If anyone wants to be friends 🫶🏻 I’d love that. I’m also open to doing art trades — I’ll leave the page in case anyone wants to see it in good quality.
My fictional loves areLestat de Lioncourt (series and movie versions), The Phantom of the Opera (Charles Dance and Ramin versions), Namor (in all his versions), Petyr from What We Do in the Shadows (movie), Dracula (Gary Oldman), Nandor from What We Do in the Shadows (series), Eddie Munson from Stranger Things, Red Guardian from the MCU, Mr. Darcy from Pride and Prejudice, Joel Miller (in all his versions) as well as Tommy Miller, Henry Creel from Stranger Things, and The Grabber from The Black Phone Tate Langdon, hehehehehe.
Warnings: NSFW, Smut, fluff, tiny bit of past trauma, quickie, creampie, pet names (vanilla tho), motherly reader, sub!henry
Word Count: 1.7k
Summary: After the events of part 1, Henry and you navigate the life the both of you’ve created. With the arrival of Holly Wheeler in the house, Henry can’t help himself falling deeper in love with you.
A/n: My page incorporates music into every fic. If that’s your thing, support is always appreciated. Requests are open too!
♫ Golden Brown is a multi part series inspired by The Stranglers “Golden Brown” (1981). ♫
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After a long night with Henry, you both fell asleep naked—limbs tangled together like the knot he just tied with you.
He woke up first. Exhausted, dehydrated, and hungry, Henry could’ve complained about anything but he couldn’t. He felt your body weight laying next his. He looked down to see one of your arms draped carelessly over his bare chest. It was the hand that carried the ring he gave you.
He smiled. Seeing the tiny thing made his heart warm and his stomach flip. He felt love flowing throughout his entire body… especially to his morning wood growing under the covers.
Henry exhaled softly, he wanted to stay in this moment forever but his plans put a dent in that idea. He couldn’t stay like this when he had other matters to attend to. Maybe if he brought all the kids here and finished bringing the worlds together, he could attend to you. He could stay like this forever. Suddenly as if you could hear his thoughts, you rustled next to him.
The sun was shining through the window and hit your eyes with such precision. It annoyed you as you woke; but you remembered where you were and who you were with. He was worth being blinded by the sun.
Henry knew you were waking up and also saw how much pain the sun was bringing your eyes. You were squinting and squirming. Henry looked at the window then the curtain. With a slow turn of his head the curtain closed instantly. The pain ceased, the creases across your eyes and forehead melted away.
“Mmm… thank you.” you mumbled into him. But to Henry it sounded more like, “ank ou.”
He couldn’t help but smile and place a soft kiss to your forehead. “Baby…” he whispered.
“Hmm” you grumbled.
“I’ve gotta get up.” He said as if it pained him too.
“Why?” You asked now raising your head to meet his beautiful blue eyes.
Rubbing your shoulders and placing a soft kiss on your lips, “Holly’s coming today.”
“Mmm yeah you told me that.”
Henry’s eyes left yours and zeroed in on his vest that was tossed carelessly on the bedroom floor. He removed one of his hands from your shoulders—raising it and pulling the vest to him. He grabbed it from the air and looked in one of the pockets. Henry pulled out a golden pocket watch looking at the time. Looking back at you, “Holly’s coming soon. And as much as I’d love to spend an eternity like this with you, I’ve gotta get up.”
You wrapped your hand around his chest and hugged him. “Can’t we just stay like this for a little longer?” You asked.
“Honey…” he said with pain.
“Please?”
Henry took a deep breath and met your puppy dog eyes. “Fine. 10min.” He said, completely unable to argue. Henry dropped the pocket watch and vest back on the floor and turned his attention back to you.
You lifted your head to be even with his. You both brought your lips together and spent some time in each other’s loving embrace.
After some time, your hands drifted lower past his stomach. You wrapped yourself hands around his hard shaft and pumped it twice. “Excited are we?” You asked.
“Very.” He whispered.
You both were still lying side by side when you wrapped one leg over his lower abdomen. You moved your body to better align with him. He held his shaft and moved it towards your slick opening. Wasting no time, he pushed himself in.
You both gasped as you fused together. He allowed you to adjust just a bit before he rolled in and out of you. Time was ticking and you both were chasing yet another high.
This morning quickie had to be just that—quick! Henry picked up the speed and you couldn’t stay quiet. You connected lips again and his mouth drowned out your cries. He felt so amazing. You’d never get sick of feeling him.
It didn’t take long for him to get close. Henry had been alone for most of his life. After the caves, the lab, and being banished by Eleven. Needless to say he had decades of pent up sexual energy. “I’m so close baby,” he growled.
His voice made you shiver. Your own climax grew closer and closer too. “Same.”
A few moments later you felt his movements become uneven and uncontrollable. You both climax at the same wonderful moment. He moaned out as he exploded inside of you. Warm shots of cum painted your walls. You felt that coil within snap as a wave of pleasure flooded your nerves.
The peaceful aftermath didn’t last long before he pulled out and began to get out of bed. “Thank you.” He said before continuing, “I promise be back soon with Holly. I know you’ll care for her as much as I do. And once my plans are done, I promise to worship you with all my love.”
His words made you smile as you pulled him down for one last quick kiss. “I’ll be waiting… I love you.” You whispered before letting him get ready and leave for the day.
And it wasn’t long after he left when you too slid out of bed. You took a shower, washed your face and made the bed. You cleaned up the bedroom—putting the tossed clothes that were on the floor in the laundry. You picked up your golden nightgown before also putting it in the laundry.
You changed into some casual clothing. Nothing too fancy, just a sweater and some cute jeans. You then put up your hair in a bun and carried on with the day by walking down the stairs.
-
With Holly coming to the house you wanted to make sure everything looked tidy. You walked down stairs with the expectation to clean up the living room which wasn’t particularly neat after the events of last night. You remembered pillows were off the couch and your tea still sat on the coffee table. As you walked into the living room, you couldn’t believe it, everything was clean. Pillows were back on the couch and the tea was gone. Henry had cleaned it for you.
You then put some chocolate chip cookies in the oven and walked back upstairs.
You made sure the bedroom down the hall—which would most definitely be hers—was clean and comfortable. You made sure Holly would feel at home with you and Henry. You made sure she’d feel safe. Then you heard the front door open. A child’s voice filled the house.
You left the room and slowly walked down the stairs. You saw Henry standing with his brown suit on and that meticulously place upon his head. Then you saw a small girl. Blond ponytails and a colorful outfit with purple overalls. “Who’s that?” The girl asked as you continued down the creaky stairs.
Henry looked down at Holly and softly spoke, “That’s Mrs. Whatsit.”
You raised an eyebrow at him but he shrugged it off as it wasn’t important. “Honey, this is Holly.” Henry told you.
Meeting her eyes and giving her the warmest smile you finally spoke, “Well hello Holly. It’s nice to meet you.” Holly then waved and said hi back.
“Holly I want you to know that Henry and I will take amazing care of you. There’s nothing to be scared of, enjoy yourself.” You reassured her which made Henry smile.
“Would you like to see your bedroom? And explore a bit?” You asked.
“Yes!” She said as her face lit up with excitement.
“Alright follow me.” You said as you both began to explore the house.
After a tour of the house, everyone went to the kitchen to eat the cookies you had made. Holly ate the cookies so fast you worried she’d choke. You told her to slow down and enjoy the cookies—or at least taste them instead of inhaling them.
Your attention then shifted to Henry. He hadn’t said anything since he introduced the two of you but you could tell he was beyond happy. You were getting along with Holly… more than that, you were so motherly to her. It made Henry feel complete on the inside.
