Summary: When a mission goes a bit sideways, you suddenly find yourself stuck with Din in a hideout that allows little to no movement, leaving you in a precarious situation - between his legs.
Warnings: +18, MDNI, took the locked room trope to its farthest edge, oral (m receiving), praising, the helmet stays on, forced orgasm if you squint?
A/N: this is the result of a trope survey I did, Din Djarin & locked room came in second. If you are interested in the others just follow the link.
wc: 4.8k
My Pedro-Character-Masterlist
This was… a predicament, to put it mildly.
You crouched inside a storage cavity that clearly had not been designed with a human occupant in mind - certainly not two of them. The narrow compartment smelled faintly of machine oil and old dust, the metal walls pressing close on every side as if the space itself resented your presence.
One person would have been uncomfortable.
Two was a logistical nightmare.
Especially when one of those people insisted on wearing an entire arsenal of beskar plates that stole what little room existed.
Every minor adjustment from Din Djarin produced the faint scrape of metal against durasteel.
You clenched your jaw.
“Would you hold still?” you hissed under your breath, trying to shift your position for the tenth time and failing just as miserably as before.
The helmet tilted slightly toward you.
“Quiet,” he shot back immediately, voice low and edged with the same irritation while looking down.
Very much down.
Because while the two of you had been sprinting through corridors trying to shake the men chasing you, this tiny hiding place had appeared during a frantic scan of the hallway. Without pausing to debate the idea, Din had grabbed you by the arm and shoved you inside.
He followed a heartbeat later.
The security panel had slid shut with a quiet thunk.
Only then had the reality of the situation become clear.
The space was barely large enough for one adult standing upright. With both of you inside, it became an exercise in awkward geometry.
Din stood with his back pressed firmly against the sealed panel. One armored arm braced against the wall in front of him, creating a makeshift support so he wouldn’t lose his balance in the cramped quarters.
At least he was standing.
You, on the other hand…
You lifted your gaze slowly.
From the floor.
From where you were kneeling.
Directly between his legs.
“Oh, don’t you dare tell me to be quiet,” you muttered sharply, craning your neck to glare up at the visor. “You’re the one who got us into this mess in the first place.”
Technically speaking, you were right.
Months of working together had built enough trust that when Din proposed the job, you hadn’t questioned it much.
An easy contract, he had said.
Quick entry. Quick exit. Minimal guards.
Simple.
Every single part of that description had turned out to be spectacularly wrong.
The artifact storage facility had recently made local news - something neither of you had learned about until far too late. Apparently publicity had inspired the owners to double their security.
What should have been a short operation had turned into a crawling nightmare.
Air vents.
Abandoned wastewater tunnels.
Forgotten maintenance corridors that hadn’t seen maintenance in decades.
The two of you had spent hours creeping through the guts of the building just to reach the prize.
Still, the effort hadn’t been wasted.
Your hand instinctively brushed your pocket.
Inside rested the object you’d come for: a Kyber Resonance Shard, a fractured piece of crystal rumored to hum faintly with residual energy when exposed to certain frequencies. Collectors paid absurd amounts for relics tied even distantly to the old Jedi traditions.
You had managed to lift it cleanly from its display.
Unfortunately, the display had also triggered a silent alarm.
Minutes later the corridors behind you had filled with guards.
Not just a few.
Dozens.
The careful stealth of the mission had evaporated instantly. Instead of sneaking out quietly, you had been forced to fight your way through the first wave and run before reinforcements sealed the building entirely.
That was when the plan changed.
Getting out immediately had become impossible.
But hiding?
Hiding might buy time.
Eventually the guards would assume you had escaped the facility entirely. Once the search widened outside, slipping away would be far easier.
At least, that had been the theory.
Which was how you ended up here.
Wedged inside a maintenance cavity barely wider than a locker.
Kneeling awkwardly on the floor.
Directly between the legs of a fully armored Mandalorian bounty hunter who filled most of the remaining space.
You tilted your head again to glare up at the dark visor hovering above you.
“Yes,” you muttered under your breath, “this was definitely your brilliant plan.”
“Maybe you should’ve listened when I told you the alarm might trigger,” Din Djarin muttered sharply above you, the words low and tight through the helmet’s modulator.
You snorted quietly.
“Helpful warning,” you whispered back. “Shame it arrived after I had already pocketed the shard.”
You shifted slightly on your heels, trying for the third time to relieve the pressure building in your legs. The cramped position forced your weight awkwardly onto your calves, and the metal floor beneath you was doing nothing to improve the situation.
Your muscles protested.
“Next time a meteor storm smashes into the Razor Crest,” you added dryly, “I’ll be sure to warn you afterward too.”
Din’s right foot nudged lightly against your leg.
You couldn’t tell whether the movement was meant as a quiet command to shut up - or simply an attempt for him to adjust his own balance in the ridiculous configuration the two of you had been forced into.
“If we get out of here,” you continued under your breath, shifting your weight again, “remind me to avoid any future jobs that involve stealing.”
The response came immediately.
“That from the master thief?” he said. Even without seeing his face, you could hear the faint crooked humor in his tone.
Months of working together had trained your ears well. You had learned to read the small inflections beneath the helmet’s mechanical filter. The subtle changes that meant he was smirking, even if the visor hid it completely.
You had seen that smirk before though.
More than once.
Because you have seen his face many times now.
The first time had been an accident - an unexpected glimpse of his face during a moment neither of you had planned.
The second had been necessity, when he’d taken a nasty hit and removing the helmet had been the only way to patch him up properly.
The third…
Well.
That had happened in the narrow bunk aboard the Razor Crest, sometime after both of you decided that surviving too many dangerous jobs together had earned you a more… relaxed way of blowing off steam.
Originally, the partnership had been strictly professional.
Lately, things had become a little more complicated.
“I wouldn’t mind switching back to bounty work,” you murmured, glancing up toward the dark visor. “You know I’m better at luring targets out than you are.”
A faint pause followed.
Then he replied quietly, “A little too good at it.” The final word slipped out in the soft cadence of Mando’a. “Mesh’la.”
Thankfully the darkness inside the cramped storage compartment hid the warmth that crept across your face.
You had never asked him exactly what the word meant.
Something affectionate, you suspected.
Something he said with an ease that made it feel… oddly intimate.
Even filtered through the helmet, the sound carried a certain weight.
“Don’t tell me you’re jealous, Din,” you whispered, voice tilting playfully. “Is that why you picked this miserable job? So I wouldn’t be flirting with half the galaxy while we worked?”
Your hand lifted almost absentmindedly, sliding along the side of his leg. The motion was half reassuring, half teasing as your fingers traced lightly over the armored plating before settling there.
“Focus,” he said quietly. But the word lacked its usual bite.
“Not much focusing I can do down here,” you replied softly. “We’re stuck waiting. Let me keep my sarcasm - it helps pass the time.”
Outside the sealed panel, the facility remained silent for the moment. No footsteps. No voices.
Still, both of you kept your voices low.
Better safe than discovered.
“You could start thinking about buyers,” Din said after a moment. “Once word spreads that the artifact disappeared from a secure facility, the list of interested collectors will shrink fast.”
You shrugged lightly, the movement barely noticeable in the cramped space.
“Let that be my headache.” He knew you would handle it. You always did. “You,” you added, glancing up again, “just focus on choosing our next job with a little more care.” A faint smirk crept into your voice. “I don’t mind spending time alone in a room with you,” you murmured. “But this setup? Less appealing.”
Your gaze lifted.
The visor angled down toward you.
“Think so? I can’t say the view is terrible.” There it was again - that invisible grin you had come to recognize.
Your hand, still resting on his shin, slid a little higher along his thigh. Your fingers tightened briefly in a light squeeze.
“Careful,” you murmured. “You know I like pushing my luck.”
“Focus,” he repeated again, though the command sounded slightly rougher now. “We need to be ready to move the second an opening appears.”
His tone still carried its usual seriousness. But there was something else hiding beneath it. A quiet thread of tension.
“I can focus just fine,” you said softly. “I’m practically meditating down here. Feeling like a damn Jedi.”
You shifted again, trying to relieve the ache building in your legs.
As you moved, you rolled your neck slightly -
- and accidentally brushed your head against his crotch.
The reaction was immediate.
Din shifted abruptly, a quiet hum escaping him through the modulator as he instinctively pulled back where little to no space was left.
You blinked, then slowly looked up. A wicked grin spread across your face.
“Well now,” you murmured, lips parting slightly. “Don’t tell me…” Your voice dropped to a playful whisper. “Din Djarin,” you teased, “are you actually getting turned on by this?”
You didn’t wait for an answer.
Instead your hand moved higher along his thigh, slipping beneath the edge of the segmented armor until your fingers found the softer resistance of the flight suit beneath. The fabric was warm from his body heat, taut where it stretched across muscle. You let your palm settle there for a moment - just long enough to confirm what your instincts had already guessed.
And there it was.
A slow, unmistakable firmness growing beneath your touch.
Your mouth curved slightly.
Well. That answered that.
“Cyar’ika…” Din’s voice dropped into a low rumble, the word dragged through the helmet’s modulator like a warning trying very hard to sound stern.
Except the tone betrayed him.
Half caution. Half something else entirely.
“What?” you murmured softly, fingers tightening through the fabric in a deliberate squeeze that completely contradicted the innocence of your question. “Should I stop?”
His breath caught.
“This is not the place,” he said, words slightly uneven now, “and definitely not the time.”
A faint inhale followed, sharp enough that he nearly stumbled over the last part of the sentence.
“Seems to me we’ve got plenty of time to kill,” you whispered.
Your hand didn’t slow.
If anything, the motion became more deliberate - testing, exploring his length through the layers of fabric while your eyes stayed locked on the dark visor above you.
Whatever sharp retort had been forming died instantly when your curious squeeze shifted into a slow, teasing stroke.
Din’s helmet tipped back against the wall behind him with a muted klonk. The hand braced against the opposite surface tightened, his fingers curling slowly into a fist as if he needed the pressure to steady himself.
“You really shouldn’t…” he muttered.
But the growl beneath the words lacked conviction.
It sounded less like a warning directed at you and more like something he was trying to remind himself.
Meanwhile your hand had already found the seam of the flight suit.
You slipped beneath it.
The moment your fingers brushed bare skin, Din’s hips shifted instinctively against your touch. A quiet roll forward.
A reaction he clearly hadn’t intended.
“You keep watch,” you suggested lightly, your voice barely louder than a breath, “I’ll keep you entertained.”
Your fingers wrapped fully around his cock now.
The muffled sound that escaped the helmet in response sent a small thrill down your spine.
You had seen Din without the helmet before. You knew the expressions he tried so carefully to hide from the rest of the galaxy - the tightening of his jaw, the way his eyes darkened when you touched him just right.
But this?
This was different.
With the helmet still firmly in place, you couldn’t rely on facial cues at all.
Instead you found yourself reading the language of his body.
Every small shift of muscle.
Every subtle change in the way he held himself above you.
The signals were clearer than he probably realized.
And right now they were telling you that you were very much on the right track.
His length twitched faintly in your grasp.
Yes.
Definitely the right track.
“You’re being reckless,” Din whispered after a moment, his head tilting slightly as if he was still trying to listen for sounds in the hallway beyond the hidden compartment.
“This entire mission has been reckless,” you replied with a quiet smirk. “I’m just staying consistent.”
Your hand moved again.
With a practiced motion you eased him free from the remaining fabric, the flight suit sliding aside just enough to reveal his length completely.
Especially from your low position you couldn’t help the brief flicker of appreciation that crossed your mind as he stood towering above you.
Your legs had been aching moments ago from the cramped kneeling position.
Now the discomfort barely registered.
You shifted slightly, adjusting your posture so you were better aligned with his cock in front of your face. Your gaze traveled upward for a moment before settling again on the task at hand.
Almost unconsciously, you wet your lips.
Your hand gave him a few slow strokes, deliberate and unhurried.
“You should stop,” he hissed quietly.
You smiled faintly.
“I haven’t even started yet.”
Leaning forward, you pressed a soft, almost reverent kiss against the soft skin of his tip.
