at the thought, your eyes going wide as you recomposed yourself.

“And yourself? Seein’ anyone?” he asked with a fixed gaze, twinging his lip as he waited for a response.

“No. Can’t say that I am.” You wanted to tell him that you were seeing someone. And that someone was him.

“A beautiful girl like you isn’t seein’ anyone? I see the way guys look at you. You could have anyone,” he stated, dropping his hand against the table, just slightly brushing against the outside of your hand, sending fire along your skin.

You laughed nervously and shook your head. “Guys don’t look at me like that.”

“Really? Cause I’m lookin’ at ya like that.”

You froze as his eyes flicked down to your lips and back into your eyes, fixing his stare on you. You swallowed trepidatiously and stared back at his burning gaze. Making you want to melt into those simmering eyes. He was the only man that mattered. The only one you wanted attention from. And you had his attention now.

The two of you continued dinner with flirtatious smiles and small talk about mutual hobbies and life in general. You probably stayed there for two hours, just losing yourself in conversation. When the waiter had come back, Joel paid for the check like the gentleman he was. You offered him some money to pay for your portion, but he declined. Saying a lady should never pay for her own meal.

He walked you back to your apartment which was only a couple of blocks from the theater. Joel walked on the outskirts of the curb, making sure you weren’t the closest one to the crowded street. He gently put his hand on the small of your back which sent goosebumps down the whole proximity of your arms, guiding you along back to your place.

The casual conversation continued as you carelessly let yourself relax around him. Fawning over how easy it was to talk to him. He told you about some of his goals in life, what he wanted to accomplish in the next five years and even told you about his daughter. Sarah was her name and she had just turned 18, just starting her first semester at Harvard which was impressive in itself. You should’ve known he was a parent. The way he was so overprotective should’ve said it all. Maybe you’d meet her one day. Assuming this was going in the way you wanted it to.

You finally made it to the dark blue front door of your apartment, stopping just before putting your hand on the handle and turning around to face Joel. “Thank you for today. Not just for the food. But also for defending me back at the theater.”

Joel looked carefully at you, a slight twinge in his upper lip as he moved a lock of hair behind your ear delicately. You leaned into his touch as his fingers trailed along your cheek, keeping his eyes fixed on you.

“It was nothing I wouldn’t do anything,” he said nonchalantly stepping even closer to you, crowding your space. You concentrated on keeping your breathing normal as your pulse picked up, alarming you of why he might be coming closer.

Was he going to kiss you?

He flicked his eyes over you languidly, stopping just short of where your lips curled up in a smile.

Oh my God, just do it already. Please. You were begging.

You bit your lip discreetly to stop the nerves that were racing through you. You counted to three in your head, trying to stop the pounding thoughts that were swirling through your head. Come on, Joel. Do it.

He looked like he was about to lean in, but instead he trailed his eyes back up to yours and gave you a tight smile. “Go get some rest, sunshine. I’ll see ya tomorrow.” He grazed his fingers underneath your chin and then turned to head back to his place. Leaving you with disappointment written all over your face.

You leaned your head back against the door and groaned. So close. He was so close. But that wasn’t enough. Not even close. You sighed and turned to unlock your door, stepping into the empty apartment that felt somewhat hollow now. You threw your keys against the kitchen counter and decided to get ready for bed. Pushing away the disappointment that was eating you alive.

That night you tossed and turned against your sheets, trying to get him out of your head, but it was no use. He was stuck like glue, a sticky substance that you couldn’t ever get rid of. When you finally got to sleep hours later, you dreamed of dark eyes and calloused hands encompassing you slowly.

-

The next day at the theater was different. Pierre didn’t do anything to make you mess up in practice. You got through every dance with him unscathed. You guessed Joel really got under his skin. Carlotta still made you run through the routines more than once, but it was tolerable. As long as Pierre wasn’t making you suffer, it’d be fine.

After getting done with one of your routines, you made your way to the side of the stage behind the crimson curtain so you could wait for your next dance. Taking a small rest between dances since you were not in this particular one.

As you rounded the corner, you came to a halt. There he was. The man with the tousled salt and pepper hair and broad shoulders stood feet from you. He was busy fixing up a broken board on one of the props for the show, using his rough hands to manhandle the jagged edges. Flexing his thick fingers around the wood, making his veins fully display across his massive arms.

You were biting your lip while you watched, pretending that it was your hips he was holding down and not the broken prop. He looked up from what he was working on and found your eyes, smiling gently with that sideways smirk you couldn’t get enough of.

He dropped what he was doing and put his full attention on you, taking a few steps in your direction. “Hi, sunshine,” he said in a low voice, making your insides quake against the sound.

“Hi,” you whispered, suddenly more nervous that you had ever been around him.

He trailed his eyes over your body, going from your tight swan bodice, down to your flowing, short see through skirt and over your white stockings that clung to your toned legs, ending at the polished, shiny ballet pointe shoes.

“You look nice today. That one of your costumes for the show?” he asked as he peered back up at you, taking another step towards you.

“Thanks, it’s part of Act 1, one of my main pieces,” you said nervously as you brushed back a flyaway strand of hair.

“Sure looks good on ya. Brings out the color of your eyes.”

Brings out of the color of your eyes? Okay, Cassanova. Keep talking.

“You think so?”

“Mhm,” he groaned with a low hum coming from his throat, making your toes curl in your tight shoes.

