#pedrohub

It was (and is) a well-known fact that one in three marriages ends in separation. And of course, you—being the lucky duck you were—found yours rapidly accelerating toward that destination.

You and Joel had agreed that you’d be better off apart. Joel got his own place while you kept the house. And Sarah lived with you every other week.

All you needed to do was send your attorney the signed divorce papers.

Outside of the sympathetic comments you received from acquaintances and relatives almost daily, you were doing just fine.

In fact, tonight you had a date.

A date. The kind that made you choose a tight-fitting dress that hugged your curves just right. The kind that inspired you to wear your hair in something other than a claw clip. The kind that provoked you to shave places you haven’t shaved in a long time.

The lucky bachelor was a fellow divorcee named Mark, whom you had met on a single-parent dating app. He had a full head of hair, a decent sense of humour, and two rescued Labradors. He offered to bring you to his favourite Italian restaurant, bringing up the fact that he’d pick up the bill no matter what, much to your protests. Needless to say, you had a good feeling about him.

After one last check in the mirror, you grabbed your coat and slung your purse over your shoulder, ready to head out the door.

Then, you heard it.

A faint gurgling. 

You blinked twice, trying to zero in on the sound. Proceeding a few moments of intense concentration, you followed the sound into the ensuite bathroom.

The faucet was running. Had you forgotten to turn it off?

You reached for the handle. Twisted it. It spun freely, and nothing happened. 

You tried and tried again, but all your efforts were in vain. You could only watch the tap stubbornly defy you as the handle jutted uselessly, loose in its socket.

“Shit.” You breathed.

The faucet sputtered out a particularly heavy spurt of water as if to say: shit, indeed.

You sighed, staring helplessly at the sink as it stared contumaciously back, water that couldn’t be swallowed by the drain toppling over the edge of the sink.

A quick Google search informed you that you needed to turn off the principal water pipe—the mains. Which you didn’t know how to do. 

So, you resolved to delegate the problem to more capable hands. Like, a twenty-four-hour plumbing service. No, they could easily overcharge you. You could call your dad? No, he was too far.

Or…

Sighing, you dug out your phone from your purse and called your only remaining option. Someone who was a seasoned contractor, someone who dealt with this sink before, and someone who you just so happened to be divorcing. 

He answered on the third ring.

“Hey—everything okay?” Joel’s concerned voice filtered through your phone.

“No.” You inhaled. 

“No?” Joel echoed hesitantly, then waited for elaboration.

When nothing came, he cleared his throat.

Slightly confused, slightly wry, he continued, “This is the part where you tell me what’s wrong.” 

“Um, my sink’s busted.”

“Your sink… is busted?”

“Yeah. Faucet won’t turn off. It-It’s a lot of water.” You bit the inside of your cheek, leaning on the wall. “I didn’t know who else to call.”

A moment of silence, then:

“You need me to fix it?” 

Was that annoyance? Exhaustion? It definitely wasn’t exhilaration at the prospect of doing manual labour at eight o’clock on a Friday evening.

“You know what? Forget I called. This was stupid. Sorry to bother you—”

“I’m on my way.”

Despite the gravity of the situation, after he hung up, the smallest of smiles began forming on your face. 

Fifteen minutes later, a knock came from your front door.

You swung the door open, and there he stood. Tool bag in hand, flannel shirt stretching tightly over his broad shoulders, salt-and-pepper hair just a little bit unkempt.

It had been a good few months since the two of you went your separate ways, but there he was—still at your beck and call. What that meant, exactly, remained to be seen. 

But you were glad to see him, nonetheless.

“Hi,” You said breathlessly.

Upon seeing you, Joel’s brows shot up, and he blinked a few times.

“Hi.” He said back slowly, then cleared his throat. “Am I… interruptin’ something?”

You glanced down. Right. Tight dress and makeup.

“I have a date in…” You raised your left wrist and winced as you looked down at your watch. “Five minutes ago.”

“A date.” He clicked his tongue, nodding to himself. “Well, I’ll try to make this quick, then.”

You hummed a noise of agreement, pivoted, and, with a wave of your hand, invited Joel inside.

He stepped through the doorway with a quiet grunt. And, as he bent down to undo his boots, his coffee-brown gaze landed on a pile of unopened mail by the entryway table. A few envelopes had slipped to the floor, and he crouched to gather them without thinking. 

But, as he straightened up to his full height, his eyes lingered on the recipient line.

“Mrs Miller?” Joel read aloud.

“What?” Your breath caught in your throat, and you spun around to meet his stare.

Joel wordlessly held the envelope up with two fingers, the corners of his lips slightly upturned.

“Oh.” You cringed inwardly. “Yeah.”

“Didn’t, uh, realise that you were keepin’ the name.” He shrugged offhandedly, tossing the stack of mail onto the entryway table.

“I’m not. I just…” You ran a hand through your hair. “Paperwork isn’t final.”

For the divorce.

Joel’s eyebrows pinched together. “I sent you my signed copies, if—” 

“I know you did. I just haven’t sent the papers to my lawyer yet.” You pressed your lips into a thin line and avoided his gaze. “Just got a lot on my plate, recently.”

That was very unconvincing.

Joel hummed a noncommittal noise.