The thing was, you had never been particularly patient. The teasing kisses you had started with didn’t stay gentle for long. As you closed your lips around his tip you could feel a tension coiling through Din’s entire body and you could hear the change in his breathing.
The quiet restraint he usually carried with such discipline began to slip. A low sound escaped him - muted by the helmet but unmistakable.
Above you, his free hand found your hair. Just threading through the strands in slow strokes that felt almost absentminded, as if he was grounding himself in the sensation. The movement sent a clear enough signal on its own.
You were doing exactly what he wanted, that he did not want you to stop at all.
Encouraged, you took him in deeper, the tight space forcing you to adjust carefully as your tongue circled his soft skin. Din’s hand moved from the side of your head to the back of it as you leaned in further, the grip tightening just slightly as instinct took over.
For a moment the two of you went completely still.
The closeness of the compartment left almost no room for movement anyway. The faint hum of machinery somewhere inside the walls vibrated through the metal around you while you both adjusted to the new position.
Din’s breath hitched again.
“Mesh’la…” The word slipped out rougher this time, dragged low through the modulator as he looked down at you. The dark visor tilted slightly, studying you in the dim light filtering through the vent.
“You look… perfect like this.”
The praise landed like a spark and a shiver ran through you.
Your hand slid higher along his thigh to steady yourself while the other braced against the wall behind you. Slowly you began to move your head, careful in the cramped space, finding a rhythm that worked despite the awkward positioning.
You slowly started to move your head, taking him in just an inch more before rolling back, catching a breath. Spit glistened on your lips and his soft skin, even in the shady dark light of this makeshift hideout, the air inside the compartment growing thick and humid as the seconds stretched.
Your own pulse had begun to race now and heat coiled low in your stomach. You could feel the wetness between your legs growing although he did not even touch you fully.
It was almost frustrating to realize there would be no space for him to return the favor here - not with the two of you wedged together in a compartment barely big enough to breathe in. Not to speak of the lurking danger outside.
But you had no doubt, the moment you made it back to the Crest, he would remember exactly how to repay you. And different to now he would take his time with you.
For now though, the focus was entirely on him.
Din’s grip tightened slightly in your hair as you relaxed your jaw just a bit more, to take him up to the hilt. Before you could settle fully into your pace, he guided you forward with a firm pressure at the back of your head, pulling you closer with a sudden urgency that stole your breath for a moment.
“You take me so well,” he murmured. The words vibrated through the helmet’s modulator, sending another shiver down your spine. Your lungs protested briefly at the fullness, but your mind was far too focused on the effect you were having on him to care much about that.
Just before the pressure became too much he eased the hold, letting you pull back enough to breathe again.
You inhaled deeply before leaning in once more, eyes slipping closed as you focused on the rhythm he gave you. Your fingers curled into the fabric of his flight suit for balance as you let your tongue explore his full length, feeling every vein and twitch. He felt impossibly hard now and you longed for the moment back on the ship when he would bury himself in you, hips rolling in that infuriating slowness he always used to bring you closer and closer to the edge.
Above you, Din’s movements became less controlled now. The subtle tension running through his body and the twitching of his cock told you everything you needed to know.
“I’m almost there, cyar’ika,” he breathed quietly. Then his helmet tilted downward again. “Look at me.”
You obeyed immediately, lifting your gaze to the dark visor looming above you. Your jaw softened slightly, preparing yourself for the moment -
- but suddenly he froze.
Every muscle in his body went rigid.
A sound echoed faintly from the hallway beyond the hidden compartment.
Footsteps, distant enough but approaching.
The situation became instantly absurd.
You were kneeling in a cramped maintenance cavity, his cock buried deep in your throat, both of you frozen in complete silence while someone walked somewhere nearby beyond the sealed panel.
Din held himself perfectly still, his grip tightening in your hair in a silent command to stop. To wait.
You felt it.
You understood it.
You ignored it. Your tongue moved again in a teasing flick against his underside and his throb told you how he ached for the sweet release. A strangled hiss slipped through the modulator.
The footsteps grew slightly louder as they passed somewhere down the corridor.
Din’s fingers clenched in warning. Not yet pulling you away, but very clearly telling you to behave.
You didn’t.
Your hands slid around the backs of his thighs instead, gripping firmly just beneath the curve of his backside. Then you pulled him closer, deeper, stealing your own breath, all while keeping your gaze fixed on him.
That was all it took.
Din’s head fell back against the wall with a silent thud as the tension snapped.
The insulation of the compartment and the distant machinery thankfully swallowed most of the sound. Outside, the footsteps continued past without slowing.
Inside, you had no choice but to hold steady as the wave finally broke and he spilled into your mouth, his warm cum coating the back of your throat and dripping down.
True to his earlier command, you kept your eyes lifted to the visor above you as you swallowed around his cock, taking every drop of him.
His fingers dug sharply into your hair now, the pressure almost painful as he fought to stay quiet through the release that rolled through him.
The footsteps faded down the corridor.
Only once the silence returned did Din finally exhale.
The breath came out slow and shaky.
After a moment he carefully pulled his still hardened length away, the movement making his tip bump lightly against your lips as he straightened.
“You…” he muttered, voice still rough. “…are an absolute menace.”
You leaned back slightly, licking the corners of your mouth before flashing him a satisfied grin.
“Happy to be of service.” You gave him a small, mocking nod.
With practiced hands you helped Din straighten himself back into the flight suit, smoothing the fabric into place before giving the front of it a light, almost condescending pat.
“Good as new,” you murmured under your breath.
The grip he had held in your hair finally loosened. Instead of the sharp hold from moments ago, his fingers slid through the strands in slow strokes, brushing your scalp before drifting down along the side of your face, tilting your face upwards by the chin. The gesture carried none of the urgency from earlier - just quiet warmth.
“We’re going to have a conversation about your sense of risk assessment once we’re back on the ship,” he said after a moment. Even through the helmet you could hear the grin in his voice. “Can’t take you anywhere.”
“Speaking of taking me places,” you said, nodding toward the sealed panel behind him, “you think things have cooled down out there yet?”
“I certainly have,” he replied dryly. The helmet tilted slightly as he listened for a moment, the faint sounds of the facility humming through the walls around you. “Seems quiet enough. Might be our best window.”
He glanced down toward you.
“Can you get it open again?”
Your lockpicking kit was still tucked safely in your pocket. After all, the panel had sealed itself automatically once you had picked it the first time and Din had shoved you inside. Your part of the job hadn’t exactly ended when the door closed.
You pulled the tools free with a quiet clink.
“What exactly are you contributing to this mission again?” you asked with a crooked grin.
Din awkwardly stepped over you in the tight compartment so you could shift forward, bracing yourself on your knees while you reached the panel controls.
“Because as far as I remember,” you continued, sliding the picks into place, “I handled the theft, the lockpicking, and the tension relief.”
Behind you he shifted his weight against the opposite wall.
“I’m making sure no one stands between us and the ship so I can repay you,” he replied calmly.
The panel hissed softly as the locking mechanism disengaged beneath your tools.
He leaned closer.
“Now hurry up,” he added quietly, “before I make you.”
You didn’t need further encouragement. You scrambled to your feet quickly - only to wobble immediately as your legs protested the long minutes spent kneeling.
Pins and needles shot through your calves.
“Stars,” you muttered, shaking them out. “Did the Jedi deal with this kind of thing all the time?”
Din didn’t slow.
“Less talking,” he said simply. His hand closed around your wrist and pulled you forward down the corridor. “More moving.”
Waiting had been the right call.
The frantic security sweep from earlier had thinned considerably. Most of the guards had clearly moved their search elsewhere by now, likely assuming you had already slipped off the premises.
Still, the path back to the exit wasn’t completely empty.
Twice you had to flatten yourselves against shadowed corners as patrols passed nearby.
Twice Din handled the problem when stealth alone wasn’t enough.
Before long the familiar shape of the Razor Crest appeared waiting at the edge of the landing platform like an old friend.
You sprinted the final stretch. By the time the ramp lowered you were already breathing hard.
Din reached the cockpit first, vaulting into the pilot’s seat as the startup sequence flared to life across the control panels.
You stumbled up into the cockpit seconds later and dropped into the copilot chair beside him, chest still rising and falling as you tried to catch your breath.
But the grin on your face refused to fade.
From your pocket you produced the prize.
The Kyber Resonance Shard caught the cockpit lights as you tossed it lightly into the air and caught it again.
“Well,” you said, leaning back slightly as the engines hummed louder beneath your feet, “that was an experience.”
You flipped the shard once more.
Din said nothing. His gloved hands moved across the controls with steady precision, initiating the final departure sequence.
The ship lifted smoothly from the platform.
You glanced sideways at him.
“What do you think this thing will sell for?” you asked, turning the crystal between your fingers.
Still nothing.
A small flicker of unease crept into your thoughts. Had you pushed too far earlier?
You cleared your throat. “Maybe we should take more breaking-and-entering jobs,” you added casually.
You tossed the shard again -
- but this time Din’s hand shot out and caught it midair before you could.
The motion was so quick it left you blinking.
Without looking at you, he engaged the hyperdrive controls with his other hand. The Crest lurched gently as it entered hyperspace, the blue tunnel of stars stretching across the viewport.
Din turned the crystal over once in his hand. Then set it on the console. Only after that did he rise from the pilot’s seat. His broad silhouette loomed over you.
“Bunk,” he said.
Just one word.
No humor left in it.
The tone wasn’t angry.
But it was unmistakably an order.
And stars help you - you obeyed it eagerly.
You were out of the copilot seat in a heartbeat, heading down the narrow corridor toward the sleeping quarters.
Behind you, heavy footsteps followed.
You reached the bunk and climbed inside just as the familiar sound echoed through the small cabin -
The quiet hiss of a helmet seal disengaging.
Your grin widened.
Propping yourself up on your elbows, you stretched out on the mattress and looked toward the doorway with open anticipation.
You had worked with Din long enough to know exactly how this was going to end.
Today, for my first time writing in months I have spilled out 6k+ words of Roman Roy smut and the smut hasn’t started yet so this is going to be a chunky 10k+ slowburn.
Any Roman fans on the blog? Succession fandom are we alive?
husband joel who pretends he finds the christmas movies you want to watch cheesy, but when the two of you watch the grinch and his heart grows, suddenly he has something in his eye and decided to refill the hot chocolates.
husband joel who absolutely melts when you wear a christmas babydoll for him, rolling you over onto your belly and spreading open your pretty legs. and he’s so fucking deep when he fucks you, maybe even pulling you up onto your knees against his chest and telling you how fucking crazy you drive him. “look at you, so fuckin’ perfect in your lace. ya drive me outta m’goddamn mind. perfect lil christmas gift.”
husband joel who insists he will NOT be participating in matching christmas pyjamas but when you buy them and hold them up to him with such puppy dog eyes, he finally caves and agrees to wear just the bottoms.
husband joel who is completely useless with cooking but surprisingly gifted when it comes to making the perfect turkey and is always the one to take to christmas dinner with the family.
husband joel who although claims to not like “all that corny christmas crap” will still kiss you under the mistletoe even if it is at his mothers house. joel isn’t much of a PDA kind of guy but when it comes to old fashioned traditions, he just can’t resist.
husband joel who is so damn sheepish when he watches you open the gifts he bought you for christmas. all “it’s nothin’. if ya wanna return it, that’s okay.” but then the present proceeds to be the best one you’ve ever received. he also insists on you opening your presents in his lap, having you sit tucked against his chest all comfortable while he rubs your hip and grumbles about how damn hard it was to wrap the fuckin’ thing. resting his chin on your shoulder and kissing your neck and ear when you get exited about a present.
husband joel who gets all clingy and smiley when tipsy on christmas night and extra touchy. he’ll loop his arms around your waist and sway you around while you are mid conversation with his mother and maybe he’ll have to give tommy the finger for making some kind of joke about how soft he’s gotten.
husband joel who wakes you up on christmas morning with his head between your thighs. and god he’s just sucking your clit so deliciously. maybe he’ll even trail his tongue down to your asshole a little and lap up your juices that have spilled down there. he’ll mumble the most lovingly “merry christmas, baby girl,” into your pussy too, his hands so gentle on your thighs because your heads just so hazy from him and sleep.
husband joel who makes love to you on christmas night. not fucking you, but worshipping you. taking his time on kissing your whole body and maybe even paying attention to those peaked little nipples of yours. just teasing and toying with you until your dripping. then he’ll climb on top of you and push in so gently yet bottoming out in flash. oh and he’ll make sure he gets that spot and rubs your clit too just right. his words so gentle too. “that’s it, honey, there ya go. eyes on me, right up here. look at me when i make you feel good, sweet girl.”
summary: back home for the summer, a getaway to a beach resort takes an unexpected turn when you cross a line with Joel—your dad’s best friend.
warnings: age gap, kind of mean joel, loss of virginity, unprotected sex, oral sex (f receiving), size kink (?, innocence kink, pet names, fluff at the end.
wc: 7.7k
read the second part here!<3
You're back from college just for the summer, and Dad had the great idea to plan a little getaway—a few days at a beach resort. Sun, sand, and overpriced cocktails. It sounded nice. Relaxing, even.