“What else?” you asked curiously.

“What else what?” he asked questioning you with the cock of his thick eyebrow.

“What else do you like about the dress?” you asked quietly, mustering up every ounce of courage you had.

“Hmmm,” he hummed, looking over you once more. Those dark eyes eating you alive.

“I like the way it matches your complexion, how it fits you perfectly.” He took another step closer, causing you to take a step back in response.

“What else?” you asked, pushing the limits as far as you could.

This time he took two steps, his eyes growing darker. That honey color turning into black colored coffee. “The way it hugs your curves in jus’ the right places. How the sheer skirt falls short against your thighs.”

He reached out a hand and trailed his fingers lightly over your hip, down to the top of your thigh. Making you gasp as he backed you up against a post, covered up by the crimson side curtain.

He took one step closer, and his tan work boots were toe to toe with your pointe shoes. He couldn’t get any closer. Not really. Not unless he leaned into you.

Please, you practically begged. Touch me.

“Anything else?” you asked in a trance like state, voice barely audible over the music that was playing on the stage.

He reached a hand up and brushed his fingers over your jaw, trailing it down to your chin, lifting your head where it was level with his mouth, making you inaudibly gasp at how close you were.

He smirked down at you, a smouldering, devilish smirk that could make you fall to your knees. It was that powerful. He was that powerful. He ran a calloused finger against your skin, torturing you with how intense he was looking at you. Making you want to pull his mouth to yours with how big and soft they looked.

“I like how the back of it laces up, how easy it’d be to slide on and off. How absolutely gorgeous you are right now…”

Oh.

He placed a hand on your hip, flexing his fingers against the smooth material. You could feel the burn of his calloused fingers through your dress, straight over your skin that was alight with arousal.

His other hand lifted your chin higher as he leaned in and ghosted his lips over yours, not quite touching but barely grazing the surface. Able to feel just how soft they really were.

“How easy I could do this,” he whispered as he moved his hand to the back of your neck, pulling you closer. So close. Almost fully contacting his lips. The tension was everywhere, encasing the air around you in a thick pool of arousal, fueling that chemistry, lighting a fire deep in your core.

“This what you want?” he asked with a low, raspy breath. That bedrooom voice returning in full force.

“Mhmm,” you moaned out, about to completely lose yourself in a pool of desire.

“Thought so,” he laughed, ghosting over you again, getting a hint of coffee breath from his mouth. Something you wanted to taste, drink down as you swallowed him whole.

“Joel…” you begged, grabbing a fistful of his plaid shirt, digging your fingers into him. Telling him exactly what you wanted.

“Sunshine,” he answered back with that low drawl, sending a wave of slick down your center.

He pulled your chin up again, this time not letting it fall. His pupils were blown out as his dark eyes stared at you, his eyes slowly going down to your lips, that primal desire flooding his features. Making you fucking feral for his touch. He trailed his thumb over your lower lip slowly, seductively. Teasing you in the best possible way.

He gazed into your eyes, so deep that you swore he could’ve seen right through you. Could’ve reached into your soul and taken every bit of you in that moment. And then he was moving his thumb down, leaving room for his own lips.

He flicked his eyes up to yours, asking you for approval before he put his lips on yours. You slowly nodded, giving him your full permission. A smouldering smirk ghosted over his mouth, and then he was leaning in, pulling at your hips and sinking you against his chest.

Before he could brush his lips against yours, you heard Carlotta scream in the auditorium. “Where is my swan? Get out here, you’re up! Hurry up now. We don’t have all day,” she yelled as her authoritative voice carried through the balcony, forcing Joel to stop in his tracks.

Damn it.

You internally groaned at how close Joel was, how close you were to getting exactly what you wanted. Until Carlotta ruined that moment completely.

“White swan!” she yelled again, this time her voice was more annoyed.

“Better go out there,” Joel whispered in a raspy voice. “They’re waiting,” he said quietly, still hooked around your hips, eyes devouring you.

You gulped and locked eyes with him. “You have to let me go first,” you said slowly, your breath coming out in waves.

“Oh. Right,” he said, fingers still digging into your side.

“Can someone please go find my swan? Time is being wasted!” she screamed at one of the other dancers, hearing their feet echo against the hard floor. Making you jump at the sound.

Joel slowly dropped his hand from you and took a step back, giving you room to breathe freely. Eyes still burning into you. Tempting you to go dance in the flames. You slowly backed up, drawing closer to the side opening to the stage, almost stepping into the light.

“Go knock ‘em dead, sunshine,” Joel whispered, making the floor feel like quicksand, threatening to take you under at any second.

You were still breathing heavy, eyes never leaving his, fingers flexing so hard against your skin you swore you were about to start feeling warm blood.

Once you stepped into the light Carlotta ripped into you. “Where have you been? I’ve been waiting!” She continued letting you have it, but you couldn’t hear her. Drowning out the distant screams to focus on the brooding man that stood feet away from you, still fixating his stare on you.

You turned and quickly apologized to Carlotta, getting into position to start your routine. Before the music started up, you turned your head slightly and peered up behind your long lashes, finding his gaze again.

And then the burn simmered over you. Scorching you alive.

There was nowhere to run or hide. Nowhere where you could kill the heat. It was too late. You were already consumed by the flames, doomed to incinerate to liquid. Branded by the man made of fire.