“Well…” He huffed sheepishly. “You know I always liked my name on you.”

You swallowed, feeling your stomach do a funny flip and your ears burn up. Why were your ears burning up?

“C’mon. The problem is upstairs.”

The faucet, to your dismay, hadn’t stopped. It was worse now, if that was even possible, spitting little rogue sprays of water alongside the main stream. Great.

You checked your watch again. Fifteen minutes late. You would no doubt have a few missed calls from your poor suitor if you had the guts to check your phone.

Joel sank to one knee as he inspected the sink, squinting at the appliance and shaking his head. Miraculously, he reached in and, a few rusty squeaks later, the water stopped.

“You fixed it.” You blinked.

“Far from it,” He muttered, frowning. “The cartridge’s shot. And the valve stem’s stripped. Who installed this?”

Without missing a beat, “You did.”

“…Right.”

You leaned against the doorframe, arms crossed over your chest. “So?”

“So, this isn’t a quick fix. I need to pull out the whole assembly. Maybe replace the handle, too. And judging by the corrosion around this nut—” He held up a discoloured metal hexagon like it had personally offended him. “You’ve probably had a leak back here for a while.”

You blinked. “And you didn’t notice that when you lived here?”

Joel turned to shoot you a look. “I was your husband, not your handyman.”

“Really? I could’ve sworn I married you for that toolbox of yours.”

“And here I thought it was ‘cause of my radiant personality.”

“Definitely not that.” You huffed out a laugh.

Despite his back being turned to you, you could just about make out a reluctant smile forming through his slightly greying stubble.

You watched as he rolled up his plaid sleeves, exposing tanned forearms that were entirely too bulky for someone in his mid-forties. He then dug into his bag, fishing out an Allen Wrench.

“You can go on your date,” Joel added, not looking at you. “I’ll be out of here in an hour. Two, tops. But… if you feel like gettin’ frisky, maybe do it at his place. Just in case.”

Right, your date.

Biting the inside of your cheek, you took out your phone. Six missed calls and a flurry of concerned texts.

Decidedly, you typed out an apologetic message mentioning a water-related emergency and stuffed your phone back in your purse.

“I’m staying with you.”

Joel froze and turned to look at you from over his shoulder. “No, you ain’t. I’ll take too long.”

“Well, I can’t leave you to fix my problems while I’m out eating overpriced ravioli.” You shrugged and, with a soft grunt, took a seat against the wall near him. “You’re not a plumber, you’re a… you’re my…”

Ex-husband.

You cleared your throat, then emphasised, “You’re not a plumber.”

Joel let out a slow exhale. “Do whatever you want, but I doubt watching me fix your sink is gon’ be as fun as your date.”

“I’ve got a full bottle of Pinot Noir in the fridge.” You tilted your head. “We can make it fun.”

Joel’s eyebrows shot up.

“Not—not in that way.” You rubbed a clammy hand down your face.

To your surprise, that earned you a small, gruff laugh from Joel, his eyes crinkling momentarily the way they only did when he was truly amused.

His voice was soft when he responded. 

“Go on and get the wine, then, sweetheart.”

Two crystal glasses and a little while later, Joel had put down his wrench and opted instead to sit beside you on your tiled bathroom floor, his shoulders brushing up against yours in the cramped space.

Efforts to tame the defiant sink had long since been forgotten. He did the best he could, but retired upon discovering that you had no spare sink handle lying around—how very unprepared of you.

The bad news was that you weren’t going to be able to wash your hands in the master bedroom ensuite tonight. The good news was that you were having a surprisingly good time with Joel. The conversation evolved from discussing your stood-up date (you showed Mark’s profile, Joel was convinced he was lying about his dogs being rescues), then to how his company was going, and then, reminiscing about the good ol’ days.

“All I’m sayin’,” Joel continued through a laugh. “Is that she did it on purpose.”

“My mom has always been bad with names!”

“Bad enough to still call me ‘George’ after a year of us datin’?” He scoffed.

You stifled a giggle. “In her defence, it’s a very similar—”

“Like hell it is. And your dad? He was worse.” Joel chuckled, finishing the last of his wine. “How is he?”

“Fine. Just called him yesterday, actually.”

“He still callin’ me–?”

“He still calls you ‘porn stache’, yes.”

Joel snorted into his hand, his shoulders bobbing up and down with laughter. Real, genuine laughter.

You smiled and turned to steal a glance at his profile.

His eyes crinkled at the corners, his hooked nose scrunched mid-chuckle, and his laugh was exactly as it was before—low and rough, but somehow boyish and unguarded.

You had almost forgotten how his whole face lit up when he laughed.

And, you didn’t mean to stare. But you did. 

God, you missed this.

“I think I prefer George.” Joel ran a hand down his face, still smiling.

You cleared your throat and leaned over to retrieve the almost-empty wine bottle, refilling your glasses.

“Sarah told me to say hi to you, if I got the chance, by the way.” You said, pouring the Pinot Noir into his glass. “She’s with my parents at the lake house.”

“The lake house?” Joel hummed, taking another sip of his drink. “Still disappointed I didn’t get that in the settlement.”

You snorted, amused. “You don’t even like lakes.”

“No, I don’t like the mosquitoes that come with the lakes.” Joel corrected you, pointedly. “But, I don’t know, I guess I just miss it. A lot of good memories there.”