You’d already been home for a few days, not doing much. Helping Dad with a few things for work when he asked, watering the plants out front in the warm afternoon sun, taking long walks just to pass the time. It wasn’t bad, but it wasn’t exactly exciting either. So when he mentioned the trip, you figured—why not?
That is, until Dad dropped the bomb: he had invited Joel Miller.
Yeah. That Joel Miller. His best friend. The man who has lived across the street for as long as you can remember. The same Joel Miller you've spent years exchanging sarcastic remarks with, toeing the line between playful and downright rude, though neither of you has ever seemed to mind.
He's always been quick with a dry remark, and you've never been one to back down. If he calls you a pain in the ass, you call him old and grumpy. If you roll your eyes at something he says, he just smirks and shakes his head like you're some bratty kid he barely tolerates. It's been the same for years.
But now, thanks to Dad's brilliant idea, you're stuck in a beach resort with him for the next few days. And if the way Joel had looked at you when Dad announced the trip was any indication, he wasn't exactly thrilled about it either.
The sun was beating down, the scent of salt thick in the air as you stretched out on the lounge chair by the pool. The resort was nice, you'd give your dad that much. Fancy as hell, the kind of place that served cocktails in coconuts and had a little island bar just across the pool.
"Want a cocktail, sweetheart?" your dad asked, already pushing himself up from his seat.
"Yeah, something fruity," you replied, lazily adjusting your sunglasses.
He nodded, making his way toward the island bar, leaving you alone—well, almost.
Joel was still there, sitting in the chair beside you, one arm slung over the back, legs stretched out like he owned the damn place. You could feel his eyes on you before you even looked. A slow, deliberate gaze, sweeping over your body in a way that made heat rise up your neck. He didn't even try to be subtle about it.
Your bikini wasn't anything crazy, but that didn't stop his eyes from trailing along the curve of your hips, how the slopes of your breasts pump over the bra, the length of your legs, lingering just a little too long in places he had no business looking.
You huffed out a laugh, tilting your head toward him. "Close your mouth, Miller. You'll let the flies in."
Joel's gaze flicked up to yours, unbothered, amused even. A smirk pulled at his lips as he dragged his tongue along his teeth. "Hell," he muttered, shaking his head. "When did you grow up?"
You rolled your eyes, ignoring the way your stomach twisted at the way he said it—low, gruff, like he was realizing it for the first time.
"Go get in the pool, old man," you teased, sinking further into your chair. "Before you get heatstroke."
Joel just chuckled, but you caught the way his gaze dipped again before he looked away, like he wasn't quite done looking yet.
The afternoon sun hung high in the sky, warming your skin as you lounged back on the chair, toes buried in the hot sand. The sound of waves crashing against the shore filled the air, mixed with the distant laughter of resort guests. A few feet ahead, your dad and Joel were waist-deep in the ocean, letting the waves push them around like kids.
You had no interest in joining them. The water looked nice, sure, but you were perfectly content where you were—stretched out, the salty breeze cooling the heat clinging to your skin.
That was, until your dad decided otherwise.
"Come on, sweetheart," he called, waving you over. "The water's perfect!"
"I'm fine," you replied, lifting your sunglasses just enough to glare at him.
But your dad wasn't having it. He waded closer to shore, hands on his hips like he was about to give you a whole speech on making the most of the trip. "Just for a bit," he pushed, eyes glinting with challenge. "Don't tell me you came all the way here just to sunbathe."
You sighed, knowing there was no getting out of it. With a dramatic groan, you stood, stretching just enough to feel Joel's eyes flicker toward you. If he had been watching before, he sure as hell was now.
The moment your feet hit the water, you shivered. It was cooler than you expected, the waves gentle at first—until they weren't.
A swell came up fast, knocking you off balance. You barely had time to react before the water dragged you under, flipping you over itself like a rag doll. You sputtered as you resurfaced, coughing up saltwater while your dad laughed at your misery.
Joel, on the other hand, wasn't laughing—at least, not in the same way. He was watching. Closely. The way the water clung to your skin, the way the wet sand stuck to your thighs, your stomach, the soft curve of your ass before the next wave washed it away.
You felt his stare even before you met his gaze. Dark, unreadable, something flickering in those brown eyes that made your stomach twist.
"Enjoying the show, Miller?" you teased, brushing wet hair from your face.
Joel just smirked, slow and lazy, eyes dragging over you one last time before he glanced away. "Just surprised you didn't drown," he shot back. "Thought I'd have to come save you."
You rolled your eyes, kicking up a splash of water in his direction. "Keep dreaming."
But as you turned away, you could still feel his gaze lingering, heavy and deliberate.
Dinner was nice. The three of you sat at one of the resort's restaurants, the warm glow of candlelight flickering against the polished wood of the table. The food was good, the conversation easy—your dad did most of the talking, as usual.
Joel was quieter than normal, but not in a bad way. He just... watched. Not in a creepy way, not at all, just with that same quiet intensity he always carried. Like he was trying to figure something out, intrigued in a way he wasn't used to. His eyes lingered, scanning your face, the curve of your wrist as you lifted your glass, the way you tucked your hair behind your ear.
You tried not to let it get to you.
After dinner, as the plates were being cleared, your dad leaned back in his chair, giving you a pointed look. "You going out to the bar or anything tonight?"
You shrugged. "Maybe."
"You should," he said, nodding as if he had just made up your mind for you. "It'd be good for you. Get your mind off all that college stress, let loose a little."
You huffed a small laugh, shaking your head. "You're not wrong," you admitted. "Maybe I will."
Your dad seemed satisfied with that answer, and soon after, the three of you parted ways for the night.
Back in your room, you hesitated.
The truth was, you weren't exactly the kind of person who let loose easily. You had always been more on the reserved side, quiet, the kind of person who didn't make friends easily. College hadn't changed that. Sure, you had acquaintances, classmates you talked to in passing, but you weren't the type to go out partying every weekend, to dance on tables or laugh too loud in crowded bars.
But tonight... tonight you wanted to try.
You took a deep breath and started getting ready.
A simple dress, short but not vulgar, hugging your body in all the right ways. Nothing too much, nothing over the top—just enough to feel different, to feel good.
The bar was livelier than you expected. Warm lighting, the low hum of conversation mixing with the soft melody of live music playing in the background. Groups of people filled the space, laughing, clinking glasses, bodies swaying near the small dance floor.
You hesitated at the entrance, suddenly hyperaware of how alone you were.
It wasn't like you expected to know anyone, but standing there, watching clusters of friends and couples, you felt out of place. Maybe this had been a bad idea. Maybe you should just turn around, head back to your room, and pretend you never even—
No.
You squared your shoulders and walked toward the bar, slipping onto an empty stool.
The bartender greeted you with an easy smile. "What can I get you?"
"Um," you said, trying to sound more confident than you felt. "A margarita, please."
A few minutes later, a glass was placed in front of you. You thanked him, wrapping your fingers around the cool surface, but when you lifted it to take a sip, you hesitated.
Drinking alone felt... weird.
You glanced around, watching people chatting in groups, leaning into each other with familiarity. No one else seemed to be alone. It made you shrink into yourself a little, embarrassment creeping up your neck.
Still, you took a sip.
You were halfway through your drink when someone slid into the empty seat beside you.
"Can I get a whiskey?" the man asked the bartender before turning his attention to you.
You tensed slightly as his gaze swept over you, taking you in. He was tall, dark-haired, dressed in a loose button-up that clung to his frame just enough to suggest he took care of himself.
"You here alone?" he asked, voice smooth, casual.
You hesitated, fingers tightening slightly around your glass. "Yeah."
He nodded, ordering his drink before looking back at you. "First night here?"
You shook your head. "Got here earlier."
His lips quirked in an easy smile. "That so? Well, I'm glad I ran into you."
The conversation flowed easily, helped by the soft buzz of alcohol warming your veins. He asked about you—what you were studying, how long you were back for—and you answered, telling him about college, about coming home for the summer. He listened with genuine interest, nodding along as he sipped his drink. In return, he told you about his job, something business-related, though you were too distracted by the way his voice dipped, the way his fingers toyed with the rim of his glass, to really focus on the details.
At some point, he ordered you another drink. You hesitated, just for a second, but then nodded, letting yourself relax just a little more.
You weren't used to this—being approached, being the center of someone's attention—but it was... nice. Different.
And when he extended a hand, his eyes warm with invitation, you didn't think twice before taking it.
The music was low, sultry, a slow rhythm that thrummed through your chest as he led you to the dance floor. You moved together easily, the alcohol making you lighter, more willing. His hands found your waist, firm but not forceful, pulling you in just a little closer. The heat of his palms burned through the thin fabric of your dress, and you swallowed hard, suddenly aware of just how close your bodies were.
You weren't sure how you felt about it.
It wasn't bad. It was just... new. A little overwhelming.
But you didn't pull away.
You let him guide you, let yourself sway with the music, let his hands settle comfortably at your hips.
And then—
A presence. Heavy. Familiar.
Joel.
"Hey, kid."
Joel's voice cut through the music, deep and unmistakable.
You stiffened instantly.
The man holding your waist paused, his grip loosening slightly as both of you turned toward the source of interruption. And there he was—Joel, standing at the edge of the dance floor, arms crossed over his broad chest, a knowing smirk playing at his lips.
"What the hell are you doing?" you shot back, narrowing your eyes.
His smirk deepened. "Just checkin' in on you. Didn't know this was a kid's space."
Heat rushed to your face.
"I'm not a kid," you snapped, pulling your arms from around your dance partner's shoulders, but Joel wasn't even looking at you anymore.
Instead, his attention had shifted to the man standing beside you, his expression unreadable. The man—whose name you had already forgotten—cleared his throat, glancing between the two of you. "Uh, you know him?"
You opened your mouth, ready to brush it off, but Joel beat you to it.
"Oh, yeah," he said, voice filled with amusement. "She's like my little shadow, been followin' me around since always, annoying me you know, likes actin' all mean, but we all know it's because she craves attention."
Your stomach plummeted.
The man blinked in surprise before—before laughing.
It wasn't cruel, but it didn't matter. The damage was done.
You could feel the humiliation creeping up your spine, burning your skin from the inside out. You took a step back, suddenly desperate for space.
"Unbelievable," you muttered under your breath, turning on your heel.
You didn't bother looking back as you weaved through the crowd, ignoring the way Joel's eyes followed you, ignoring the way your chest felt too tight, ignoring everything except the overwhelming need to get out of there.
The warm night air did little to cool the heat burning under your skin as you pushed through the bar's entrance, stepping outside with quick, angry strides. The music still thumped behind you, muffled by the thick walls, but it didn't drown out the sound of footsteps following close behind.
"Where the hell are you goin'?" Joel's voice was steady, but there was something else there—something unreadable.
You didn't stop.
"Back to my room," you muttered, jaw tight.
"C'mon, don't be dramatic. Just get back inside," he said, voice lighter, like he wasn't taking any of this seriously, like he thought this was just another game you were playing.
That was it.
"Fuck off, Joel."
You turned on him, eyes burning, fists clenched at your sides.
His smirk faltered. "Jesus, alright. No need to throw a tantrum."