-
Later that evening, all of you sat in the living room. Holly was finishing up a movie while you and Henry sat next to each other on the couch. You both were quietly talking and sorta paying attention to the movie.
“So what’s with Mrs. Whatsit?” You whispered.
Henry chuckled a bit before responding, “Holly’s reading a Wrinkle in Time and it’s one of the characters in the story. Somehow she associates me with it and it just stuck. I’m Mr. Whatsit.”
You smiled a bit. “So I’m Mrs. Whatsit?” You asked.
“Well… after last night you are.” He said before placing a soft kiss on your lips.
“Ewwww” Holly shrieked making the both of you laugh.
Holly’s movie had finished and you decided it was time for her to go to bed. “Holly it’s bedtime.” You said.
Holly rose with some disappointment that she had to go to bed but did anyway. You also got up and took her hand. Henry remained seated as you both walked up the stairs. You tucked Holly in and reassured her that you’d never let any monsters hurt her. Before you left, Holly told you something. She told you something that made your insides flutter with happiness.
You returned to your husband with a grin plastered wide across your face. “Why are you so happy?” Henry asked as you lower yourself back on the couch.
“Holly told me that you talk about me.” You responded.
“Yeah? And what did she say?” He asked.
“She told me how in love you are with me.” You paused before continuing, “she told me how I was the best decision you’ve ever made.”
You pulled him into a passionate kiss and allowed yourself to melt into him. The sheer love you both had for one another was truly overwhelming. “Being with you was the best decision I’ve ever made too.” You whispered into his ear. Henry loved you and you loved him!
You both eventually made your way to bed. Exhausted from the day and collapsing onto the bed, you both fell asleep wrapped in each other’s embrace.
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Pairing: Old!joel Miller x f!reader
Summary: it feels like a dream—waking up in Joel Miller’s arms, taking care of him, building a quiet routine together. You think things might finally be okay. But then a knock on the door changes everything. Just like that, you’re back in front of your father, back in the place you swore you’d never return to. Joel tries to hold back, but when lines are crossed, he crosses them too. Now the town is whispering, and the silence between you is louder than ever. It’s your turn to speak. His too. Because this time, walking away isn’t an option.
Warnings: 18+, smut, fluff, angst, MDNI, age gap! (60s and 20s) oral m!receiving, sex ed (kinda), rubbing over panties, coming on tummy, protected sex, pinv, virginity taking, nipple play, fingering, slight grinding, praise kink, inexperienced!reader, soft!joel, pet names, real sweet!joel, outbreak, tommy and maria cameo, reader has an abusive household, abusive father, drunk father, implications of physical abuse on reader, bruises, details with blood, joel beats someone up until they’re bloody, crying, lot’s of guilt, kind of dbf!joel but not really
A/N: oh my gosh!! here it is!!! i honestly didn’t expect part one to do so well, but it meant the world seeing how much y’all loved it. thank you for every sweet comment and reblog—you have no idea how much i appreciate it. anyway… here’s part two of sweet ol’ joel and his stray kitten. this time, it’s gonna get a bit angstyy 🫣🫣
The morning light spills through the window in a hazy glow.
And in the hush of early morning, Joel hears the wind between trees and the floorboards creaking beneath the day’s first breath. His head still aches, pounds from last night, lashes heavy with sleep—but they flutter anyway, drawn to the warmth pressed against his chest.
You.
You’re curled into him, breath slow, cheek resting just above his heart. There’s softness to you now—a stillness. Not like the girl from yesterday, tear streaked face and asking to stay. Or like the girl who sat on the pillow, trembling body—trembling thighs, neediness in her voice, trying oh so hard to finally reach her high.
No. This version of you is something else—quiet, peaceful. The kind he wants to keep. You feel safe with him, even when he still believes he’s the last man who could offer that.
He keeps watching you, memorizing what he missed—your steady breath, parted lips, soft and still. And just for a moment, he lets himself wonder how it might feel to kiss you.
But he doesn’t. He won’t take what hasn’t been yet offered.
Still, the ache is there, in him. Not just in his body, but in his chest. In that one place where he keeps all the things locked away he doesn’t dare to say.
Your lashes suddenly flutter, and Joel wonders if he thought too loud—if the noise in his head stirred you. You sigh softly, shift against him, and when your eyes blink open, you smile up at him, warm and sleepy.
“Mornin’, bun,” he murmurs, voice still inked with sleep. “You had sweet dreams, hm?”
You nod lazily, rubbing your eyes with the back of your hand. “Yeah. Dreamed ’bout you.”
Joel lets out a deep chuckle, his hand drifting to your cheek, fingertips brushing softly over your skin as the sound rumbles low in his chest.
“Dreamed ’bout me, huh? What’d I do in your dream?” He asks, teasingly.
You giggle, cheeks flushing, and shake your head—suddenly shy, and already regretting ever telling him about the dream.
“Nothin’. It was dumb.”
“C’mon now,” he teases, nudging your side, pinching your cheek slightly. “Don’t leave me hangin’. I wanna know.”
You bury your face into his chest, voice muffled. “You let me take care of you. With my mouth.”
And maybe yesterday’s lesson in front of the mirror made you feel a little bolder. Or maybe it was just that being with Joel—feeling safe with him—made every thought in your head feel steady enough to share.
But of course, the air shifts. Joel stills. His breath catches, and he swallows hard. What else could you expect? His honey bun just told him she had a wet dream about having him in her mouth. Of course he’s going to be speechless.
“Yeah?” he asks, voice low, almost hoarse. Then, softer: “Jesus, bug.”
“Sorry,” you whisper. “I shouldn’t’ve said that.”You look away, cheeks burning—suddenly really unsure if what you said was okey to share after all.
Joel turns to you immediately, hand brushing your arm. “No. No, don’t do that. Don’t take it back.”
“Yesterday… the way I touched you—that wasn’t just about wantin’ you. Not that I don’t want you, of course. But it was more than that. It was trust. About you lettin’ me in.” He tells you, voice soft. “And this—what you just said—it ain’t wrong. It’s just… it’s a lot. You’re a lot. And I’m tryin’ real hard not to mess this up.”
“I want this to feel earned. Not rushed. Ya know? Not like I’m takin’ more than you’re ready to give.” His hand brushes your chin. “But you sayin’ that, bun? Dreamin’ about me like that?” He shakes his head, a breathless laugh escaping. “You’re ruinin’ me, sweetheart.”
“Truly ruining me since yesterday.” He adds.
You want to react to what he says—you really do. But you glance down in that moment, and your eyes catch on the blanket—tented slightly over his lap. Your breath hitches.
Joel follows your gaze, then groans softly, dragging a hand over his face.
“Shit.” He curses. “Didn’t mean to—hell, you weren’t even touchin’ me.” Joel feels his cheeks heat up. “Old man like me, it’s been a long time since I got up just ‘cause someone said somethin’ sweet.”
Heat starts to pool—low, deep, curling in your belly like it’s wanting to get out. And for a moment, the room tilts—just slightly—like the world’s gone soft around the edges and you feel dizzy.
You reach for his hand immediately, lacing your fingers through his.
“Can I help you?” you ask, voice soft.
Joel freezes. His breath catches again.
“What?”
“I mean… if you want. I could—”
But he interrupts you.
“Bun…” His voice is thick, low, almost unsure. “You can’t just say things like that.”
“Why not?”
He looks at you, really looks at you. Eyes going dark and searching. “’Cause I want to say yes. God—I want to say yes.”
“Then say it.” You shrug.
He shakes his head, eyes closing for a beat.