You felt yourself smile. “Yeah. Yeah, there were.”

A beat.

“Hey, at least you kept the cars. And the boat. And the frequent flier miles. And, well, you see Sarah every other week.” You turned to look at Joel, but he was already looking at you.

A certain vulnerability swam in the brown of his eyes. Something you hadn’t seen in a very long time.

“Yeah, well… there were more important things I couldn’t keep.”

The air thinned. The wine, the laughter, the conversation—everything dissolved in the quiet admission, hanging thickly in the space between you.

And suddenly, there was only you and Joel and the mistakes that had wedged you apart yet somehow brought you back together again; on a random Friday evening on the floor of a bathroom you used to share.

“Joel…” You swallowed, your hand falling from your lap onto the tiles.

But you couldn’t form any semblance of a sentence. How could you? 

There was nothing to say. Yes, you missed him. ‘Missed’ was an understatement. 

Sometimes you’d roll over in the night, wishing to feel the weight of his arm resting on your waist, reassuring you that these past few months had only been a bad dream. Sometimes you came to pick Sarah up early, just to get a few more minutes with him. Sometimes—no, a lot of the time, memories of him came rushing back, cleaving your heart into two, further and further each time.

No matter how hard you tried, you just couldn’t let go of the man you spent so many years loving. 

Joel’s eyes still bore into yours. And nothing in the world could have torn you away.

He exhaled slowly, then set down his glass with care. His hand barely brushed yours, but it was enough to make your breath hitch.

“I think about it,” He said softly. “More than I should.”

“Think about what?”

A quiet, almost sad laugh escaped from his throat. He leaned back against the wall, staring up at the ceiling.

“How things used to be.”

“Oh,”

A moment passed, marked only by the metre of your incessant heartbeat pounding in your ears.

And then, “Do you ever miss us?” Joel asked.

You faced him once more. The answer was on the tip of your tongue, but you couldn’t bring yourself to say it. Because that was too complicated. Because that would break you.

Joel didn’t need you to say it. He found the answer in your eyes.

All the time.

Instead, you asked, “Do you? Miss us, that is.”

“Of course, I do.” He said softly. “More than you can imagine.”

You held your breath.

Joel heaved a sigh.

“I think about calling,” He added, voice low. “Just to hear your voice.”

“I’d answer,” You said, barely above a whisper.

He smiled in a bittersweet, melancholic sort of way and leaned in just slightly. Unconsciously, you mirrored him.

And then his eyes flickered down to your lips. It was only for a second, but it was enough to make your stomach flutter.

This was dangerous. You should’ve told him to leave ages ago. Or, maybe you should’ve left yourself and gone on your date.

But you couldn’t bring yourself to pull away.

“Can I ask you something stupid?” You whispered.

Joel whispered back, “Always.”

“Do you…” You trailed off, biting your lip.

“Do I what?”

“Do you—does even a part of you… want what we had back?” 

You knew what he was going to say. You just wanted to hear it for yourself.

And you did.

“Yes,” He admitted earnestly.

You searched his face for any sign of deception, but found none. The only thing in his coffee-brown eyes was regret. And, maybe, something else, too. Something softer.

Your eyes widened. “We fought a lot.”

“We did.”

“And we probably said some shit.” You sighed, looking up at the ceiling, as if all the answers were written there. Joel did, too.

His voice came softly, sadly, “We did.”

Silence again. Thick and fragile and charged with so many unspoken words.

Joel’s knee brushed yours, neither of you pulling away. It was nice to have him close, to feel his familiar warmth, to see him—really see him. Bare and raw and vulnerable. No facades of indifference. No hiding behind closed car doors. Just Joel, your Joel, there beside you; soft-eyed and quiet, like maybe he was seeing you, too.

Your fingers twitched on the floor beside his. You wanted to reach for him, but you wanted him to reach first. Absently, you fiddled with your left ring finger, suddenly aware of its bareness.

He looked at you then. Not a glance, but a full turn, slow and deliberate. His dark eyes searched your face, pausing on your mouth, your cheek, your lashes, then settled on your eyes again. He looked at you like you were something he’d spent months trying to forget, and only just now remembered why he couldn’t.

You held your breath.

Joel’s voice, when it finally came, was low, cracked around the edges.

“I know it was bad in the end, but I meant what I said.” He breathed. “I miss us. I miss you.”

Your heart twisted. And there went that cleaver again, slicing further.

“I miss seeing your keys on the kitchen counter and knowing you were home. I miss kissing you before work and smudgin’ your lipstick. I miss watching stupid movies with you that we’d fall asleep to halfway.”

His throat bobbed. He leaned back against the wall, like it hurt to say it out loud.

“Yeah, we fought and said some real mean shit. But God help me, I’d give anything to go back in time and fight for you like I should have. Because you were it for me. You were everything. Still are.”

His eyes glistened as he held your gaze, fierce and unflinching.

“Because, no matter how hard I try to ignore it,” He smiled to himself, shaking his head like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “I love you.”

He loves you.

Those three simple words rang in an echo in your mind. He loves you, he loves you, Joel loves you.

“You love me?” You could barely hear your voice above the deafening thrum of your pulse.