You scoffed, shaking your head, turning to leave—but before you could take another step, his fingers wrapped around your wrist.
"Let me go," you said, voice low and sharp, barely restrained.
He didn't.
Instead, he tugged you just enough to make you stumble back toward him. "You pissed 'cause I ruined your little date?"
You let out a humorless laugh. "Are you fucking serious?"
Joel tilted his head, watching you carefully. "Ain't that what this is about?"
Something about the way he said it—so casual, so certain—made something inside you snap.
"No, Joel," you hissed, yanking your arm out of his grip. "It's about you humiliating me. It's about you treating me like I'm still some little kid when I'm not, or the things you think about me—that I'm annoying." Your voice cracked on the last word, and you hated it, hated the way he looked at you then. "So congratulations, okay? You got your little joke, you made me look like a fool. Are you happy now?"
Joel's expression shifted, something like regret flickering across his face, but you didn't stick around to let him respond.
You turned and walked away, shoulders squared, swallowing down the lump in your throat before it could turn into something worse.
The room felt too quiet, too empty when you stepped inside. You kicked off your heels, the soft thud of them against the floor the only sound as you crossed to the bed.
This wasn't how tonight was supposed to go.
You had spent so much time getting ready, standing in front of the mirror, second-guessing every detail. You'd told yourself you were doing it for you, that you wanted to go out and have fun, to feel good for once—but now, sitting at the edge of the bed, the dress that once made you feel beautiful now felt like a cruel joke.
Joel thought you were annoying. A little shadow that followed him around, desperate for attention.
Was that how everyone saw you?
Is that why you barely had any friends in college? Why it was always so hard to fit in?
The thought stung worse than it should have.
You blinked hard, but it didn't stop the tears from spilling over, slipping down your cheeks as you reached behind yourself, tugging down the zipper of your dress. It pooled at your feet, forgotten as you wiped your face quickly, sniffling as you reached for the oversized T-shirt draped over a chair. It was your dad's—soft and worn, far too big on you, but comforting in a way nothing else was right now.
Pulling it over your head, you made your way to the balcony, arms wrapping around yourself as you stepped into the humid night air. The sound of the waves filled your ears, the scent of salt thick in the breeze. It should have been peaceful. It should have calmed you.
But it didn't.
Because no matter how hard you tried, you could still hear Joel's voice in your head.
A soft knock at the door made you flinch.
Your dad? No, he's probably asleep by now, you know him well.
Another knock.
You turned, padding back inside, wiping at your face one last time before pulling open the door—
Joel.
Your stomach twisted.
He opened his mouth, but before he could get a single word out, you slammed the door in his face.
"Open the door," Joel's voice came from the other side, low and steady.
You pressed your forehead against the cool wood, eyes squeezing shut. "Go away, Joel."
"Come on, kid—"
"Fuck off," you snapped, voice sharp with the lingering sting of humiliation.
A pause. A sigh. Then—"I'm sorry."
You huffed, arms tightening around yourself. "Yeah, well. Great. Now you can leave."
"I need to say it to your face."
You hesitated.
The last thing you wanted was to deal with him right now, but you also knew Joel—knew he wouldn't leave until he got what he wanted.
Jaw tight, you unlocked the door and yanked it open.
He was standing there, hands on his hips, looking... not as smug as usual. That only irritated you more.
"Can I come in?" he asked, gaze flickering over you, taking in the oversized shirt, the bare legs.
"No."
Joel exhaled through his nose—and then walked past you anyway.
"Jesus Christ," you muttered, shutting the door behind him.
"I just wanna talk," he said, holding up his hands like he was trying to calm you. "That's it."
You folded your arms over your chest, biting the inside of your cheek.
Joel sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. "I didn't know the damn date was that important to you."
A scoff left your lips before you could stop it. "You're a fucking idiot."
He scoffed back. "I'm trying to apologize. You're upset to me and I get it, I didn't think it was something... so serious, you know? Like you wanted to get laid—"
Joel's words hit you like a slap.
Your body tensed, nails digging into your palms as you glared at him. "Get out."
He blinked, looking genuinely confused by your reaction. "What? Why?"
"Because you're an asshole, that's why."
He exhaled, rolling his eyes. "Look, I'm just saying—it's not a big deal. It happens to everyone. You're young, you're supposed to have fun, I get it, it's normal, it's—"
"Not your problem," you cut him off, voice sharp.
Joel's lips twitched, like he was amused by something.
You clenched your fists. "Change that stupid look on your face and leave."
He tilted his head slightly, studying you, and then—"It's 'cause you're a virgin, isn't it?"
Your entire body went hot.
The words burrowed under your skin, setting your nerves on fire. "That's not your business," you shot back too quickly, too defensively.
His eyes darkened, the amusement flickering with something else. "Huh. All this time in college, and you never—?"
Your throat tightened. "You don't know anything about me."
He chuckled. "That explains a lot."
Your glare sharpened. "What the hell is that supposed to mean?"
He shrugged. "Just that... only a virgin acts like this all the time. All bratty and wound up, like you're just beggin' for someone to—"
"Get out." you shouted, shoving at his chest, face burning with embarrassment and fury.
Joel barely stumbled back at your shove, his body solid as a wall. But before you could push him again, before you could do anything else, his hands found your wrists, firm but not rough, and in a swift motion, he guided you backward.
Your knees hit the edge of the bed. You tried to step away, to free yourself, but he only pressed forward, until you had no choice but to sit.
You didn't say anything. He was right, but you feel a little embarrassed about it, you're all grown up and still a virgin.
Joel exhaled, his grip on your wrists loosening, but he didn't step away. His eyes stayed locked on yours, dark and unreadable. "That guy," he started, voice low, "he wasn't lookin' at you like a person. He was lookin' at you like a piece of meat. And he was touchin' you the same way."
You scoffed, shaking your head. "Don't lecture me, Joel. Just accept that you were an asshole and move on."
His jaw clenched, but after a moment, he gave a small nod. "Fine," he said. "I was an asshole. And I'm sorry." His fingers twitched against your skin, as if debating whether to let go or hold on tighter. "But I wasn't tryin' to ruin your night—I just didn't want anything bad to happen to you."
You exhaled sharply, frustration curling in your stomach. "I'm not some naive little girl, Joel. I can handle myself."
Something flickered in his expression, something you couldn't quite place, but whatever it was made heat rise to your cheeks. "You're not naive?" he murmured, almost like he was testing the words. His thumb brushed against the inside of your wrist, sending a shiver down your spine. "Could've fooled me."
Your eyes narrowed, and you tried to jerk your hands away, but he didn't let you. "You're such a—"
His lips crashed against yours before you could finish, swallowing whatever insult was on your tongue. You gasped into his mouth, but he took advantage of it, deepening the kiss, his hands finally releasing your wrists only to slide down your arms, gripping your waist. The heat between you both ignited in an instant, like a match striking dry tinder, and before you knew it, you were falling back against the bed, Joel following you down.
His weight pressed against you, solid and warm, his knee slotting between your thighs as his mouth moved hungrily over yours. He kissed you like he had been waiting for this moment—like he had been holding back for far too long and had finally given in. Your fingers found the fabric of his shirt, fisting it as you arched slightly beneath him, breath hitching when his lips trailed down your jaw, your neck.
"You drive me crazy, you know that?" he muttered against your skin, his voice rough, thick with something you couldn't quite name.
Your chest rose and fell rapidly, your heart hammering against your ribs. "Then maybe you should stop," you murmured back, though your fingers betrayed you, gripping him tighter instead of pushing him away.
Joel pulled back just enough to look at you, his pupils blown wide, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. His thumb dragged along your lower lip, eyes darting between your mouth and your eyes.
"Don't think I can," he admitted.
"You don't even like me," you mumbled, embarrassed.
Joel's thumb lingered on your lip, his gaze heavy, but the moment your words left your mouth, something in his expression shifted. A flicker of regret, of something deeper, flashed in his eyes.
"That's not true," he murmured, his voice softer now, rough around the edges but sincere. "What I said in the bar—it was bullshit. I don't think you're annoying. I love it when you mess with me, when you push my buttons." He exhaled sharply, his fingers tightening against your waist. "I just... I lost it when I saw him touching you. That's all."
Your brows furrowed, something twisting in your chest at his words. "You humiliated me," you said, voice quiet but firm. "For no reason. You hurt my feelings over something stupid."
Joel shut his eyes briefly, exhaling like he was trying to steady himself. When he looked at you again, there was nothing playful left—just raw honesty. "I'm sorry," he said softly. "I didn't mean to. It—it was just a damn impulse, alright? You drive me crazy. I haven't stopped thinkin' about you since you came back, and then I saw his hands on you, and I—" He cut himself off, his fingers dragging along the bare skin of your thigh, slow and deliberate.
A shiver ran through you, heat pooling in your stomach. You hated how easily he could pull you back in, how one touch had your breath catching. His palm slid higher, pushing the hem of your dress up just slightly, his calloused fingers warm against your skin.
Your heart pounded. "That's not fair," you whispered.
Joel's lips curved slightly, just a ghost of a smirk, but his eyes stayed dark. "Probably not." His thumb brushed along the sensitive inside of your thigh, watching the way you reacted, the way your lips parted just slightly. "But I'm done pretendin' I don't want you."
His words sent a jolt of heat through you, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt. He was too close, his breath fanning against your cheek, his fingers still moving—slow, teasing.
"Say somethin'," he murmured, his forehead nearly touching yours now. "Tell me to stop."
But you didn't.
His hand is way too far—far enough to feel you're wearing nothing but panties under the shirt. You licked your lips once he moved his hand to your belly.
"Have you ever been touched, sweet girl?"
You swallowed. "I don't think this is appropriate,"
Joel hummed low in his throat, his hand pressing just a little firmer against your stomach, the warmth of his palm seeping into your skin. His lips hovered near your jaw, his breath fanning over your skin as he spoke.
"Why?" he murmured. "'Cause you're a virgin?"
You swallowed hard, gripping at his wrist as if that would stop the way your body responded to him. "Because my dad is your friend," you whispered, your voice unsteady.
Joel let out a quiet chuckle, deep and knowing. His nose brushed against the curve of your jaw, his lips barely grazing the sensitive skin beneath your ear. "Mm," he mused, his fingers slipping lower, teasing just above the waistband of your panties. "That ain't stoppin' you."
Your breath hitched.
He tilted his head, pressing a slow, deliberate kiss to the side of your neck, then another. His beard scratched against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine. "You haven't told me to stop," he murmured against your throat, his voice smooth, coaxing.
Your fingers curled against his arm, your pulse hammering in your ears. You should tell him to stop. You should push him away. But you didn't.
His hand lowered to your belly, going down to play with the waistband of your panties, then teasing his finger on your mound, sending shivers all over your body, getting you even more wet.
"Is it okay if I touch you here?"
Even if every part of your brain was telling you that you should stop before this goes further, you nodded like a fool, looking for his mouth again.
His fingers made they way under your panties. He could felt the smooth skin, probably never touched before because... he could feel how wet you were and—
"So you're really a virgin," he said amused, breaking the kiss, your lips still lingered by a string of drool. "Virgins get wet so easily."
You bite your lip. "Is that a problem? Cause if so, you should stop."
Joel chuckled, low and deep, his lips ghosting over yours. "Stop?" he murmured, his hand slipping just a little lower, teasing. "Darlin', I've been fightin' the urge to touch you since the moment I laid eyes on you. Now that I have you like this... I ain't goin' anywhere."
He spreaded your legs, played with your panty til your crotch. "Then why do you make it sound so embarrassing?" you asked sheepishly.
He finally reached your slit, you gasped, you were a bit scared. Are you gonna fuck for the first time with your dad's best friend? Would it hurt? Would it be weird after? A lot is going through your mind, but he cleared all your thoughts.
He pressed his lips against yours as he drawed circles on your clit, he could feel how needy and swollen it was, you must've been aching. You muffled a whimper against his lips, which he found really hot.
Instinctively you grinded your hips, just seeking for more pleasure. Your fingers curled on his hair, clutching it. He loves to feel how you writhe beneath him, his fingers exploring your folds, until they found your hole.