“It ain’t that simple. I gotta be careful with you. You’re not just some girl, baby. You’re… you’re important.” Then, quieter, more broken: “I’m supposed to… take care of you. Not make you do things like this…”
His voice cracks a little at the end, and your heart starts to ache. You pull back just enough to see his face—creased with worry, eyes dark with something deeper than desire.
Guilt. Fear. Maybe even love already.
“Joel,” you whisper, reaching up to touch his cheek, playing with his stubbles along the way. “You’re not making me do anything.”
He closes his eyes, leans into your touch like it hurts and he is searching for comfort.
“I know. I know. It’s just…” He swallows. “You’re young. You’re still figurin’ things out. And I—hell, I’m just some old man who’s already made too many mistakes.”
You shake your head, thumb brushing his jaw.
“You’re not some old man with regrets, Joel. You’re the man who makes me feel safe.” And you mean it.
He opens his eyes, still unsure, still worried. You nod to him.
“You’re killin’ me, bug,” he murmurs. “But if we do this… it’s gotta be slow. Gotta be right. I want you to feel safe. Always.”
You smile, small and sure. “I do.”
“I know you haven’t done other things yet… so you also never done this, right?”
You nod, eyes downcast, a little shy. Joel exhales—not out of frustration, just trying to steady himself. He tips his head back against the pillow, muttering under his breath:
“God, baby…” Then he chuckles, low and rough, trying to shake off the heat rising in his chest. “You’re makin’ me give you full sex ed ‘til you’re home again.”
You giggle, and he smiles at that sound like that’s the only thing that keeps him grounded right now. He shifts besides you, the sheets rustling as he pushes them over. Then he softly pulls his shorts down, revealing himself to you fully for the very first time.
Your breath catches and you sit up on the bed.
He’s hard, thick, flushed, the kind of size that makes your stomach flutter and your thoughts scatter. Big. And pulsing.
You blink, eyes wide, taking him in—he’s beautiful in a way that catches you off guard. Heat rises to your cheeks, and a slow, aching warmth blooms low between your thighs
Then you notice it.
A bead of…something glistens at the tip, catching the sunlight. And just as you’re watching, he twitches—just a subtle pulse, but enough to make your heart skip.
“Joel…” you whisper, voice small. “What is that?”
He huffs a breath, rough and low. “That’s pre-cum, baby,” he says, “Means I’m worked up. Real bad.”
You glance up at him, your fingers curling into the sheets. “Because of me?”
His jaw tightens, and his eyes meet yours. “All you, hon’. Haven’t been touched in a long time. And now you’re here, lookin’ at me like that…”
You reach out slowly, fingers trembling just a little.
You take his hard length into your hand, gently, real careful. He’s so warm beneath your touch—velvet over steel, pulsing with heat. You trace along his cock, watching the way his stomach tightens, the way his breath catches. He could come right on the spot just feeling your soft hands around him.
At the tip, that bead of slickness still glistens.
You hesitate, but then gently swipe your finger through it, curious.
Joel hisses—a sharp, guttural sound that makes your heart stutter. “Jesus,” he mutters, eyes squeezed shut. “You’re gonna kill me, baby.”
You glance up at him, eyes wide. “Did I do something wrong?”
He shakes his head, jaw clenched. “No. God, no. Just—feels real good. You’re doin’ perfect.”
You wrap your hand around him, this time with more confidence—thumb brushing over the slick at the tip again. He moans, hips twitching, and you feel the weight of him pulse in your palm.
So, you start to move—slow, unsure strokes, up and down, just watching him pulse in your hand with curiosity. Joels jaw is tight, eyes half-lidded, chest rising and falling faster.
“Like that?” you ask softly.
He nods, voice rough. “Yeah. Just like that. You’re doin’ so fuckin’ good, sweetheart.”
Then, another drop beads at the tip, slick and glistening.
You blink. “Oh…”
Joel chuckles under his breath, voice low and ruined. “Yeah, baby,” he murmurs. “That’s all you.”
Your gaze flick up to his, and something in your chest tightens. You want to taste him. The thought alone makes your cheeks burn, but the curiosity is louder than your nerves right now.
You shift, leaning in slowly, lips parting as you hover just above him.
Joel’s hand moves fast—gentle, but firm—fingers brushing your cheek as he sits up slightly, propped on one elbow. “Easy, bun,” he murmurs. “No rush.”
You pause, heart pounding.
He brushes your hair back, thumb grazing your jaw. “Just… try kitten licks first. Gets you used to the taste.”
You nod, swallowing hard, and lean in again. Your tongue flicks out, careful, tracing a slow line along the tip. He groans—deep and wrecked—and his hand tightens on the sheets.
“Atta girl,” he breathes. “Just like that.”
You grow bolder, licking a slow stripe from base to tip, tasting salt and heat and something uniquely him. He groans even louder.
“God, baby…” he rasps.
You glance up, lips brushing his skin. “Is this okay?”
He meets your eyes, breath ragged. “More than okay. You’re doin’ perfect.”
Another drop beads at the tip, and you catch it with your tongue.
“That part—right there? That’s the most sensitive. Just like your clit. You touch that, I’m not gonna last long.”
You hum softly, filing that away. Your hand wraps around him again, stroking gently as your tongue explores, each movement a little more confident than the last.
“Try a little tighter at the bottom,” he murmurs.“Tightness helps.”
You glance up, lips still brushing his skin, your hand gripping tighter.
He grunts, jaw tight. “Yeah—just like that.”
You follow his lead, your fingers curling around the base as your mouth moves over the tip. The combination makes him curse under his breath, hips twitching.
“Fuck,” he growls, voice fraying. “You’re drivin’ me fuckin’ insane.”
You pause, lips hovering just above him, heart pounding in your chest.
You glance up, eyes wide. “Can I…?” you whisper. “Into my mouth?”
Joel swears he sees heaven.
He exhales hard, chest rising with the effort to stay grounded. His hand finds your cheek, thumb brushing softly along your skin.
“Only when you’re ready, bun,” he murmurs, voice rough with restraint. “Just begin with the tip. Don’t rush.”
You nod, breath shaky, and lean in again—slow, careful. You part your lips and take him in, just a little, just enough to feel the weight of him on your tongue.
Joel groans, low and wrecked. “Jesus…”
You start with just the tip, like he told you. The weight of him on your tongue is unfamiliar, but not unwelcome. You breathe through your nose, slow and steady, and glance up to find him watching you—eyes dark, jaw clenched, like he’s trying not to fall apart.
His hand rests lightly on your head, not guiding, just there. A tether. A promise.
“Easy…” he whispers, voice frayed. “That’s it, bun. You’re doin’ so good.”
You hum softly around him, and he grunts. His hips buck, just barely, like his body’s moving before he can stop it.
You pull back slightly, then lean in again, taking a little more this time. Your hand wraps around the base, stroking gently in rhythm with your mouth. You feel him throb against your tongue, hear the way his breath stutters.
“The most beautiful thing i’ve ever seen, baby.” He murmurs.
You smile around him, just a little. You’re starting to understand the power in this, the way he falls apart for you, the way he praises you like you’re the only thing that’s ever made him feel that way.
You try to take a little more of him, slow and careful, but it’s too much too fast. Your throat tightens, and suddenly you’re pulling back, coughing softly, eyes watering.
Joel’s hand is there in an instant, as he guides you away. “Hey—hey,” he murmurs, sitting up, cupping your cheek with both hands. “You okay?”
You nod, swallowing hard, blinking back the sting. “Yeah.”
He brushes his thumb along your cheek, eyes searching yours. “You can stop now, bun. You don’t have to prove anything.”
Your heart sinks. You look up at him, lips still wet, voice barely a breath. “But I wanna.”
Joel exhales, like the air’s been punched out of him. “Gosh, bug…”
He leans in, presses his forehead to yours.