Your faces were barely an inch apart, now. You could smell the familiar scent of his laundry detergent, and traces of his cologne, and wood, and tobacco, and something that was so uniquely him.

Joel nodded.

“I never stopped.” He whispered.

Without thinking, you closed the remaining distance, smashing your lips against his. Joel grunted in surprise, but quickly gave in, exhaling through his nose like he’d been holding a breath in for years. 

He returned the kiss with equal fervour, reaching out to cup your face and pouring all his pent-up emotions against the haven of your lips—longing, relief, desire.

You pushed yourself closer against him. Closer, impossibly closer, until you were straddling his lap, moving against the tent in his jeans, feeling his big hands instinctively settle on your hips, and tasting the Pinot Noir on his lips.

Shit. Was this even a good idea?

You pulled away suddenly. A tiny whine came from Joel, who tried to chase your mouth, but you were insistent.

“Wait,” You panted.

His eyes opened fully. His brows were knitted, his lips were kiss-swollen, and his chest was heaving slowly.

“What?” Joel asked quietly, his thumbs idly tracing circles on either side of your hips.

“This…” You breathed. “I don’t want this to be a one-time thing. I don’t want it to mean nothing.”

Joel smiled softly at your words.

“Means a whole lot to me, sweetheart.” His hand went to gently tuck a stray strand of your hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek in his wake. “We can talk about what this means, if you w—”

“Okay, good. Means a lot. Talk after.”

“After?” His eyebrows rose.

“After you fuck me.”

A breathy ‘Jesus Christ’ slipped from his throat, but Joel didn’t spend a second refusing your bold assumption.

With a hand on your nape, he leaned forward to capture your lips in another searing kiss, which you happily accepted, sighing against him.

His big hands then travelled to the back of your thighs, and the next thing you knew, he carelessly swept away whatever was decorating the base of your faucet, and carried you with ease to perch you atop the sink.

“Joel.” You mumbled urgently into his lips.

“Mmm?” He hummed back, not wanting to break your mouths apart for even a second. 

“Might break the sink again.”

“Don’t care. I’ll fuckin’ fix it again, then. Just… need you,” Joel groaned. “Look too fuckin’ good,”

And he pulled away. His half-lidded, cloudy gaze drank you in, sweeping down the snugness of your dress, and lingering on the generous amount of cleavage it revealed. His hands drifted higher and higher up your thighs, until they reached the hemline—dipping under just slightly.

“Too fuckin’ good,” He snarled.

You smirked. Knowing him, he was definitely going to ask if—

“How much was this dress?”

Sighing amusedly, “It wasn’t cheap.”

“How attached are you to it?” He mumbled, a hand reverently skirting up to your hip.

“A moderate amou—”

“Can I rip it off you?”

There it was.

In the many years you were married, Joel shredded more than enough articles of your precious wardrobe in similar heated moments. If you were to count the offences, you’d likely run out of fingers. Your wedding dress had been among the few survivors of his destructive tendencies, though not for lack of trying on his part.

You stifled a snort and shook your head, reaching up to caress his face. 

“No.” You smiled. “Because I’d like to wear it again.”

Joel held your hand against his face and huffed out an exaggerated sigh. “Next time.”

And then his hands found the zipper on your side, pulled it sharply down, and tugged the dress off you.

His eyes darkened.

You had chosen to don an intricate, black, lacey number underneath your dress that teased just enough and only hid the bare minimum. Of course, you had. You hadn’t had an opportunity to wear anything vaguely provocative in ages and were expecting some luck after your date.

You certainly didn’t expect that your ex-husband would be the one seeing it.

“This for him?” Joel’s lip twitched.

Heat rose in your cheeks. “Well, I—”

“Yeah, these don’t get a pass.”

With a sharp tearing noise slicing through the air, Joel ripped the flimsy lacey bra clean in half, watching intently, hungrily, as your tits spilled out.

“Joel!”

“I know, I know,” Joel grunted. “I’ll buy you a new set… buy you all the fuckin’ sets.”

You were about to object, intent on citing the price attached to that particular pair, but Joel had sunk back on his knees and spread your legs apart.

He pressed his lips on your inner thigh, scruff tickling your skin as he slowly, softly trailed his mouth upward, leaving goosebumps in his wake.

His face came to a stop in front of your core, noticing how heavily you were breathing, and his eyes flicked up to yours, smirking. Smug fucking bastard.

“Joel.” You gritted your teeth.

“Yeah, baby?”

“Don’t fucking tease me.” 

And he leaned his forehead against the lower part of your navel, taking a second to breathe in the unmistakable scent of your arousal seeping through your lingerie. 

He was practically salivating, now. 

“I’ll try not to, ma’am.” 

Without another word, he took the lace into his teeth, yanked his head sharply, and tore your panties open.

Confirming his suspicions, you were absolutely soaked. Slick drooled freely out of your puffy folds, taunting him and draining every ounce of self-restraint he had. 

Fuck, you were gorgeous.

“Tell me,” Joel said lowly, meeting your gaze once more as a thick finger swiped lightly through your lips, collecting your arousal. “This for him or me?”

“You.” You breathed without a second thought.

“Louder, sweetheart. My ears ain’t what they used to be.”

“You.”

Smirking wider, “Damn fucking right.”