He didn't went rough, he was slow, deliberate, slowly stretching you out with his fingers—thick and strong. You couldn't help to moan, breaking the kiss. It was the first time you get this far with someone, lust runs in your veins.
Joel grins at the sound of your moan, enjoying the way you're falling apart under his touch.
"That's it, sweetheart," he whispers, his voice filled with a mixture of amusement and desire. "Let go. Let me hear you."
He continues to move his fingers, adding a second one to stretch you even further, his movements still slow and deliberate but with a hint of impatience.
"You're so tight for me, babygirl"
"Oh, God," you whimpered.
Joel's fingers are slick with your juices as he moves them in and out of you, his movements growing more urgent with each thrust.
Your skin is so smooth and soft, but you're also so hot and tight. He can feel every muscle in your body clenching around him, trying to pull him in deeper. It's driving him crazy, making him want to take you even more.
He leans down and kisses your neck, his teeth grazing against your skin as he whispers in your ear. "You've been touched like this before?"
You shook your head. "No."
He smirked, he knew it. You were a pain in the ass, you loved getting on his nerves, you loved getting in his head because deep down you wanted him like this.
He stopped working his fingers in you, to get rid of your panties, with no warning, he just threw the garment somewhere in the room, changing positions to toss your calves over his shouders, holding your hips.
Your hand instinctively covered your slit, you were embarrassed, after all, he was someone you knew, someone who is close to your dad, someone who—
"Don't hide from me, angel," he said taking your hands to his lips. "I wanna taste you."
"Joel—" you swallowed. "I'm—"
"You don't need to be shy with me,"
He drew your hands away, just to see how flushed, swollen and needy your pussy was. Glistening in your own juices.
His gaze made you squirm, made you feel all your blood rushing to your cheeks. It wasn't bad—it was the opposite. It was dark and deep, like he was starving and had just laid eyes on a feast laid out before him.
You could feel his breath, his lips barely touching your folds. He wanted to feel every part of you, never thought he would have his best friend's daughter laid in front of him like this, showing all her vulnerability to him.
Joel's tongue darts out to lick his lips, his gaze fixated on your body. He moves his mouth lower, kissing and sucking on your inner thighs, leaving a trail of marks behind.
"Don't be a tease, Joel," you whined.
Joel grins against your skin, his breath hot against your sensitive flesh. "Oh, I'm just getting started," he says, his voice a mixture of amusement and desire.
He moves his mouth to your clit, sucking on it hard as his fingers continue to move inside you, curling and rubbing against your sensitive spot.
It was heaven. The way his tongue swirled on you, the way he knew exactly how to do it, the way his fingers kept working on you, taking you to the edge.
Joel's tongue is like a snake, moving slowly but firmly, tasting every inch of you. He licks and nibbles at your folds, exploring every curve and contour, savoring the taste of your juices. His tongue is slick and warm, sending shivers of pleasure through your body.
You were biting your lip, trying to muffle your moans but failing miserably. You were curling your toes, so close to the orgasm.
"Joel, please—" you yelped.
Joel lifts his head for a moment, his lips glistening with your juices. "I know you are, angel," he says, his voice low and rough. "You're close. I can feel it. Just let go, let yourself fall apart for me, babygirl."
He dives back in, this time, he's gonna taste you directly from the source. His tongue plunging into your core, searching for that sweet spot that will push you over the edge.
Joel's tongue continues to move inside you, thrusting in and out in a steady rhythm. He moves his hands to your thighs, holding you in place as he feasts on you.
"You taste like heaven," he repeats, his voice strained with pleasure.
He flicks his tongue against your clit, the sensation sending shockwaves of pleasure through your body.
Enough to make you come.
Writhing, your legs shaking because it was too much. You let yourself fall apart, panting, moaning, saying his name.
He pressed his lips on your thighs, then slowly pulled your calves from his shoulders.
You were just recovering, but he just took off his jeans, you were amused, biting your lip, but once you saw his bulge, your gaze changed.
Surprised and... a little scared. It was too big, it will defenitely hurt, also, now that you see that this is going serious, you don't have condoms, but you want to do it.
You sit on your knees to help him getting rid of his shirt and his boxers. You adored his body, you've seen it before, but not like this, so... raw. His cock was dripping precum, it was swollen, his base hairy... you were eager to touch him.
Your gaze was sticked to his cock, the way he held it. "Can I touch it?" you asked sheepishly looking at him through your lashes.
His cock twitched in response. "Yeah, you can touch me,"
You swallowed and the tip of your finger barely touched his tip... it wasn't even entirely when he made you lay back in bed. He couldn't take it, you were almost too innocent, the way your first thought was to touch the tip and not fist him, the way your finger looked so small. He won't last long if you keep doing that.
"That's unfair—" you knitted your brows.
"I'm sorry, angel. You will touch me tomorrow, but right now I need to fuck you."
Your cheeks burned and your knees were still together. He laid his hands on them but you talked before he could spread them.
"Joel, I don't have any condoms,"
He chuckled. "Me neither,"
"What should we do?" your face almost screamed panic, it was really sweet and also, of course you had a point, but his mind only worked for pleasure right now.
"You want us to stop?" you shook your head. "Okay, then trust me, I'll pull out on time,"
"But it's still risky—"
"Jesus," he finally spreaded you open. "I ain't gonna hurt you, I promise,"
You nodded, trusting blindly in him.. because right now, you could only think about your own pleasure too.
He teased his tip all over your slit, mixing your juices, rubbing his cock against your slit, feeling how small it felt. He didn't want to hurt you, he knew you'd feel fucking good to fuck.
"Take your shirt off," he growled.
You didn't need to be told twice, you tugged the piece of fabric over your head, revealing your bare breasts to him. He had imagined them before, how your nipples would be, back in the pool, in the beach, they were covered just by a rectangle but they were hiding so much.
He went inside slowly. Your hands grasped to his arms, whining and made a face of pain. He knew it would hurt but he knows you'll feel good in a couple of seconds.
Once he was finally inside, he didn't move for a couple of seconds—you felt them like an eternity. You were choking him, you were warm, soft... tight, it was too much.
"Please—" you whimpered.
He locked his gaze on yours and thrusted. It hurt, and it kept hurting until it didn't, until all the pain was replaced with pleasure and lust.
He was being as gentle as possible. You wrapped his torso, sticking him even closer to you.
His weight all over you but you could only plea for more. Your walls throbbed and so did his cock. It felt good. Joel was making you squirm, losing your mind over him.
Moaning, clawing your nails on his back, he's sure you're gonna leave marks, scratches, but he couldn't care less.
"You're taking it so good," he groaned.
You hummed something incoherent in response, couldn't even mouth a word.
"So tight," his head found its way to the crook of your neck. "Such a good girl,"
He nudged your g-spot, thrusting and nibbling your neck, leaving little marks, feeling your intoxicating scent.
The way you moaned his name, softly and needy, made him lost his mind.
You whined. "Joel, don't—" your eyes roll involuntarily. "I'm gonna—"
"Yeah, that's it, come for me," he cooed on your ear.
And you needed less. You followed his order, losing yourself, reaching your second orgasm. Your walls choked him, he never felt anything tighter before. You were milking him... and he would've shot his load inside you, God knows he would've.
But he couldn't take the risk. He pulled out with a loud pop sound of juices.
He jerked off until his cum was costing your slit. It was so much he felt like a teen.
Your body was still trembling, weak from the overwhelming sensations, but you didn't regret a thing. Every nerve felt alive, sensitive to even the faintest touch of the sheets beneath you.
Joel stood up, disappearing into the bathroom for a moment. A moment later, he returned, a warm cloth in hand.
He was gentle as he cleaned you, careful, his touch lingering just a little longer than necessary. You appreciated that—the quiet care in his actions, the way he wasn't rushing to leave.
You expected him to grab his things and go, to put some distance between you now that it was over. But to your surprise, Joel didn't move toward the door. Instead, he sat on the edge of the bed, then slipped under the covers beside you, his warmth seeping into your skin as he pulled the blanket over both of you.
You turned your head, meeting his gaze in the dim light. "I really enjoyed it," you admitted, your voice soft, a little shy.
Joel let out a low hum, his hand finding your waist beneath the sheets. "Me too," he murmured, his thumb tracing slow circles against your skin. "More than you think."
His words settled deep inside you, warm and reassuring. You let yourself relax, curling into his side, and when he reached up to brush a strand of hair from your face, you leaned into the touch.
For the first time that night, you didn't overthink. You just let yourself be held.
Joel let out a slow breath, his fingers still tracing idle circles against your waist. You hesitated for a moment before speaking, your voice quieter now, softer.
"I'm sorry," you murmured.
His brows furrowed. "For what?"
You swallowed, fingers playing with the edge of the sheet. "For being... I don't know, a little much sometimes. I know I can be stubborn, or—" you let out a small, nervous laugh—"annoying, like you said."
Joel shook his head immediately. "Don’t say that," he muttered, his grip on your waist tightening slightly. "Drives me crazy when you push my buttons, yeah, but that don’t mean I don’t like it." His voice dipped lower, rougher. "I like it too damn much."
You blinked up at him, surprised by the sincerity in his tone.
He exhaled, his thumb running along your ribs. "I’m sorry for makin’ you feel like you were a bother. You never were. Never will be."
A comfortable silence settled between you, warm and easy, interrupted only by the rhythmic crash of the waves outside. You traced lazy patterns over his chest, listening to the steady beat of his heart before finally speaking again.
"So..." you hesitated, biting your lip. "Are we gonna do it again?"
Joel huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. "Sweetheart," he said, amused, "you damn near killed me. Need a minute before you wear me out completely."
You laughed, lightly smacking his arm, but you couldn’t help the small smile tugging at your lips as he pulled you closer, pressing a lazy kiss to your forehead.
"Not now. I know old men usually take—"
He laughed, hard, delighted. "Old man? This old man just made you have two orgasms in a row."
You rolled your eyes, but still could feel your cheeks warm. "I was talking about doing it tomorrow? Maybe? I mean, I would like to get better, learn new things,"
Joel smirked, shifting onto his side so he could look at you properly. His fingers brushed over your hip, lazy and warm. "Oh, now look at you," he murmured, voice dipping into something teasing. "All shy all of a sudden."
Your face burned. "I’m not shy," you muttered, avoiding his gaze.
"Mm-hmm." His thumb traced slow circles against your skin. "So let me get this straight—you’re askin’ me to teach you a few things?"
Your stomach flipped at the way he said it, low and knowing. You swallowed hard, lips parting, but the words seemed to stick in your throat.
Joel grinned, leaning in just enough that his lips brushed your ear. "That’s real cute, sweetheart," he murmured. "But you gotta use your words."
You groaned, burying your face in your hands. "Forget I said anything."
His chuckle rumbled against your skin as he pulled you closer, pressing a kiss just below your ear. "Oh, no. I heard you loud and clear," he mused, his breath warm against your skin. "And don’t you worry—I’ll make sure you learn real good."
You sighed, utterly spent, and rolled onto your stomach, your body sinking into the mattress. The exhaustion tugged at you almost instantly, a deep, pleasant heaviness settling into your limbs. Your eyes fluttered shut, the thought drifted lazily through your mind—maybe tomorrow, you could sneak into his room. The idea made your lips curve slightly before sleep pulled you under and within moments, your breathing evened out, soft and steady.
Joel propped himself up on one elbow, watching you. His fingers ghosted over the curve of your back, barely touching, just tracing the shape of you beneath the sheets. The room was quiet, save for the distant sound of waves crashing outside, but inside his head—inside his chest—everything was loud.
He should feel guilty. Hell, maybe he did, a little. Not because he regretted it—because he didn’t. Not even for a second. But because it was you. His best friend's daughter. And not only had he slept with you, but he'd been your first. That should’ve weighed on him more, should’ve made him hesitate, should’ve made him pull away before any of this happened.
But looking at you now—peaceful, lips slightly parted as you breathed, hair splayed out over the pillow—any guilt that tried to surface didn’t stand a chance.
Because you were beautiful. And, God knows, you drove him crazy.
He dragged a hand down his face, exhaling quietly.
He was in trouble.