“Okey,” he murmurs. “Only if you don’t go that deep. One more choke and you’re done. Got it?”
You nod again, a little smile tugging at your lips. “Got it.”
Your mouth moves over him again, slow and steady, as you take him in again. His tip only, while your hands work with the rest of his length.
Joel lies down again, when he made sure that you’re okey.
You start by carefully bobbing your head, each bob matched by the soft glide of your hand. He’s panting now, voice frayed, whispering praise between clenched teeth.
But your own body starts to ache too—hot, tight and desperate. You can’t ignore it anymore.
Without thinking, you shift, swinging one leg over his leg. The muscle beneath you is firm, solid, and the pressure makes your breath hitch. It’s nothing like the pillow you used yesterday.
You start to move—just a little. A slow grind, testing the friction. It sends a jolt through you, and you gasp softly around him.
Joel groans, his hips twitching. “Bun…”
You pull back, lips slick, breath shaky. “I—I needed something,” you whisper.
His eyes are dark, locked on yours. “You usin’ me, baby?” he rasps, voice thick with heat and awe.
You nod, cheeks flushed. “Feels good.”
He exhales, wrecked. “Fuck.”
You smile, then lean down again, taking him back into your mouth as your hips begin to move in slow, desperate circles against his thigh. Joel’s fingers tighten on the bedsheets, and you feel it: the subtle shift of his hips, the way he starts to move with you. Just a little at first. A slow, upward roll of his hips into your mouth.
He’s trying to be careful. You can feel it in the way he holds back, the way his muscles tremble beneath your touch.
“Christ,” he breathes, voice wrecked. “You feel too good, bun. Can’t—can’t take much more.”
You hum around him, and he bucks again—sharper this time, then stills, jaw clenched like he’s fighting himself.
But his control is slipping. You can feel it in the way his leg flexes beneath you, the way his hips twitch, the way his breath stutters every time your tongue flicks just right.
“You’re gonna make me lose it,” he whispers. “You and that sweet little mouth… grindin’ on me like that…”
You pull back, lips slick, breath coming fast. Your thighs are trembling from grinding against him, and your heart is pounding like it might break through your ribs. You release a moan and look at him.
“I want it… in my mouth.”
Joel’s whole body goes still.
He stares at you, jaw tight, chest heaving. Then he shakes his head slowly, voice low and rough. “Not happenin’, bun.”
Your brows furrow. “Why not?”
He sits up again and cups your cheek, thumb brushing your lips. “Because you’re not a place I finish in. You’re not a goddamn dump for me to lose control in.”
You blink, stunned by the intensity in his voice.
“I’m already doin’ too much,” he murmurs. “Ain’t gonna ruin you like that.”
You swallow hard, too dizzy to answer his words, throat tight. “Then… where?”
He hesitates, then gestures towards your belly, voice barely above a whisper. “Your tummy. If that’s alright. I just… I need to see it.”
You breathe in, slow and deep. “That’s okay,” you say. “I want that.”
He nods, still watching you like you might vanish. “Alright,” he says. “We’ll do it slow. You tell me if anything feels off. Promise?”
“Promise,” you whisper.
He eases you on your back, guiding you down onto the bed with a gentleness that makes your chest ache. His hands are warm, steady, reverent as they slide along your thighs, pushing your dress up inch by inch until your tummy is bare to the cool air.
Joel settles between your legs, kneeling, his eyes drinking you in like he’s memorizing every inch.
One hand wraps around himself, slow and deliberate, and your breath catches at the sight of it—how big he is, how flushed, how desperate. You crave him in your mouth again.
But then his other hand moves—sliding between your thighs, cupping you over your underwear. You gasp, hips twitching, and he groans low in his throat.
“Still so worked up, huh?” he murmurs, thumb brushing over the damp fabric, focused on your clit. “Knew you were grindin’ for a reason.”
You nod, breathless. “I couldn’t help it.”
He leans in, pressing a kiss just below your navel. “I know, bun. I felt it. You were so good for me.”
His hand moves in a rhythm, slow circles over your clothed heat, while the other strokes himself in time. His eyes never leave yours.
“Wanna see you come,” he says, voice rough. “Wanna feel you shake before I let go.”
You whimper, hips lifting into his hand, and he groans again—like the sound of your need is too much for him to bear. You start trembling beneath him now, hips bucking into his touch, breath catching with every pass.
“Easy now,” he murmurs, voice rough but soft. “Just let it build, bun. Don’t fight it.”
You moan out, eyes fluttering shut. The pressure is unbearable—in the best way. Every circle of his thumb sends sparks through you, and the sight of him—jerking himself off, eyes locked on your face—is almost too much.
“That’s it,” he whispers. “You’re doin’ so good. Just breathe for me.”
Your fingers clutch onto the sheets, thighs tightening around his hand. He leans in, brushing his lips over your stomach, your hip, your thigh—anywhere he can reach.
“Cum for me,” he whispers. “Let go, bun. Wanna see you fall apart.”
And when you do—when your body arches and your breath catches and you cry out his name—he follows, with a broken sound and a shudder that runs through his whole body. His release spills warm across your belly, painting your skin white, while he still murmurs to you, even as he falls apart.
“Good girl… so good for me… you’re okay, I’ve got you…”
You lie there, breath shaky, dress bunched around your waist, skin flushed and slick with warmth. Your fingers drift to your belly, tracing the mess he left behind. It’s sticky, cooling, and somehow…beautiful.
Joel watches you, eyes soft, chest still rising and falling with the aftershocks.
“You’re all messy now,” he murmurs. “M’messy girl.”
You glance at him, cheeks warm, but you don’t look away. He leans in, pressing a kiss to your forehead.
You whisper, “Yours?”
He stills, just for a second. Then his voice comes quiet, careful. “Only if you like.”
You nod, barely a breath. “I like.”
Joel exhales, like he’s been holding that breath for years. He pulls you close, tucks your head beneath his chin, and wraps an arm around your waist.
“Then yeah,” he murmurs. “Mine.”
Then he groans softly, the sound low and gravelly in his throat as he shifts beneath you. He pulls back, eyes flicking down to the mess across your stomach. His jaw tightens, just a little.
“Hold on,” he says, quiet. “Let me get you somethin’.”
You watch him move—still bare, still sweaty—as he grabs a towel from the bathroom. He runs it under warm water, wrings it out, then kneels besides the bed. He’s careful when he touches you. Real gentle. He presses the cloth to your skin, slow and steady, wiping you clean with quiet focus.
“There we go,” he murmurs. “You did so good, bun.”
Your cheeks flush again, but not from embarrassment. From the way he says it—low and sincere, like it matters.
“So good for me,” he adds, kissing your now clean tummy. “Takin’ me like that. Bein’ so sweet.”
Then, he stretches, joints cracking, and throws the towel to the side.
“Alright,” he says, rubbing a hand over his face. “I’m gettin’ up before I pass out right here and wake up with a crick in my back.”
He stands, bare feet hitting the cool floor, and pads towards the bathroom. Just before he disappears through the doorway, he glances back over his shoulder.
“You comin’?”
—
The kitchen is quiet, save for the soft clink of bowls and the low hum of the morning. You’re already moving with purpose, sleeves rolled up, hair tied back, flipping through the motions like you’ve done this a hundred times before. The flour’s open, the eggs cracked, the pan is warming on the stove.
Joel stands besides you, fork in hand, already chewing on a bite of pancake.
You glance up at him with a smug little smile. “Told you I can do them well.”
He grunts his approval, mouth full, and gestures at the plate like it’s gospel.
The kitchen’s a mess, but it’s the best damn morning he’s had in years—and it’s not because of the pancakes. It’s because of you.