Then, he happily hitched your legs over his shoulders, leaned forward, and dove in.

His tongue prodded into your heat, dragging down your walls and sending jolts of electricity down your spine. He worked fast and sloppily, sliding through your folds and flicking into your walls, urgently tasting you like he wouldn’t get another chance. 

Your arousal coated the lower half of his face, his eyes were almost black with desire, obscenely wet noises echoed in the silence of the tiled room as his tongue eagerly devoured you whole—

“Fuck, almost forgot how good you taste. So fuckin’ sweet.” Joel mumbled against your sex, entirely, wholly bewitched. “She missed me, too, huh? Just drippin’ for me…”

He continued to furiously lap at your entrance, scruff rubbing against your inner thighs. And then he moved up, planting messy kisses higher and higher until he reached your swollen clit.

You gasped brokenly, flinging a hand to grasp his curls as his lips alternated from pressing messy kisses along your seam to greedily sucking at your bundle of nerves, latching onto it almost desperately.

After a particularly delicious drag down the roof of your core, you rolled your hips up into his mouth and brought him closer to you with your grip in his hair.

“Shit—sorry.” You panted, breathing heavily.

He barely pulled away to look at you.

“Don’t fuckin’ be. I can handle it, you know I can.” Joel all but growled, before returning to attend to your needy fucking pussy.

He was like a man possessed; lapping frenziedly, groaning lowly into your sensitive skin, curved nose swiping through your folds as he worked.

Very soon, a familiar tingle in your lower stomach introduced itself.

“Joel,” You called urgently, attempting to warn him.

He knew you were close. Oh, he knew. So, he went faster and harder, pressing himself further against you, suffocation be fucking damned.

His low, wrecked voice came slurred and slightly muffled by your sex, “Y’gonna come? Go on, baby, all over my face—thaaat’s it.”

A shattered moan escaped from your throat, and you felt your release take over your body almost violently. You couldn’t help the way your legs clamped down around his head, but Joel loved it, letting you smother him and humming happily into your heat as he worked you through your climax, swallowing your release and eating like a man starved.

Finally, he pulled away with a wet squelch, softly pressed a kiss to your inner thigh, and gently let your legs down.

And you were immediately greeted with the sight of his lower face shining with your slick.

A good look on him, if you’d say so yourself.

He smiled lazily, eyes blown-out and absolutely fucking pussydrunk. 

“That good for you, sweetheart?” He mused.

“You, Joel Miller, are what we call a munch.” You smiled back.

Pride bloomed across his face. “Gladly, sweets.” 

And you pulled him up by the collar of his flannel shirt into a filthy kiss, tasting your arousal on his lips.

He let his eyes fall shut and reached up to curl a hand around your jaw as he returned the kiss, his brows furrowed in concentration.

Not wasting any time, your hands flew to his belt, blindly fumbling at the leather material to slide it out of the loops of his jeans.

Joel chuckled, leaning forward to trail his lips down your neck, leaving a path of open-mouthed kisses.

“Need somethin’, baby?”

“Wanna return the favour,” You glanced down at the bulge in his lap.

“Mm-mm. That was more for me than you. Missed your sweet fuckin’ pussy.” Joel mumbled against your pulse point.

“Munch.” You couldn’t help but giggle.

“Yeah, yeah.” Joel sighed, lifting his head and undoing his jeans just barely enough to pull himself free from his boxers. 

You heard yourself swallow.

Joel Miller was a big man, and you were very aware of that fact. It was written all across his body; from his impossibly broad shoulders, to his beefy arms, to his thick fucking cock.

He stroked himself, once, twice, as his eyes fell to your pulsating, slick core. Beads of precum leaked from his flushed tip and down his length as he did so.

“Spread those legs wider for me, baby. Let me see you,” He breathed lowly.

And you very willingly obliged.

“There’s my girl,” Joel hummed.

With a hand around his base, he guided himself closer to your drooling cunt, nudging his swollen head against you.

Sighing, “Deep breath, baby.”

And he slowly forced himself in, one hand on the small of your back, the other on the underside of your thigh, prompting you to wrap your legs around his waist as he steadily fed you his cock.

You gasped some variant of a plea.

Needless to say, he was a tight fucking fit.

“Takin’ me so well. That’s it, baby, let me in.” He blabbed mindlessly as he continued to sink deeper inside. 

Deeper, deeper, deeper…

He winced. “Shit—there you go.”

When all of him was nested inside your welcoming channel, he let out a gasped expletive at the sensation.

Full. You felt so full with him inside. You always did.

“Fuck, missed this.” Joel panted, resting his forehead against yours. 

You tried to echo the sentiment, but the only thing you were capable of doing was letting out an incoherent groan of his name.

Joel got the message, though.

Maintaining an unhurried tempo, he rolled his hips back and forth, slowly dragging his thickness against your walls, making you painfully aware of every last inch of him.

“How’s that feel, baby?” He mumbled, voice airy.

“Good. Feels so good.”

And, fuck, he did. 

He felt amazing.

His tempo soon picked up, leaving your mouth to fall open as you took every inch of him again and again, stretching you open with enough pleasure to dull the slight pain.

“Tell me,” Joel hummed as he continued to drive ceaselessly in and out of your tight channel, adopting a false lilt of indifference. “Who’s fuckin’ you so good, huh?”