The morning sunlight filtered through the sheer curtains of the resort’s dining area, casting a warm glow over the table set with fresh fruit, toast, and steaming cups of coffee. The soft hum of conversation filled the space, blending with the distant sound of waves crashing against the shore.
You sat across from Joel, the cool tile of the floor smooth beneath your bare foot as you stretched out, pressing lightly against his leg beneath the table. A small, teasing touch.
Joel didn’t react at first. Just sipped his coffee, gaze flicking up to meet yours over the rim of his cup. But when you dragged your foot higher, brushing along his calf, the muscle in his jaw ticked.
Your lips curled slightly, feigning innocence as you reached for a piece of fruit, taking a slow bite.
"You’re in a good mood this morning," your dad commented, flipping through the resort’s activity pamphlet. "Had fun last night?"
Your breath hitched, fingers tightening around your fork.
Joel cleared his throat, setting his mug down a little too carefully.
You forced yourself to nod, hoping the heat in your face wasn’t too obvious. "Yeah," you said, voice just a little too high. "I had a really good time."
Joel let out the smallest chuckle, shaking his head as he reached for the butter.
"Glad to hear it," your dad said, turning a page. "This trip’s all about relaxing. You deserve to enjoy yourself, sweetheart."
You nodded, glancing at Joel, at the way he was watching you now—something dark, something knowing.
"And," your dad added, stretching back in his chair. "Summer’s just getting started."
hi hi no one asked but i’ve been gone (in the sense of not posting writing) for well over a year due to personal stuff - nothing tragic or troubling, just that time has not been my own. over a year ago i picked up a second and then a third job to support me through my studies. i constantly owe bits of myself to 3 different workplaces, volunteering, relationships, a personal caring role, and more. ultimately, for a long time, my time has not been my own.
i’m just taking a beat to reflect on that and how in the next few months my life will change completely. i hope to reconnect with myself again. :)
they can't just put this photo on my timeline like that i could've moaned out loud in public wtf wtf wtf wtf this is so sick and twisted i need to be put down
I WAS SO INTO DADS BEST FRIEND LMFAO I just found dbf age gap Javier Peña smut and it’s actually crazy because this was some of the first smut I ever wrote and by my current writing standards it is like sooooo depraved??? So overtly age gappy corruption innocence blah blah blah like wow the girl who wrote this is still inside me and one day she might come back
it’s crazy he fully was calling her kid and everything like I really went the whole ten yards so umm don’t like don’t read also 18+ even tho it’s not even smut cause the actual Smut is just insanely filthy and just…. Yeah I can’t bring myself to post it currently like u guys don’t know me like that but this is real Samantha lore
A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my lovely and kind friend @FloBallestra whose beautiful beautiful art inspired me so much for this story. You’re the coolest, smartest girl in the world, Flo; I love being your friend.
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, A/B/O, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, Heat Sex, Knotting, Fluff & Smut & Angst, Premature Ejaculation, Scenting, Dacryphilia; Explicit Sexual Content, Dom/sub Undertones, Breeding Kink, Excessive Amounts of Cum, Aftercare, Touch Starved Joel Miller, Angst With a Happy Ending
Word Count: 6.8K
Read on AO3
Part 3;
The apartment with the small, warm room you bring him to is a radiant and generous place; some brightly lit bubble of life Joel hasn’t looked upon in years and years.
You tell him you have a roommate who spends all her time with her girlfriend—crazy in love. They work at the opera, too—set carpenter and sound design. Soon, they plan to get married.
You tell him all of this with a patently wistful look in your eye. Like you’re happy for your friends, and also terribly aware of what it is that landed you in a place like the Emmanuel.
In your bedroom, there are twinkling lights that hang from the edges of the ceiling, and a mess of a pink and cream colored bed at the center of the closely packed room, blankets and pillows piled high into what looks like a preemptively engineered nest.
You move into the space slowly, like you’re shy, hesitant to allow him into this sacred place, as you drape his borrowed coat over the back of the desk chair. The surface of which is cluttered with books and papers, a beaten up red journal, a laptop and makeup strewn about haphazardly. An etched glass bottle of perfume perches precariously at the corner's edge, the deep golden liquid within: still and undisturbed.
“I like your room,” he tells you.
But what he’d really like to say is that he feels in danger here, in this comfortable space. That he wishes he could run but that there’s nowhere else he’d rather be, also. Nowhere to run to. That he’s grateful. That the act the two of you are about to commit here will be undeniably selfish. That at the end of it all, he hopes you might forgive him.
The look on your face when you turn to thank him, one hand braced against the back of the chair as if to hold yourself upright, is full of the ardor of your unfurling heat, the weight of your biology, the reasons for finding yourself in the basement of an old church. There’s sweat dampening your hairline and a glaze in your eye that tells him soon you won’t even remember your own name, but you’ll surely remember his.
Joel feels suddenly flayed open, like some prey animal gutted by a wolf, spilling all of his own ravenous hunger out for your witness. It’s a moment of undeniable honesty. His own face, a mirror, his own skin damp with sweat. He’s painfully hard already with your scent on his tongue and fingers and surrounding him everywhere in this room. And the look on your face is so similar to the shiver in his gut, that he decides to be honest with his fears:
“We’re about to do somethin’ selfish here. With no thought for how it might hurt anyone.” Not even ourselves. “And I’ve always been a selfish man. But I worry for you.”
Your lashes flutter, as if taking in the weight of his words. But you smile, “Think I can’t handle it?” Another drooping flutter of your lashes, thick and curling. The fever turns you into an unreliable narrator. He can see the flutter of a too fast pulse beneath the thin skin of your throat. All bravado—you struggle to maintain the smirk. “I don’t think I believe half the things you say about yourself.”
“I don’t care about anything,” he tells you, palms splayed wide as if to show you all his cards.
“You’re a bad liar, Joel Miller.”
You know his last name without him ever having told you, and it feels like a sign. Like you already know everything there is to know about him, so obviously he’s supposed to be here.
“You can sit down,” you offer, slowly moving to shut the door. “They never stay here, we’ll have the apartment to ourselves for a few days most likely.”
He swallows his nerves, the reality that he’s never done a thing like this, been in this position before, slides down his throat to settle heavily in his gut as he sits slowly at the edge of the pink bed. On the nightstand there’s a dangerously leaning tower of books: Anna Karenina, The Second Sex, Emily of New Moon, The Norton Anthology of Poetry, an autobiography of W.B. Yeats, The Happy Hooker, The Act of Creation, Seven Gothic Tales.
A wishful romantic, a realist, a smart girl doing a stupid thing.
He stares at the stack unblinking. You like to read. This is who you are, this person who collects books in your small, pink room with the absent housemate and a brother who’ll only speak to you once a month. Parents who you want to be nothing like. Someone who works at the opera and likes to walk and eats too many sweets, with the golden perfume teetering dangerously at the edge of a desk.
Someone who’d dreamt of something better.
Suddenly, he can’t think of anyone else in his life whose small details he knows like this. Not a single person. Certainly not the woman he’s lived with for the past seven years. Perhaps not even himself.
And learnt in such a short time, too.
You move around him slowly, a gentle hand at his shoulder dragging to softly touch his cheek. He’s glad it’s you he knows like this. At least there is that.
“I’m not scared to be selfish. I’m scared of other things, but not that.”
He swallows, eyes wide and dry. And you’re so beautiful, and wanting him, what else is there to be but frightened and here, waiting for you to decide what’s next for him.
Your soft fingertip follows the curve of his cheekbone, back and forth, watching him with eyes that are not as afraid as his, but wide and young and honest. Full of the potential for life that has so callously slipped through his own hands. He thinks there’s nothing within him that can understand why you’d have found yourself in a place for lonely people. Why would you ever need a miracle cure the way he does? How could God or the whole world not want to miraculously cure you of any sort of loneliness you might have ever suffered? Desperate for the power to turn back the clock, change his whole life, find you at a time when he was young and unbroken and honest, too.
You push his hair back, fingers sliding through the thick strands, dancing over the shell of his ear the way they’d danced over the temptation of sugar. His blood throbs madly at his temples, his muscles spasming beneath his skin; he shuts his eyes, sucking in a slow, deep breath to steady himself. He’s not afraid to admit he’s afraid of this.
He hadn’t suffered any sort of real sex drive in years. His libido cold and inconsistent and… gone. He can’t remember the last time he’d slept with his wife, taken himself in hand. His erection this morning had been the first he could remember in months. Joel worked, he thought of the past, he did not consider himself. He went home, he existed.
He was so, so cold. Frozen.
Now, he is here.
Slowly, he brings his palms to your hips, gripping you there carefully, hearing the phantom sound of your moan in his ear as he’d made you come on his fingers. Unbelieving he’d had the gall to even touch you like that.
The hand at his ear moves to the buttons at the base of his throat, opening the first, the second. His breathing goes erratic, coming in quick, hot bursts. He pulls you in closer, spreading his thighs wider to make room for you, and his hold on you slips higher, mapping the curve of your waist beneath your sweater. Looking up at you with all the wonder of a man coming upon the answer to a question he’d been looking for his entire life.
He tries for sound once, falters. There are so many things he wants to say to you now, and all his bravado from the church has fled him. His strength gone under the feel of your soft fingers and the glow of your pink room in the warm fairy lights. Things he wants to say that might frighten you, disgust you, make you wet and pliant. He swallows courage once again.
“You’re going to let me have you.”
A muscle under your left eye flutters light and frantic, spasming with your nerves. You nod once.
“Fuck you, knot you—” he insists on clarification.
Another nod.
“Say it. Lemme hear it.”
“Yes. I’m going to let you have me.”
He pulls you in even closer, a groan as he presses his face against your belly, breathing in deep, filling his lungs until they hurt with your scent. The ache in his groin and his stomach beats behind his eyelids. Your fingers move quickly, undoing the rest of his buttons and then push his shirt back and off his shoulders, smoothing over the hot skin there up to his neck to ghost over the sensitive skin of his glands. He shudders a broken sound, pressing his face deeper into your stomach.
“The rest—tell me.”
“I’m…I’m going to let you fuck me, knot me.”
He pulls you in tighter, thank you thank you, he says against your midriff, mouth sliding against the knit fabric of your sweater that he pushes up your waist, uncovering the skin of your stomach for him to kiss.
Tugging the garment over your head, you let it fall to the floor from listless fingers, the soft shucking sound landing heavy against the carpet of the quiet room. You have on a black bra, soft, translucent lace, he can see the color of your nipples beneath, beautiful and succulent so his mouth waters. You’re like wild prey caught in his thrall, looking down at him with those bright eyes full of mirrored hunger. His fingertips make their slow, ghosting way up the skin of your back and then down again, mapping you, catching at the waist of your skirt to tug it down over your legs. You’re left only in your dark tights and tiny underwear. Hands on your hips he pivots you, taking a look at the back of a little thong. He feels perverted—he wants to bend you over and spread you wide and look at it all, press his fingers against tight, sensitive skin before getting to taste it all, too.
His legs shake and he hides his face against your stomach again, embarrassed with the intensity of his wanting, breath shaking in his lungs. Your hands smooth over his hair, comforting him, soothing and painful all at once. And cautiously, you begin to push him backwards until he’s stretched out and laying against the soft duvet.
It’s like he floats on a pink cloud, and Joel is nervous.
With his eyes closed, he concentrates on the feel of gentle fingertips moving over his chest, down his belly, sifting through the hair there to the clasp of his belt—open, his jeans, the zipper, parted. It’ll be his skin next. He breathes fast fast fast, he can’t remember the last time anyone touched him, and he has to focus intently on willing the boiling heat his blood full of mercury has become to calm down or he’ll spend in his jeans without you even having pulled him out.
At his sides, his arms are tangled in his open shirt, and he’s unable to defend himself when you climb on top, settling on his lap in nothing but your flimsy tights and your tiny panties.
He can’t look, he’s afraid of what he’ll see. He’s afraid of you.
“Open your eyes, Joel—”
The immediate realization that he’d been wrong before, that he is a weak man, that he’d never been able to escape it, that maybe all the sad, childless alphas of the world are a little bit the same—dying, it doesn’t bother him as perhaps it would have, had he not made it here with you.
“I can’t believe I found you,” he says in utter awe—eyes wide open now.