And then—five sharp knocks at the door.
The sound slices through the warmth like a blade. Joel freezes, fork halfway to his mouth. You both go still.
And suddenly, the peaceful moment shatters.
The spoon in your hand clinks against the edge of the mixing bowl, batter dripping onto the counter. Your breath catches in your throat as your eyes snap to Joel, wide and full of panic.
The color drains from your face.
“S’alright,” he says, voice low and even. “S’just Tommy.”
You shake your head, already backing away from the counter. “That’s also what you said yesterday.”
Joel’s eyes flick to you—bare legs, dress hanging loose on your frame, flour still dusted on your cheek. You look soft. Young. Like something that shouldn’t be seen in a place like this, in his house, at this hour.
He swallows hard. “Yeah,” he mutters. “I know.”
Another knock. Slower this time. He can hear the weight begind it—Tommy’s not just stopping by, he is sure. Joel takes a breath, rubs the back of his neck, then glances towards the hallway.
“Maybe…maybe go into the bedroom, yeah?” he says, voice quieter now. “You can never know.”
You nod immediately, already moving. Your bare feet paddle across the floor, quick. You disappear down the hall, and the bedroom door clicks shut behind you.
Joel stands there for a second, staring at the door. His chest is tight. His hands are cold.
Then he turns, walks to the front door, and opens it.
Tommy stands on the porch, hands on his belt, hair pulled back into a bun, face drawn tight with concern. His eyes flick past Joel, scanning the room behind him.
Joel steps aside, opens the door wider. “Mornin’.”
Tommy steps in, boots heavy on the floor. “You’ve seen Cooper’s girl?”
Joel’s stomach twists. “No?” he says, too quickly. “Why?”
Tommy sighs, rubbing his jaw. “She’s been missin’ since yesterday. Her dad’s losin’ it. Tellin’ everyone you took her.”
Joel’s brows pull together, he swallows. “What?”
“Yeah,” Tommy says. “He’s out there yellin’ at anyone who won’t listen. Said you lured her in. Said you been sneakin’ around with her.”
Joel’s mouth goes dry. “That—” he starts, but the words don’t come.
“I know—ain’t true, and he is probably just drunk again. I just wanted to let you—“
Tommy gets cut off by a sneeze.
Small. High pitched. Muffled, but unmistakable.
From his bedroom.
Tommy’s head turns. His eyebrows lift, slow and sharp. He looks at Joel.
“Joel,” he says, quiet. Flat.
Joel’s whole body lock up. His breath catches. It feels like the air’s been sucked out of the room. It’s not just that you’re here. It’s what it looks like. What it sounds like. And the truth—your truth—isn’t his to tell. You made him promise. No one could know.
But now Tommy will know.
And Joel knows Tommy would never believe he took you. He knows his brother wouldn’t buy into the lies your father’s been spreading. But when he’ll see you—dress rucked up your thighs, lips swollen, cheeks flushed—there’s no mistaking of what’s happening here.
Joel’s heart sinks at the thought.
“Tommy—” he starts, but his voice cracks.
Tommy’s already moving. Three long strides and he’s at the bedroom door. Joel doesn’t stop him. Can’t. He just stands there, frozen, as his brother turns the knob and pushes the door open.
You’re standing there.
Eyes wide. Shoulders tense. But you try to smile—bright and friendly, like nothing’s wrong. Like you can cover it all up with charm. Like Joel didn’t just come all over your tummy only thirty minutes ago.
“Mornin’,” you say, voice light. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”
Tommy stares at you. Then back at Joel. His face hardens.
“God damn it, Joel,” he mutters, grabbing your hand—rough, and firm—pulling you towards the kitchen. “She’s a damn kid.”
Joel’s lips part, but no sound comes out. His throat tightens. His lip trembles. It feels like every word Joel knows, just disappeared in seconds.
He wants to say something. Anything.
So, you voice cuts through the silence.
“Ain’t no ‘damn’ kid.” You pull away from Tommy’s grip and mimic his cursing with your fingers. “We were just hanging out,” you say, loud and clear. “Joel was showing me how to carve wood. Because I always wanted to learn it.”
Joel’s chest aches. He can’t believe the kind of fool he is being right now. He wants to kiss your skin. Wants to hold you. Wants to thank you for being so brave when he can’t even speak up.
Tommy exhales hard through his nose, hands on his hips. “Well, I promised your father I’d bring you home safe, so…”
Joel’s eyes flick to you. He sees the way your shoulders tense, the way your jaw tightens even as you try to look calm. He knows what’s waiting for you on the other side of that door. He knows what your father is capable of.
His throat works around the words he wants to say, but they just don’t come. Only a shake of his head.
“Okay,” you say quietly. “I’m coming. Wait for me at the door.”
Tommy mutters something under his breath—something Joel doesn’t quite catch, but it’s laced with disappointment. He gives his brother one last look, sharp and tired, then turns and steps outside, leaving the door open behind him.
The silence that follows is thick.
You turn to Joel. Your voice is barely above a whisper. “Joel… are you okay?”
He doesn’t answer right away. His eyes are on the floor. Then they lift to meet yours, and they’re full of something raw and breaking. Almost glassy.
“I—I can’t let you go,” he says, voice cracking, shaking his head.
You step closer, your hand brushing his arm. “I have to,” you whisper. “He won’t leave us alone. He won’t leave you alone.” You know Joel kept you safe—again and again, without hesitation. He stood between you and the worst of it, even when he didn’t have to.
But now it’s your turn.
You won’t let your father drag Joel into this mess. You won’t let him twist things, poison the air around something this good. Something that makes you feel alive.
It’s scary, thinking about what might happen when you walk through that door again. You could tell Tommy the truth—lay it all out, every ugly piece of it—but that would only make things harder than they already are.
You know how this town works.
How people talk. How fast things spread.
And with your father already telling folks Joel kidnapped you…you can’t pour more gasoline on a fire that’s already burning.
Even if it terrifies you. Even if staying quiet feels like swallowing glass.
Joel’s jaw clenches. He looks like he wants to finally say something—stay, don’t go, I’ll protect you—but he doesn’t. He can’t. Because he knows what it would mean to say those things. He knows what it would make him.
And he won’t be like your father.
He won’t be another man who cages you.
So he just nods, barely. His hands are fists at his sides.
You reach for the doorknob, then pause. You look back at him one last time.
And then…you’re gone.
—
Joel doesn’t move.
He just stands there, staring at the door. Staring at the spot where your hand brushed the wood on your way out. The silence that follows is gutting, uncomfortable. The silence that follows is gutting—thick and uncomfortable, like the kind that clung to Joel when he first moved into the house. Back then, he was still just a vessel of a man, hollowed out by loss, unable to hold onto the things he loved. Still only a shadow of what he truly wanted.
He turns, slow, and walks back into the kitchen.
The warm and sweet smell of pancakes cling in the air and they land in Joel’s nose, not letting him go. The bowl’s still on the counter, batter half-mixed, spoon resting like you only just stepped away for a second.
But you didn’t. You’re gone.
Joel exhales, rough and shaky. Picks up the spoon. Puts it down. His hands feel too big, too useless. He moves through the kitchen like a ghost—opening cabinets, closing them, touching things just to feel something. The coffee you made him sits cold on the table. He stares at the ring it left behind.
You were here. You were laughing at the way he called you ‘honey bun’. Humming. Kissing his cheek, touching his hand.
And he let you go while he promised to keep you safe.
Back to the father who spends his time picking you apart. Who doesn’t see anything other than the bar.
He presses his palms to the counter, head bowed. His shoulders shake once, barely. “Should’ve kept you,” he mutters. “Should’ve just…kept you.”