An incoherent syllable slipped from your lips.

“Who, baby?” Joel urged you, unrelenting in his pace. “Sure as hell ain’t fuckin’ Mark.”

Dumbly, you shook your head.

“You, Joel.”

Your words were almost drowned out by the symphony of your own moans, which were accompanied by the obscenely wet slaps that sounded every time his hips fully met yours.

“Louder.” He snarled, punctuating his response with an intentionally rough ram. “Neighbours can’t hear you yet, c’mon.”

“You, Joel!”

Satisfied, his hands went to hold you by your waist, keeping you as still as possible as he drove insistently into you, his tip now kissing your cervix with every thrust.

You cried out at the feeling, nails raking down his back.

Heat pooled in your gut, your vision blurred, a high-pitched ringing almost deafened your ears.

“Joel, Joel, I’m…” You babbled.

“Close? Go on, gorgeous. Let me feel you choke my dick.”

With his blessing, his name left your mouth in a high-pitched scream, and you felt yourself clench around his throbbing length as your orgasm rippled across your body like an earthquake.

Joel, being the overachiever he was, didn’t stop for even a second until your breathing slowed and your eyes fluttered open again.

And, once he saw that you had recovered, he leaned forward to slant his mouth against yours, swallowing your sighs.

“You okay?” He mumbled into the kiss, barely breaking away.

“Yeah.” You exhaled. 

He smiled against your lips.

“Good. Almost there, baby. Gonna take you against the sink, now, and you’re gonna give me one more, how’s that sound?”

You nodded dreamily, feeling him slowly pull out.

He leaned back and, with his hands on your waist, delicately set you down.

“Turn ‘round for me, sweetheart.” 

You acquiesced without hesitation, bracing yourself on the porcelain countertop.

Joel hummed, kicked your legs open even wider, and, not long after, sank the entirety of his cock into you in one deep thrust.

A sharp breath hit the air behind you, and an airy ‘fuck’ followed it. This angle made him feel bigger, if that was even possible.

He didn’t wait long after that. He couldn’t. Overcome with the need to feel you, he started moving. The first thrust was slow. Experimental. The second was hard. The third was harder.

Before you knew it, his big hands found a home on your hips, and he began to drive roughly into you, as if making up for lost time.

He certainly proved he was willing to atone for his absence, thrust after thrust.

“Oh, look at you.” Joel tutted and pulled your hair to tilt your head upwards.

You came face to face with the woman in the bathroom mirror.

Somewhere in between thrusts, your mouth had fallen agape, letting loose a long whine of pleasure, which was stuttered by every slam of his hips against yours.

Your hair was frizzy, your face was flushed, your hooded gaze was flooded with desire, and a light sheen of sweat doused every inch of your skin.

You were a wreck, thanks to the man fucking you so well behind you.

“Eyes up here.” Joel sighed. “Keep ‘em open. Gotta watch how well you take me.”

Joel was even more of a sight. 

The top few buttons of his flannel were undone, his sleeves were haphazardly rolled up, his hair was wild, and the look on his weathered face was nothing short of territorial as he held you to him and fucked you with reckless abandon.

Your eyes fell to where your bodies were connected, hypnotised by how easily his tanned cock disappeared in and out of your puffy cunt.

Again.

And again.

And again.

The corners of his lips were coyly upturned when he cooed, “Don’t we look good, baby?”

You could only respond in broken syllables.

“Yeah,” He grunted. Then, after a particularly forceful thrust, “we do.”

He continued to ram into you, finding your cervix with each thrust, keeping his eyes trained on the mirror, fixated on how your tits bounced so prettily for him.

“Beautiful.” He whispered, jaw tight.

If your brain hadn’t been turned to mush after the two orgasms he forced out of you, you would’ve heard him. But all you were focused on was the rush of another climax approaching.

You gripped the countertop harder and gritted your teeth, feeling warmth collecting in your stomach and bracing yourself for impact.

As if reading your mind, Joel’s hand moved from your hip to your front, trailing down until he brushed your clit, rubbing sloppy semi-cricles and whispering sweet things as you whimpered.

“You gonna give me one more?” He murmured encouragingly, his nose nudging the side of your face.

You could only manage an open-mouthed nod.

His fingers sped in their motions, swiping at your clit feverishly as he continued to rut into you, grazing your cervix each time.

Again. And again. 

“Come for me, sweetheart. I’ll catch you.” He whispered gently.

Your jaw slackened, your heartbeat quickened, and, in a blinding flash of pleasure, you came with his name on your tongue, helpless to the throes of your climax.

“There you go. Shit… so good for me.” Joel groaned. And then, urgently, “Where—where do you want me to–?”

Not even a full second later, “Inside.” 

“You sure?” He panted, starstruck. 

“I have an IUD, just—please.”

He didn’t reply. Instead, he pressed closer, his chest flush against your back, letting you feel every shaky pull of his breath as he caged you in. His hands found yours at the edge of the sink, lacing over them gently. His head dropped beside yours, his forehead nearly touching your temple, and a warm breath fanned across your skin as he sighed. 

And then he resumed his earlier pace.

He rammed into you hard and fast, chasing his own release as if it were a life-or-death situation. And all you could do was take it.