Your smile is beautiful when you lean over to kiss him. Fingers twisting into his hair as you moan against his tongue, sweet kittennish laps while you grind and press along his chest. He tries to twist out of his tangled shirt, frustration mounting at his trapped arms. He wants to pull you tight, grip you hard, feel your skin and leave his fingerprints everywhere, but you reach down, bracing your hand against his wrist to hold him down. Other hand coming up to circle his throat lightly.
At the provoking nature of your touch, his instincts finally come fully alive.
“This you pretendin’ to be in charge?”
“Yes,” you shiver, pressing your face to his throat, your hips starting a rhythmic cant against his abdomen.
The rumble, low and satisfied in his chest, is one of gratification. Happy to let you play for a moment, familiarize yourself with his body.
“Alright,” he says. “Enjoy it. It’s all you’ll get.”
He settles back, accepting he’s trapped for now whilst you slither lower, shuffling to straddle his thighs. Your touch is tentative, looking up with your own shy candor and glowing cheeks as you carefully grasp his hard flesh.
The muscles in his stomach bunch, a rough, pained sound clawing its way up his throat—he has to clench his whole body to stave off a humiliation.
“Fuck—” Joel whines.
Pulling back, you shove his jeans down his thighs and he toes his boots off, helping you to dispense with the horrible, confining clothes that hurt his skin. When he’s free, his sex lies there, heavy and jutting, and it embarrasses him. The angry, violent looking thing under your beautiful hand.
But there’s a sound in your throat, click clicking, whining too like him, and when you wrap your small fingers around his cock, the both of you stare down in awe. Your touch is too gentle, not hard enough. He needs more. Straining to wrap his own large hand around yours, he shows you how he needs it. Squeezing tightly he writhes on the bed, moving your palms up and down together, teeth clenched tight. He pulls away, letting you handle him on your own, and your touch goes light again, maddening.
“Does it hurt?”
“God yes.”
It aches, it needs inside.
He hisses when you gently part the spongy skin of the tip, foreskin rolled back, pulling the small slit open. Your eyes are glazed over, shiny with the fever heat now, like you don’t really know what’s going on anymore. Humming to yourself while you play with him.
His sac is heavy and tight, the space behind beats. He’s going to come soon, already. It doesn’t matter that you’ve barely touched him, it’d been so long for him, and you’re so beautiful on top of him, sweaty and fevered and ripe. He rips his arms violently from the trap of his shirt, seams popping and grips your hip forcefully with one hand, the other pulling your touch back to his agonized erection, moving your grip up and down brutally. Reaching to tuck his fingers beneath the half-cup of your pretty, lace bra, he tugs, letting one soft, full breast free.
“I’m so close,” he begs.
Your lashes flutter at his tone, nodding your head—I’ll be gentle, I’ll be gentle with you—slicking your palm over the wide, wet head, and then gripping there in a twisting motion, sliding down the length. It’s not hard enough, but goddamn it’s so good, too.
“I’m going to come in your hand, I’m sorry,” he says, too far gone to remember he was feeling embarrassed just a moment ago.
Suddenly, his semen is spilling hot and wet over your fingers and down your wrist, knot pulsing in agony. His animal snarl sends a shocked shiver down your back so that you’re gripping him even tighter, pulling his hips off the bed by the cock, your own high pitched sound meeting his deep one.
He ruts into your fist, moaning, crying your name, and your other hand joins your moving fist to scoop up his thick white come, bringing it to your mouth to smear against your tongue.
Joel is going to die.
He jerks you forward, over himself, fists twisting in your tights and wrenching them apart, snapping the clasp of your bra to tear it off. You’re crying his name back at him, writhing against him, wet hand sliding over his skin and getting come everywhere while you tell him how much you ache, how hot you are, how it hurts without him. How you need him.
Joel is needed, and it is a perfect, suspended moment.
Flipping you over suddenly, he crowds you with his heavy mass, pulling you up off the bed against his chest, belly to belly, fingers in your hair to tug your head back roughly and bearing the soft column of your beautiful throat, he closes his lips around your gland and sucks hard, the flavor of your pheromones flooding his mouth, sticky on his tongue like honey. Your fists tangle in his hair, pulling him in closer, bearing yourself further, a keening cry on your tongue as he ravages the supremely sensitive skin.
With a growl, he pulls back, running his rough hands all over you. Skin, bare and soft and hot. And with one rough tug, he rips the barely there panties from your hips, beneath him you’re breathing fast and hiccupped in a way that makes him feel like a predator and you some small prey. Your breasts are soft and lovely—on a quiet, hungry sound, he captures the tip of one in his mouth, sucking careful, then hard, biting gently, working the sensitive nipple with his tongue until you’re moaning and pleading with him for more. He can feel your hot cunt wet against his stomach.
“Hmm, such sweet, sensitive pretty tits. Do you like that, little omega?”
Your scent builds, blossoming and swelling and he feels the change in your temperature when you dip fully into the pit of your heat, his own rut responding in kind, coming up on him like a wave so that he feels suddenly that all sense has been lost and all he is, is a thing that takes, with you beneath him so ready to give.
He had warned you that this would be a selfish sort of thing.
Wrapping his big hands around your soft tits, he sucks on one and then the other, slapping the side to watch it jiggle and then, with a rough sound, nipping at it again like he’s angry at how it moves. He slides lower, teeth scraping along your ribs, tasting the curve of your soft belly, dipping to bite at the plump inner slopes of your thighs. Between your legs—God. Had he ever smelled something so sweet? Your arousal is thick and leaking heavily, pooling between your thighs onto the bed.
You’re beyond words or reasoning now, maybe that’s why he feels brave enough to say: “You can’t imagine the things I’ve done t’you in my dreams. Disgusting things. I wanna fill you so badly, mark you with my scent and my come. Want you to be only mine.”
He buries his face in your cunt, lapping at your hole and sucking on your pretty clit, so swollen. Spreading your sex open to admire what’s his.
Oh please, you cry above him, dragging your palms over your body to squeeze your own breasts tightly. He watches a lone tear slide down your temple in rapt fascination, and he’s certain he’s never laid eyes on such a sight in his entire life.
“Shh,” he soothes. “Let alpha kiss your little clit.”
He presses a full mouthed kiss to the swollen bud, eyes still locked on your face, flicking his tongue slowly back and forth. You’re so wet, pouring slick for him. Joel takes a deep breath through a clenched jaw, and distantly, thinks it would be wise of him to make you come first on his mouth. But as he straightens to his knees, his palms sliding up the backs of your thighs, the pads of his fingers pressed against the vulnerable backs of your knees, spreading you wide, touching skin softer than he even knew was possible, he knows he can’t wait any longer. Doesn’t want to.
You’re begging for it anyways. You don’t want him to wait either.
His wet cockhead brushes against your belly as he leans over to give you a long, lingering kiss. One last moment of softness, he thinks, before all reason is lost to rut.
He’d like to say so many other things. That you’re like an angel. That it makes sense he’d found you where he did. That he wants to do obscene things to you. Tie you up—ropes wrapped around your heavy breasts, your soft thighs, so that he might watch your skin take his marks. Keep you captured and bound.
Abstinence does strange things to a man.
Kneeling between your spread thighs, he lets his cock lay heavy against you, reaching halfway up your belly. Your palm slides over it, pressing at the hot skin, letting yourself rock against it, thighs flexing.
“This part is the worst,” you cry. “—So hot. Oh, I itch and burn everywhere, alpha.” Your words are slurred and febrile.
“You’re alright,” he soothes, taking hold of his thick flesh. “I’m here to fix it now.”
You claw gently at his shoulders like a desperate creature seeking safety. He tucks the wide head against your little hole, and eyes full of glorious fever, hair clinging to your sweaty face, you lift yourself up a little to watch him push it in.
As he presses inside you, Joel feels like he might cry.
He’s sure when he returns to that house not a home, that meager and cold place, that he will cry. Thinking he can’t remember when the last time was that he allowed himself to weep. Like touch, like lust, like all he’d deprived himself of for so long—his whole life, nothing but abstinence—Joel can’t remember the last time he let himself cry.
Now, he presses deeper, lashes fluttering, and he feels the hot press of tears behind his eyes. He slides his hands beneath your bottom, lifting you, filling you, and hisses, eyes on where he fucks you open. His hips nudging forward, rocking, until he’s balls deep, the wide, painfully sensitive tip of his cock pressed firmly against the mouth of your cervix. His burgeoning knot is an unspeakable ring of pleasure at the base. He bends, hunching over your splayed open form, to kiss your midriff, nuzzling gentle at your belly. Above him, you mumble nonsensically: his name, alpha, pleading for more.
Joel—it sounds more beautiful than he’s ever heard it said before. Like it means something now, not just a thing that exists, but a real person, too.
He pulls his hips back until only the wide head remains caught in the tight ring of your pussy—it’s so swollen, he can almost imagine he sees the blood beating beneath the thin, slippery skin. You’ve bloomed for him, and you’re so beautiful for it. He slides forward, hard, bumping roughly against your womb again and grinding there, making you really feel him. You wail once, long and sharp, and then the low pitiful sound of an animal trapped in a maw of teeth.
“Fuck—Oh, fuck,” he grits, letting himself fall forward on braced arms, looking down at where you connect, how you stretch so shockingly around the thickest part of him, the place just before his knot starts to swell. As if he could tear you apart.
His thrusts pick up speed, not bothering to measure the strength behind them, you were made for this after all. Perfect little omega cunt meant to be fucked hard—it starts to flutter around him, the wettest, most obscene sound he’s ever heard, squeezing and milking his length as you come on him for the first time.
“That’s it. Yes—” he growls, fucking you on his cock, your arousal dripping down onto his balls as he pulls out and slides back in with a deep, satisfied groan at the feel of his omega coming for him.
Joel loses his mind to the feel of it—better than anything else has ever been.
“Is your pretty cunt feeling good? She’s sucking on alpha so well, little one. This is what y’needed. I know. F’r me to fuck you until you wet my cock with your come.”
Wrapping his palm around your throat, reaching for your wrist to pin it to the mattress, the way you’d held him, prone and caught beneath him, he holds your pulse in two places, presses his lips to a third, the perfect, fragrant spot behind your ear. Tasting there, licking and sucking on the delicate skin. Ravenous mouth moving down to your gland, as soft and sensitive as your clit.
“Perfect, perfect thing. Can’t believe I found you—” he says again, taking your mouth now in a desperately hungry kiss. Your free arm wraps itself around his neck, holding him tightly. His chest fills with a heat so unbearable his heart feels it’ll burst, and then he’s settling as deep as he can, knot catching and swelling, and he’s pumping long spurts of hot come into your soft little womb, filling you.
His weight falls heavy over you, smothering your body with his much larger one, while he throbs deep inside of you, breathing in your scent, letting himself be suffused with your warmth.
Your smell, full of heat-fever, so sweet it sticks to his gums—it fills his head with thoughts of what next…what if? Plots to keep this for himself for the rest of his life because beneath all of that sweetness, all of that sticky slick that slides between your two hot, perspiring bodies, there’s him. Beneath all of that, him, him, his. Your bones are made of his own scent now. How could he ever let you go when you’re made of him?
“Look at me, look at me.” He pushes the sweat soaked hair out of your face, tilting your head back to get a good look at you. “You’re alright? Lemme see that angel face.” Your cheeks are burning hot, eyes unfocused, but you give him the most beautiful smile, sated and entirely trusting.
Your fingertips touch his own face, passing lightly over his eyelids and nose to his mouth.
“I’m okay. I’m okay, alpha. I’m here.” You tug his head closer with weak, heat-sick fingers. “More. More. I’m so hot—” But you shiver like you’re cold. “It hurts, please.”
“Tell me how it feels,” he rumbles. “Describe it to me.”
He goes limb-heavy over your body, pressing you into the bed, comforting you with his breadth. The skin between your eyebrows wobbles and creases, a tiny frowning pinch, and you make the most curious hiccupping noise. Like the answer to his question needs to work its way slowly through your silly, little heat-addled mind.
“Oh—it’s… it’s— Joel, it’s so good. I never thought—alpha, I never imagined it would be like this,” you mumble and slur. “So full.”