But you asked him not to be like your father. And he promised.
Promised he’d never take your choices from you. Never silence your voice. Never make you feel small just to keep you close. And even now—when everything in him is begging to run after you, to drag you back and lock the door and keep you safe—he doesn’t move.
Because he knows what it would mean if he did.
He also knows that this is different. That what your father does isn’t just cruel—it’s dangerous. That silence, in his case, is a kind of violence too. That someone should speak up. That someone should save you.
But he also knows this:
You didn’t ask him to save you.
You asked him to trust you.
There’s nothing to do but think—just think—looping through the same scenes over and over. What might be happening right now. What might be happening to you. Joel flinches. Stands up too fast. His body already moving towards the door, towards your house. But halfway there, he stops. Stares at the path. And then slumps back inside, like the weight of it all is too much to carry.
And when the morning breaks, pale and cold, Joel wakes to the same silence. No footsteps. No humming. No trace of you in the air.
Just compete absence.
He sits up slow, body aching, heart even heavier than before. The kitchen is still a mess—batter dried in the bowl, flour dusted near the rug. He couldn’t possibly bring himself to lay a hand on the last thing you held.
He rubs his face, mutters, “Christ.”
He leans back, rubs his eyes with the heels of his hands. He can’t believe the position he’s in. Can’t believe how fast everything spun out. One minute you were in his arms, warm and safe and smiling. The next, you were walking out the door with Tommy, and he just stood there. Frozen.
He swallows hard.
She trusted me.
And I let her down.
He stands there, staring out at the path that leads to your house. The distance between them feels longer than it should. Like a canyon.
Joel breathes in deep. Holds it. Lets it out slow.
“Fuck this,” he mutters, already grabbing his jacket off the hook and putting it on.
He’s not going to drag you out, nor is he going to make a scene. He just needs to see you. To look into your eyes and to know that you’re okey.
That’s all. And that’s enough for him.
He pulls the door open, steps out into the cold morning air, and starts walking with big deliberate steps.
The porch creaks under Joel’s boots as he stops at your door. The morning is still, but he can already hear the town whispering. He stands there for a moment, jaw clenched, eyes scanning the windows. Curtains drawn. No movement. Absolute no sound.
He can’t tell if that’s a good sign, or a bad one.
He shifts his weight, breathes in deep through his nose, and exhales real slow. He knows he is not here to fight. At least, that’s what he tells himself over and over.
But his fists are already tight besides his hips.
He knocks—three times. Firm. And for a second, he lets himself hope it’ll be you who answers. That you’ll open the door, sleepy eyed and safe, so he can breathe again.
But the door swings open, and the smell hits him first.
Liquor. Sharp and sour. It clings to the air like rot and makes his way into Joel’s nose. Your father stands there, already scowling, eyes bloodshot and already looking to pick up a fight.
“Well, well,” he mutters, voice thick. “Look who finally grew a pair.”
Joel swallows hard, trying to keep his voice steady. “Mornin’. Just stoppin’ by. Everything alright?”
Your father leans against the doorframe, arms crossed. “Why wouldn’t it be?”
Joel nods, eyes flicking past him, trying to see into the house. “She around?”
“She’s sleepin’,” your father snaps. “Not that it’s any of your goddamn business.”
Joel’s jaw tightens. “She’s got patrol tomorrow. Five am. I just came to let her know.”
“That so?” Your father smirks. “Funny. Thought that was Maria’s job. Or Tommy’s.”
Joel forces a shrug, trying to piece together a lie in his head. “Tommy sent me.”
“Bullshit,” your father spits. “You think I don’t see what’s goin’ on? You think I’m stupid?”
This is what he feared the most: that your father would test Joel’s nerves—and that Joel wouldn’t walk out of here a saint.
Joel’s eyes narrow. “I think you’re drunk.”
Your father steps forward, his face just inches away from Joel, breath hot and sour. “I don’t know what the hell you think you’re doin’ with my daughter, but it ends now. You hear me? You stay the fuck away from her.”
“You’re a goddamn predator,” your father growls. “Sixty years old and sniffin’ around a girl half your age. You think that’s love? You think that’s real?”
Joel’s fists clench again. His pulse is pounding in his ears. His heart starts to beat faster. He already feels the tingling beneath his skin, like he wants to just put a fist through his god damn head.
“You don’t know a damn thing about her,” he says, voice slightly shaking. “You don’t know what she’s really like. What you’ve done to her.”
Your father laughs, bitter and loud. “Oh, I know exactly what I’ve done. I raised her. Fed her. Kept her in line. You? You’re just some washed up old man who can’t keep it in his pants.”
And in that moment, Joel decides the best thing he can do is turn around and walk out of the house. He knows his anger—knows how it builds, how it blinds—and he’s certain that if he stays, he might do something he can’t take back.
“That’s what I thought,” your father sneers. “Go be a pedo somewhere else, you sick fuck.”
Joel stops.
The world goes quiet. The pulsing in his ear go louder. His breath catches. His vision narrows. The porch, the trees, the sky—they all blur.
And then he turns.
Three strides. That’s all it takes.
His fist connects with your father’s jaw, a sickening crack echoing through the air. The man stumbles back, hits the floorboards hard.
And Joel doesn’t stop.
He drops to his knees, one knee on each side of his body and slams his fist down again. And again. Blood splatters across the porch, across his knuckles, across his face.
“You don’t talk about her like that,” Joel growls, voice ragged. “You don’t touch her. You don’t look at her.”
Your father tries to raise an arm, but Joel knocks it aside and drives another punch into his ribs. The man wheezes, starting to cough blood, the fluid running down his face. Joel’s face is twisted, eyes wild. He’s not thinking. He is feeling every bruise on your body that he saw, every tear that you cried, every single time you came into his house and every time he stayed silent when he should’ve spoken up.
“You think you’re a man?” Joel snarls, breathing out loudly. “You think beatin’ her makes you strong?”
He grabs the man’s collar, slams him back down. “You’re not a father. You’re a fuckin’ coward!”
You should be horrified.
You should be screaming, begging him to stop, turning away from the blood and the violence that unfolds in front of you. From the sound of your father’s ribs cracking and Joels fists connecting with his face.
But you’re not. You’re still. Watching. Just besides the staircase.
Because for the first time in your life, someone is fighting for you. Not to control you. Not to punish you. But to protect you.
And it’s not just anyone.
It’s Joel.
The man who held you like you were something fragile. Who kissed your bruises like they were sacred. Who let you go when it broke him to do it—because you asked. And now he’s here, beating for you. Burning for you. Ignoring consequences, ignoring everything just to keep you safe.
And all you can feel is this strange, aching warmth in your chest. Not fear. Not guilt. But something like relief. Like justice. Like finally, finally, someone sees you—and they’re not turning away.
You step forward, barefoot on the porch, heart pounding.
“Joel.”
Your voice.
It cuts through the haze like a blade.
Joel freezes, fist still in the air, blood dripping from his knuckles. His chest heaves, while his ears ring loud. He breaths to his mouth like a wild animal.
He slowly turns his head.
And there you are. Standing in the doorway, barefoot, wrapped in a sweatshirt too big for you. Your eyes are wide, lips parted but you look unfazed of the bleeding body that’s lying and coughing under Joel. There’s a bruise on your cheek. Another on your arm.
Joel sees them. And everything else disappears.
He doesn’t see your father anymore. Doesn’t feel the blood on his hands. All he sees is you.
“Fuckin’—” he mutters, and slams one last punch into the man’s face. The hardest of them all. Joel then stands up, stumbling back.
You rush to him, hands reaching to his chest.