After a dozen more jerky thrusts, his breath caught in his throat and, with a low curse, he came. Hot ropes of his spend spilled inside you, and he rode it out until he couldn’t give you any more, which took a few more lazy rolls of his hips.

His breath evened not long after, warm and steady against your browbone. Soothing, almost.

Gently, he pulled out of you, and you felt his come slowly drip down your thighs.

“Fuck,” He breathed, pressing a soft kiss to your hair, scruff rubbing against your crown as he did so.

And he bowed his head to rest it on the crook of your neck.

“That was great, George.” You panted.

Joel snorted tiredly. “Just couldn’t help yourself, huh?”

“Nope.”

He huffed out a chuckle.

Then, he languidly pressed a trail of open-mouthed kisses wherever his lips could reach—the underside of your jaw, your throat, your neck, and down, still.

A warm, fuzzy sort of feeling radiated from his touch, lulling you into a state of bliss. It felt like love; it felt like coming home.

You couldn’t help the smile that stretched across your face.

Joel mumbled something unintelligible against your shoulder.

“What?” You replied, breaking free from your trance.

“I said,” He pulled away and, with two fingers on your chin, tenderly turned your face to look at him. His voice was wrecked and so very earnest when he finally repeated himself. “Don’t send the papers. Please.”

He held the rest of his plea in his eyes in the way they shone with a certain sincerity.

You smiled softly and shook your head. Because you knew you never really had any intention to. Because you wanted to hold on to him. And you were glad he wanted to hold on to you, too.

Your lips found his. Gentle, delicate, a reassurance. He gave in to the kiss almost immediately, sighing into your mouth.

“I won’t.”

And you meant it.

thanks for reading!!! reqs are open, if you wanna send an idea or anything over :)

Of course, there were still traces of what “till death do us part” once meant — a shared bed, matching cups, a smaller pair of shoes by the door beside his, and what was the most convincing proof, a son.

But that was not enough to ensure that the rose of love that once bloomed years ago still shone with the same brilliance beneath the monotonous and hollow veil that now covered their present.

In fact, the flower that once symbolized their love and marriage had withered long ago. What began as a strong and loving union had turned into petty, pointless arguments that always ended in paranoid accusations of jealousy — the kind that inevitably led to the slow destruction of what used to be a sacred marital bond.

Although the question here wasn’t why his marriage was falling apart, but rather whether you cared in the slightest that he was still married.

It’s not like you ever gave it much thought. The reason Joel hadn’t gotten a divorce was because the legal process would’ve been just another pain in the ass in his already exhausting routine — and because his wife still clung to the idea of “the sake of their son,” a son who was already a grown man in his twenties, yet treated as if he were still a toddler.

But if you wanted to be completely honest with yourself, the answer would be no; you did not care in the slightest about the miserable state of your boyfriend’s parents’ marriage.

What did matter to you —and occupied your thoughts far more often than the dirty fantasies you were always daydreaming about— was the fact that it was your father-in-law’s bed where you had ended up most nights.

It had never been your intention for things to turn out this way. From the very beginning, there had always been a warm familiarity between you and Joel. Maybe it was the way his hugs lingered longer than they should, or the way his voice changed ever so slightly whenever he spoke to you.

Whatever the reason might have been — though you were convinced it wasn’t just one — it had turned into something darker. Something addictive. You knew perfectly well that, even though both your relationships were going through rough times, nothing justified the affair you were having behind your partners’ backs.

And guilt did gnaw at you, in the quiet moments when peace dared to visit. You knew that if he ever found out, he’d hate you —hell, he’d probably hate Joel too. But when Joel’s calloused hands were on your skin, when his cock was filling you up— there was no room for shame. Only pleasure. Only sin.

His touch, his voice, his kisses — everything about him was addictive. He was the forbidden fruit you couldn’t stop eating from, no matter the guilt that followed after. You were weak when it came to him, and it didn’t take long before you gave in.

And that’s where you were right now — trembling thighs spread wide across Joel’s lap, cock stretching you open slow and steady on the living room couch.

Your little whines broke the silence, high-pitched and desperate as you tried to sink down on him. His lips curved into a smirk, beard scraping warm against the curve of your neck as his hands steadied your waist.

“Easy now, baby girl,” Joel rumbled, voice low and sweet in a way that made your stomach flip. “Take your time. Daddy’s thick, gotta ease her open.”

Your cunt fluttered around the fat head of his dick, the feeling of his manhood snug inside your walls making you squirm. Your nails dug into his shoulders as he held you there, refusing to let you drop all at once.

“Daddy,” you whined, the word fragile and needy. “S’too big… it won’t fit,” your hips jerked in helpless little circles, like your body couldn’t decide whether to fight him or pull him deeper.

Joel chuckled, the sound rough, amused, and full of heat. He spanked your ass lightly, the crack of it echoing in the room. “I know, baby, I know… You’re takin’ me just fine, sweetheart. Sweetest little pussy I ever had—spoilin’ me rotten, darlin’.”

The praise made you melt, made your pussy clench down on him so hard he hissed through his teeth. “Fuck, baby... you always come crawlin’ back to me all needy after fightin’ with my boy, huh?”