He watches the bright eyes fill with tears then, and spill over in a hot rush, clinging in large perfect droplets to long lashes of which he counts every single strand. The sight of your tears, of your overwhelm—it makes him come more. His cock jerks and swells impossibly fuller, and he begins to spurt again, filling your belly swollen with his seed against his own stomach.
“Silly thing,” he soothes gently. “S’no need to cry, little omega.”
“Oh, but Joel—” you sob, nuzzling into his throat, mouthing at the swollen gland behind his ear.
“I know it’s a lot,” he assures you, rolling the two of you over onto your sides, cuddling you close and gentle-like, petting your hair and letting the deep, rumbling sounds in his chest wash over you soothingly. “Just need some rest now. That’s all.”
He presses a kiss to your hairline, your brow, your mouth again—he licks into it deeply, pulling the edges wider to make more room for himself, his tongue tasting all along your own. He can understand your tears, how overwhelming this must be for an omega inexperienced in taking an alpha with a knot as big as his. It’s true that he might not have had much experience before this, but this is natural, after all. This is who Joel is and what he was meant for. This is exactly where he’s supposed to be.
I belong here, he whispers into your hair as you settle into him, melting into a heavy and sated sleep—so beautifully obedient, willingly submitting to his caring command for rest.
He feels so far away from where he’d started, from that mad creature who’d lost everything—that man with a daughter a whole world away. With nothing to hold on to and even less to lose.
He feels closer to his real self, here and now, than he has in years.
You had both been so alone and in so much pain, but he had found you.
The heat dips and swells in waves and bursts. You wake gradually from that first reprieve, calling his name, begging for something only he can give you. He takes you again and again, the bed so wet it sticks to your fevered skin, sweat and semen and spit. On your side, back to chest, his body cupped around yours in a shape akin to love, kissing your neck, your chin, the cup of one palm and the inside of a wrist. On all fours, mounted like a defenseless thing, fluttering, little hole creamy from use—spread it open, let me see what belongs to me. Splayed above him, little drip of a girl, cooing his name mindlessly, caressing yourself, sliding your hands over the round of your belly, cupping your breasts, tips of your fingers tangling in your hair while you writhe above him, and Joel…Joel is sure he will die beneath you, watching you like this. He moves inside of your slick heat, cunt like a little furnace. Your tears leak in a constant stream that he licks from your cheeks to slake his thirst.
Time is a loop and a loop and a loop and maybe the two of you exist here only, together now.
He thinks that he goes away from himself too, sometimes. Forgets his name and his past and who he was or who he could be and lives only inside your cunt, to fill and mark as his. He is certain that this is the warmest bed he’s ever known.
When he blinks awake and coherent, he feeds you soup he’s pilfered from the fridge and water that he drips into your mouth from his own, and feels sure that it must turn sweet on your tongue. If anyone could, it’d be you—turn water to wine.
Joel thinks he might finally believe in God now.
The gut twisting realization of all he could lose here, how he feels so happy beside you—it turns him from a faithless man into one full of zealous belief. And on a sigh, he feathers his lips over yours, the round of your cheek, the arch of your brow. He’s not alone anymore, and he’s happy. If he could, he’d hold onto this feeling forever.
Your eyes blink open, focused for the first time in hours or maybe days, but heat burns so brightly from the center of your navel, osmosing into his own belly, that he knows he only has a moment.
“Hey,” softly.
You murmur back at him, confused little hiccups of sound followed by a fluttery kiss to the tip of his chin, the bite of hungry teeth demanding flesh.
“Did you know you snore?” He laughs into the sensitive shell of your ear, rolling on top of you. His knot is sated for now, but it throbs with the feeling of his heavy length moving within you.
You blink once, wide eyed—then a funny little frown. “I do not!”
“Yeah, you do. It’s very soft like the purr of a kitten,” he tells you, nuzzling at the swollen gland at the slide of your neck. You make a soft sound at the back of your throat at the touch. “Yes—just like that.”
“Don’t snore—” you mutter, lashes fluttering and drooping. Too much conversation for the sleepy omega.
“Don’t go away yet. Talk to me for a little bit. Stay with me.” He squeezes the back of your neck and your eyes blink open, hazy and then alert.
“Do you have dreams?” He thinks to ask you.
“Oh, yes.” Your eyes droop again, there’s a smile on your face.
“What about?”
You hum, the look on your face is sly in that half-sleep space he’s trying to tug you out of.
“Of being great. Of being loved. Of being happy. Of family. Like a story book. I never thought I’d find anyone to love me,” you say with your eyes closed. Joel’s heart writhes in his chest, pains him as if it were cleaving in two. But you’re smiling, tangled in your dream, and say: “I want us to know each other so long and so well, we don’t need words to speak.”
He’s like an imposter in this bed, for all his feelings of belonging—unsure he could ever give you anything you really want.
“Does your brother look like you?” he asks all of a sudden.
“Yes. Very much. Does yours?”
“I don’t think so, but people say he does. Where it counts, we’re nothing alike. What’s his name?” he asks you.
You whisper it in his ear. Another one of the small things about your life that he knows about no one else.
The two of you tell each other things you’ve never told anyone else, funny things, sad things. Words full of hope that leave a bitter and longing taste in Joel’s mouth.
“Did you never want to have a baby?” you ask, and his heart jumps to his throat.
“I did once. She died.”
He can’t believe he has the courage to say these words which he hasn’t talked of in years and years out loud. Your eyes snap open, the pupil contracting so quickly it frightens him.
“Oh. I understand now.”
“Do you?”
“Yes. I see it now.”
“What do you see?”
“What you were looking for.”
“What was it? Tell me—” For part of him feels he still doesn’t know.
“A way back to yourself, of course”
He nods, a feeling of relief so intense washing through his body, his limbs ache with it. Something chemical within him aligning for one perfect, singular second. He feels entirely known, and he thinks: this is the happiest moment of my life— before it fades away.
“Maybe. Yes.”
“Do you think it can be okay now?”
You press your entire palm against the skin of his face, as if you’d lift it off his skull and look at what’s held beneath.
“I don’t know. I don’t think it can ever be okay after something like that.”
“Please, don’t be sad anymore,” you tell him as if it were something so simple. As if it would just be within him because you’ve asked it so.
“I’ll try.” But he knows it isn’t something he won’t ever be hurt by. Joel realizes, with your simple words, this isn’t something he’ll ever be able to fix. That there will always be something missing, incomplete about him, and that no matter how hard he works, how hard he prays, how deeply he could ever lose himself inside of you, he feels sure it won’t ever be enough. He’s still in want of his miracle. “I’ll try,” he says again. “There are times I feel relieved. She suffered.”
“I’m sorry.” He can tell that you really are.
“We eventually all do. Perhaps that’s where the relief came from. She got hers over with quick.”
“What was her name?”
“Sarah.”
You put your hand over his heart, your face is wet with tears.
“Do you think this is a betrayal?” you ask him then.
The reminder of the woman who is his wife, who he had tried to love but who could never reach the bottom of that dark and fathomless well of cold within him to find anything worthwhile, it does nothing to him. Is it a betrayal? Surely to someone who cared it would be. But Joel cannot remember the last time they really talked, the last time either of them cared about one another. Maybe he’s a bad man. He’d chosen her for comfort, because it’d been what he felt he should do. Perhaps merely for something to do, or because he knew it’d be easy. Comforted by the fact that she was a beta and could thus never know him in a more intimate or painful way, in a way that would demand more of him. He couldn’t even accuse himself of not doing right by her because he’d always done what he was supposed to, what she’d asked of him which was so little, truly, that there could be no real claim of betrayal. At least, not before this, you, his knot locked within you and his heart on his tongue ready to be spit into your palm.
Yeah, maybe he’s a bad man. Certainly one who could never, ever deserve to keep this.
“I don’t know. I’m not sure I know what the word means anymore.”
He bids you to sleep again after that, and in a brief respite of clarity, he has the wherewithal to call his house, to let the woman who lives there with him know he’ll be gone for a few days longer. But there’s no answer, and he’s relieved. In the following days, his phone does not ring.
As he stands before your bed, he takes a moment to study the picture you pose as. Curled in the center of your pink nest—you look lonely.
Do you even really exist if no one loves you?
Outside, there is snow in the night—winter come alive in the midst of heat. He climbs back into the bed, taking you into his embrace, arranging you perfectly, a sharp elbow, the soft knee—certain that he won’t ever be able to fix himself, to keep you, choking on gratitude that at least he gets this. He’ll preserve it in his memory for the rest of his life and maybe it’ll be okay.
As he lays watching you sleep beside him, entirely innocent in your vulnerability, and with such trust, lying here in this bed you’ve shared together, he has for a moment a great and treasurable illusion of the past. This feeling of being trusted by someone so entirely, that gift of someone’s safety and heart and rest handed to him with little compunction, for there is that much certainty in the care that will come from him. Watching the dreamscape unfold behind your fluttering eyelids, the membrane so thin there’s that almost indiscernible pulse of your heart beating through your body. The street lamp glow comes in through a split in the curtains to lay warmly over your lovely face, and there’s only faint sound, the blown snow. Little light, a heart of warmth.
It’s late now, he thinks, I could love you. Saying it out loud would be like creating a world with its sound.
He shifts his weight to make you more comfortable, your warm, soft weight rolling more heavily into his side, moaning unintelligibly in your febrile sleep, and then suddenly, lucid—Joel. The sound of his name in your mouth makes him real again for a single moment—how will he ever let this go? His throat is tight, perhaps with the strangle of tears—don’t leave me, don’t leave me, you murmur like you already know. And then settle quiet again, falling away back into deep sleep.
There is only your rest now, the soft sound of your sleeping, darkness. They are here, the both of them, together. At the center of all things, there is this bond; biology or heart or soul. Fate—perhaps.
He could bite you, make you his mate, fuck it all to hell. Run away again. He’s done it once before.
But how could he ever keep you without a miracle fix?
Outside there exists, as always, that great tragedy, that undying grief, that barren loneliness. But for now, there is this, and you, this enduring heart of warmth. His own dreams.
This cannot be happiness; that ever elusive thing. He must decide that in the here and now, in the presence of this enduring moment. This is the thing he can never earn and will not keep, and even perhaps, cannot realize for what it truly is.
All of this, he decides with his thumb against the mating gland at the back of your neck.
Summary: In an in-between place called his life, Joel Miller is alone. In search of a cure. In need of a miracle. In want of God.
Can I interest you in a cure for loneliness? She'd asked him in a language without words. Taking it is the easy part. Letting her go is impossible.
-OR-
an a/b/o soulmates AU
Rating: Explicit 18+
Content Warnings: No Outbreak AU, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Soulmates AU, Infidelity, Cheating, HEA!!!!!, Joel is Married, Mating Bites, Knotting, Heat Sex, Breeding Kink, Scenting, Angst with a Happy Ending, Group Therapy, Social Experiments, Basically puppy training for unsocialized Alphas, And by God that man will be house trained by the time she’s done with him!, Complicated family dynamics, Spousal Neglect, Discussions of self harm, Depression, Existential Angst, Author returns not with a whimper but with a KNOT
Series Summary: Your return to the island for the grand opening of The Parador: Fiji holds even more drama than the first visit. Desire, love, heartbreak, mystery, and luxury await your stay.
Series Warnings: no outbreak au, language, smut (18+ MDNI), food and alcohol consumption, fluff, angst, reader has a rocky relationship with parents, tammy, occasional references to sugar daddy/sugar baby dynamics, past infidelity mentioned, lots of marriage/wedding talk, references to drug use, physical violence - more warnings stated for each chapter
Status: in progress
Sequel to Swept Away
dividers by @/saradika-graphics
Chapters:
Prologue: Two Rings
1: Long Time, No Sea - posting Feb 15
2: Kokomo - posting March 1
3: Jet Lagged - posting March 15
4: Oh, sugar, sugar - posting March 29
5: In a Tight Spot - posting April 12
6: No Hard Feelings - posting April 26
7: Come Clean - posting May 10
8: Adrift - posting May 24
9: Fresh Start - posting June 7
Epilogue: Wild and Free - posting June 21
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