He looks at you, dazed. “Oh, honey bun…”
You step into him, arms wrapping around him. His arms wrap around you, strong and tight. He holds you like he’s afraid you’ll vanish. Like if he lets go, the world will fall apart again.
“Joel,” you whisper, voice cracking. “You came.”
“I’m sorry,” he murmurs, cupping your cheek with a bloodied hand, the metallic smell filling your nose. “I’m so sorry, baby. So sorry. That I let you go. That I didn’t stop him. That I—”
“Joel,” you say again, firmer this time, interrupting him.
And then you kiss him.
Soft. Shaky. Your lips press to his like you’re trying to breathe him in.
Joel stiffens beneath you, caught off guard, his breath hitching against your mouth. For a heartbeat, he doesn’t move—like he’s afraid to believe this is real. But then he exhales, low and shaky, and something in him gives.
He kisses you back, slow and aching, like he’s trying to memorize the shape of your mouth. His hand rises to cradle the back of your head, fingers threading gently through your hair, grounding himself in the feel of you. His other hand settles at your waist, not pulling, not pushing—just there, steady and warm.
When he finally pulls back, it’s only by an inch, just enough to rest his forehead against yours.
“You’re safe now,” he whispers.
And this time, he means it.
Your father suddenly groans, face swollen, lip split, one eye already purpling. He shifts, coughing, and mutters through cracked teeth:
“You’re dead, Miller…I’m goin’ to the council. You’re fuckin’ done.”
Joel doesn’t look at him.
He just says: “C’mon, let’s get you outta here.”
—
When you reach his house, he opens the door for you, lets you step inside first. The warmth hits you like a wave. It finally feels like peace again.
“Sit down,” he says gently. “I’ll be right there.”
You nod softly, and sink onto his couch, pulling your knees up, wrapping your arms around them while Joel disappears into the bathroom. You hear the water running, the soft scrape of soap against skin. You know he’s scrubbing the blood from his hands. Hard. Like he’s trying to erase the memory of it.
And you feel it, all at once.
Not guilt. Not fear. But a deep, aching sadness that settles behind your ribs like something bruised. Not for yourself—but for him. For what he had to become in that moment. For the fury he had to unleash just to make the world safe for you, even for a second.
When he comes back, his knuckles are raw and red, but clean. He dries them on a towel, then tosses it aside and walks over to you.
He crouches down in front of the couch, elbows on his knees, hands clasped.
“You warm enough?” he asks, voice low.
You nod, silently.
He watches you for a moment, eyes searching your face. Then he takes a breath.
“You know I’d never ask you to do something you don’t want to,” he says. “You know that, right?”
You glance at him, wary. “Yeah.”
He nods. “Good. ‘Cause I need to talk to you about somethin’. And I need you to know it’s comin’ from a place of care. Not pressure.”
You shift slightly, pulling your pullover tighter around you.
Joel’s voice softens. “I think… I think we should tell Tommy.”
You go still. “Joel—”
He holds up a hand, gentle. “Just hear me out, bun.”
“I know you didn’t want anyone to know,” he says. “And I kept that promise. I did. But after what I saw today… after what he said, what he did—” Joel’s voice catches. He swallows. “I can’t pretend anymore. I can’t keep quiet and watch you go back to that house like nothin’s wrong.”
You look down at your hands. “It’s not that easy.”
“I know,” he says softly. “I know it ain’t. But Tommy—he’s not like your dad. He listens. He cares. And if he knew the truth, he’d help. He’d want to help.”
You shake your head. “What if he doesn’t believe me?”
Joel leans in, voice low and steady. “Then I’ll believe you loud enough for the both of us.”
You blink, tears welling.
“You don’t have to carry this alone anymore,” he says, hand landing on top of your thigh—squeezing once. “You’ve been strong for so long. Too long. Let someone else be strong for you now.”
You sniff, wiping your cheek with your sleeve. “I’m scared.”
Joel nods, he stands up and sits down besides you. He takes you into his arms. “I know, baby. I know. But you’re not doin’ this alone. I’ll be right there. Every second. You just say the word.”
You pull away to look at him, really look. And for the first time in a long time, you don’t feel small. You feel held.
“Okay,” you whisper. “Okay. I’ll tell him.”
Joel exhales, slow and shaky. He reaches for your hand, cradles it in his own.
“That’s my girl,” he murmurs.
You squeeze his hand, then look at him, eyes searching.
“What about you?” you ask quietly. “You beat him…they won’t understand.”
Joel rubs his forehead, sighs. “We’ll somehow handle this, yeah? The most important thing is now that you speak up.” You nod, but your eyes stay on him.
“I don’t want them to hurt you for protecting me.”
Joel leans forward, presses his forehead to yours. “If there’s a price to pay, I’ll pay it. But I ain’t lettin’ you go through this alone. Not again.”
—
The expected knock comes like a ripple through still water—three slow, deliberate thuds against the door just thirty minutes after.
Even while it’s expected your fingers still tighten around the edge of the blanket draped over your lap while hour heart begins thudding in your chest, not from fear exactly, but from the weight of what’s about to happen.
Joel doesn’t move at first. He’s standing near the window, arms crossed, jaw tight. His knuckles are still raw, the skin split and crusted with dried blood. He glances at you, his eyes softening just a little.
“It’s okay,” he says, voice low and steady. “We’ll just tell them.”
You nod, but your throat is too tight to speak.
He walks to the door and opens it without a word. Tommy and Maria stand on the porch, framed by the pale morning light. Tommy’s face is hard, unreadable. Maria’s eyes flick past Joel immediately, scanning the room until they land on you.
Joel steps aside.
And they walk in without being asked.
Tommy’s boots thud against the floorboards, heavy and slow. Maria’s steps are quieter, but no less certain. They don’t speak right away. Tommy’s eyes land on you—sitting small and on the couch, blanket clutched around your shoulders—and something shifts in his face. Not surprise. Not quite anger. Something heavier.
He and Maria sit down on the opposite couch, facing you. Joel stays behind you, standing like a wall between you and the rest of the world.
“You wanna tell me what the hell happened?” Tommy says, eyes locked on Joel. His voice isn’t raised, but it’s sharp. Accusing. Protective.
Maria reaches out and touches his arm—just a light press of her fingers. A silent reminder to breathe.
“Look—I know how this looks,” he says, voice rough. “But she came to me cryin’. Bruised up. From that goddamned scum that her father is.”
Tommy’s eyes narrow. He scans Joel’s face like he’s trying to read between the lines.
Maria’s gaze drops to your arms. You hadn’t realized the blanket had slipped down a little, exposing the edge of a bruise near your wrist. She doesn’t say anything. Just looks. Quietly. Carefully. Analysing.
Then she murmurs, almost to herself, but loud enough for Tommy to hear: “I told you.”
Tommy exhales through his nose, but says nothing while Maria turns to you, her voice softer now. Measured. “You wanna tell us what happened, sweetheart?”
You glance up at Joel. He gives you a small nod—barely there, but enough. His eyes say it all: You’re safe. Say what you need to say.
“He gets drunk… really often. And—and he takes it out on me.” Your voice is shaky. Small.
You swallow hard. Your hands tremble as you push the sleeve of your pullover up, revealing the bruises along your forearm. Some are old. Some are newer. All of them are ugly.
“I didn’t know what to do,” you whisper. “I was scared.”
Maria nods slowly. Her eyes are glassy, but she doesn’t cry. She just reaches across the space between you and rests her hand gently on your knee. Tommy rubs his forehead, sighing deep from his chest.
“I should’ve looked better,” he mutters. “Hell, I. knew he was too often in that damn bar. I just… I didn’t think…” He trails off.
Maria squeezes your knee gently.