Your stomach twisted at the reminder. The fight with your boyfriend still echoed sharp in your mind—his harsh words, the way he accused you of never being satisfied, of always wanting more.

And maybe he was right, you did want more…

Just not from him.

“Shh now,” Joel soothed when your eyes watered. He tipped your chin up, thumb brushing your lip softly. “Don’t think about him. Think about your old man. Daddy’s the one takin’ care of you, ain’t he?”

“Yes,” you breathed, nodding quickly. “Only you, daddy.”

“That’s my girl,” he praised, guiding your hips down until you were fully seated on his cock. The stretch burned, making your thighs quiver, but fuck if it wasn’t perfect. You gasped the moment he bottomed out, feeling overwhelmed as Joel groaned, forehead pressing against your temple. “Good little girl… Takin’ me so deep. Pussy knows who she belongs to.”

You whined again, burying your face in his neck as he bounced you slowly, using his grip on your ass to lift and drop you on his lap. Each push dragged a choked moan out of your chest. The pace set by him was deliberate, almost teasing, just enough to make your clit throb for more.

“See how perfect you fit?” Joel murmured, planting wet kisses along your jaw. “He don’t know how to treat you right, sweetheart. Always yellin’, always naggin’, makin’ my little baby cry. But daddy makes it all better, don’t he?”

“Y-yeah,” you hiccuped, body trembling as his cock nudged that soft spot inside you. “You make me feel so good.”

“That’s right,” he rasped, one hand sliding up your back, the other smacking your ass hard enough to make you yelp. “My sweet girl. Daddy’s good little girl.”

You whimpered, rocking slightly in his lap, cunt clenching greedily around him, begging silently for more.

“Bet he don’t even touch you right,” Joel rasped, his mouth hot against your ear. “Bet he leaves my baby girl cryin’ in bed, achin’ for somethin’ he can’t give.”

“…Daddy—!”

“Shh, baby, I got you,” he whispered. “Just bounce for me. Wanna hear them pretty noises. That’s all daddy needs.”

Your hips moved faster, chasing friction, your slick coating his cock as he groaned low in his chest. His voice dropped darker, sweeter—praise laced with sin. “He don’t deserve you,” his palm smoothed down your back, firm and possessive. “Never did.” He tilted your chin up so you couldn’t look away. “But I do.”

Oh god.

Your lashes fluttered, mouth falling open as you started to sob little moans. “Need you, daddy… please, need you so bad—”

Joel spanked you again, sharp but not cruel, making you jolt against him. “I know, baby,” his lips lightly brushed against yours, gently nibbling on them. “C’mon now, move those hips for daddy. Show me how bad you need him.”

You whimpered, bouncing down harder, thick length hitting the deepest parts of your warmth. The wet slap of your cunt against his thighs filled the living room, punctuated by your desperate little cries every time his balls smacked your cheeks.

“Good girl. Doin’ so good for me.” Joel praised, groaning low. “Look at you, ridin’ daddy’s cock like you were made for it. So much better than him, huh? He couldn’t handle this sweet pussy even if he tried.”

Tears pricked your eyes—not from pain but from the sheer intensity of it.

And perhaps from the truth in his words as well.

“Shh,” Joel soothed, kissing them away even as he fucked you deeper with a sudden, brutal thrust of his hips. “Don’t cry, baby. Daddy’s got you. Always.”

The rhythm grew rougher, his hands guiding you up and down, spanking you in between, every praise soaked in possession. “Just like that, pretty girl, ride daddy nice and deep. Gonna fill you up, baby. Give you everything he can’t.”

His words tangled with the echoes of the fight—your boyfriend’s accusations, the way he said you’d never be loyal. And he wasn't wrong when he yelled that truth in your face.

But as Joel’s cock pulsed inside you, as he whispered filthy praise into your ear, you knew where you belonged.

You sobbed, feeling that familiar bliss curl hot and dizzy in your lower belly. He started fucking up into you harder, chasing your high before he even contemplated his own orgasm. “Gonna come for me? Gonna let daddy have it?”

“Y-yes! Daddy, please—! Please—!”

“Let it go, baby, let it go, soak all of your old man’s cock.” You cried out, the sound muffled against his chest as he coaxed you to come.

Not long after you shattered around him with a cry, milking him hard as he held you against his chest. “That’s it, angel, just like that… I gotcha, always gotcha, sweet thing.” He kissed your temple, chasing his own high desperately.

Moments later, his whole body stiffened under you, burying himself deep as his spend filled you up to the brim.

His groan was low, raw, his hand cradling your head with adoration as he stayed there, cock snug inside you, keeping you as close as humanly possible.

You clung to him, trembling with the aftershocks, guilt swirling somewhere in the back of your mind—but drowned out by the warmth of his arms.

“Such a good girl,” he whispered. “Daddy’s proud of you.”

You blinked up at him, face flushed and damp. He brushed his thumb over your cheek, gentling you after the roughness.

“Don’t you worry about him,” Joel said firmly, eyes dark with something possessive. “Long as you need me, I’ll be here. Always, baby.”

And despite the shame that twisted in your gut, you melted against him, letting his love swallow you whole. Because no matter how wrong this was, you believed him when he said that no one else would ever love you like this.

And maybe he was right.

Because only daddy knows best.

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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.

He always believed in settling the score.

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