“You’re okay now,” she says. “He’s already in a cell. All the other details—we can talk about them when you’re feeling stronger, okay?” She glances at Tommy, who nods.
“Probably best to let the folks vote on what happens with him,” he says, voice low.
Maria agrees with a quiet hum.
You take a breath. Then another. And then you speak again, a little louder this time. “And Joel didn’t do anything wrong. He protected me. He kept me safe. That’s why he beat him.”
Tommy’s eyes flicker to Joel, who’s still standing behind the couch. His jaw is clenched, his eyes downturned. He looks like he’s holding something in—something sharp and heavy.
“I couldn’t possibly look away,” Joel murmurs.
Tommy leans back, arms crossed. “Alright. Ain’t gonna get you off the hook that easy, Joel. You beat a goddamn man bloody.”
Joel nods once. “I know.”
Maria glances at Tommy, then back at Joel.
“Nothing harsh, probably,” she says. “It still falls under defense. I’d say… community hours. Longer patrols. Something useful.” She smiles—just a little. It’s the first warmth in the room.
Then she turns to you. “And you, sweetheart,” she starts, her voice lifting, “you can have the house now.”
Your eyes widen. “Really?”
Maria nods. “Yeah. Until everything’s settled, it’s yours. I’ll come by a few times, check in on you—if you’d like.”
You nod, stunned. “I’d like that.”
Maria’s smile softens. “And I have to say—you’re incredibly brave. For talking about it. For surviving it.”
Tommy grunts in agreement. “Yeah,” he says. “Takes a fuckin’ mountain of braveness to speak up like that, hon.”
You laugh—just a little. It slips out before you can stop it. A small, breathy sound. But it’s real.
Tommy stands, stretching his back with a groan.
“And you, old man,” he says to Joel, “you can rest now.” He winks.
Joel swallows hard. Nods. Doesn’t say anything.
But you see it—the way his shoulders drop just slightly. The way his hand brushes the back of the couch, like he needs something to hold onto. Then Maria gives your knee one last gentle squeeze before pulling her hand back. She straightens, smoothing the front of her coat, and glances at Tommy.
He meets her eyes. Nods.
“We’ll let you two be,” Maria says softly, her voice careful not to disturb the fragile quiet.
Tommy lingers a second longer, eyes flicking between you and Joel. There’s something unreadable in his face—something that looks a little like worry, and a little like understanding.
Tommy steps towards the door, but then pauses. He turns back to Joel, looks at him. Maria pauses too when she sees him turn back. He doesn’t say anything at first. Just looks at Joel—really looks at him.
Then he steps closer.
Tommy rests a hand on Joel’s shoulder. Not rough. Not soft either. Just…solid.
“I ain’t blind, you know,” Tommy says, voice low. “I see what’s goin’ on.”
Joel doesn’t answer. His jaw ticks once. His eyes flicker, but he holds Tommy’s gaze.
“I see the way you look at her,” Tommy continues. “And I see the way she looks at you.”
You feel your breath catch, but you don’t look away. You just watch them—two men who’ve seen too much, lost too much, and still somehow keep showing up.
“I ain’t here to judge it,” Tommy says. “Ain’t my place. And hell, I know you, Joel. Better than most.” He squeezes Joel’s shoulder once. “You’re a stubborn bastard. But you don’t give your heart easy. And when you do… you don’t let go.”
Joel’s throat works around something he doesn’t say.
“So I’m gonna say this once,” Tommy says. “I trust you. I trust you to keep her safe. To do right by her. No matter what anyone else says.”
Joel’s voice is hoarse. “I will.”
Tommy nods. “Good. Don’t let me down, brother.”
He lets go of Joel’s shoulder and turns to you. His expression softens. “You got someone who’d burn the world down for you,” he says. “That’s rare. Don’t let it scare you.”
You nod, eyes stinging again.
Maria opens the door, but before she steps out, she looks back at Joel. “You’re not alone either, you know,” she says. “Don’t carry all this by yourself, old man.”
Joel gives a small nod. It’s all he can manage.
Then they’re gone.
The door clicks shut behind them.
—
Two weeks pass.
The house is yours now.
It still smells faintly of him—of old tobacco and something with liquor—but each day, that scent fades just a little more. You’ve thrown open the windows, let the wind sweep through the rooms for a cleansing. Maria brought you new curtains. And you decorated the walls so they’re no longer bare. You’ve hung little things—pressed flowers in frames, a sketch Maria gave you, a string of dried herbs above the kitchen window. The silence here is different now. Not hollow. Not haunted. Just quiet. Peaceful.
Your bruises are slowly but surely fading. The deep purple has softened to yellow, then to nothing. Your ribs don’t ache when you breathe anymore. You are finally able to sleep through the night.
Maria comes by every few days. She never stays long—just enough to drop off a basket of food, or a new blanket she stitched, or a book she thinks you might like. Her presence makes the whole place feel more alive. She never asks too many questions. Just smiles, touches your arm, gives you greetings from tommy, and reminds you that you’re not alone.
And Joel…
Joel stays away.
Not because he wants to. You know that. You can feel it in the way he lingers just a little too long when he passes your house on patrol. In the way you find things on your porch in the morning—wildflowers bundled in twine, a tiny wooden fox carved with careful hands, a jar of honey with a note that just says “for your tea.”
He’s giving you space, you know that too. He hasn’t knocked, hasn’t asked to come in. But he’s there. Always just close enough.
You see him sometimes, working his community hours. Fixing fences. Hauling lumber. Splitting logs behind the stables, sweat glistening on his brow, his shirt clinging to his back. That poor old man, you think. But then you see his arms flexing with every swing of the axe, and you catch yourself staring. Too long. Too openly.
Sometimes he catches you.
He never says anything. Just gives you that look—quiet, unreadable, but warm. Like he’s glad you’re there. Like he’s relieved you’re still looking.
You always look away first.
Your father is still in the cell. The town will vote next week on what happens to him. You hear whispers when you walk through the town—some sympathetic, some sharp. But you never listen too closely.
And the guilt…the guilt still lingers. It creeps in during the quiet moments, when the kettle whistles or when you fold laundry and your hands remember flinching. You think about the years you lost. The girl you had to become just to survive.
But you also feel something else now.
Freedom.
It’s in the way you walk barefoot across your own floor. In the way you hum while you sweep. In the way you leave the door open just because you can.
You’re not healed. Not yet, but you’re healing.
And for the first time in your life, you feel like you.
But on one particular night, the quiet feels too loud.
You miss him. Dearly.
Not just his voice or his hands or the way he made you feel safe. You miss the way he looked at you like you were something fragile. You miss the way his presence filled a room without ever demanding it. You miss the way he said your name like it meant something.
And you missed the way he made you feel—inside.
So you go to him.
You don’t knock. You know he wouldn’t mind.
You tip toe into his house like stray cat once again.
You tiptoe across the floor, heart thudding in your chest. His bedroom door is open. You pause in the doorway.
He’s asleep.
One arm thrown over his chest, the other resting besides him. His face is turned slightly towards the window, shining in moonlight. He looks older like this. Softer. The lines around his eyes are deeper, but his mouth is relaxed. Peaceful.
You step closer.
The floor creaks beneath your foot, and he stirs—just a little. His brow furrow, but he doesn’t wake. You slip quielty under the blanket.
It smells like him. Feels like him. Warm and worn and safe.
You press yourself against his side, burying your face into his chest. Your hand finds the fabric of his shirt, fingers curling into it, needy. “Missed you,” you whisper.
His breath catches.
Then his arm moves—slowly, sleepily—wrapping around you. Pulling you in.
“Oh, bunny…” he murmurs, voice rough with sleep. He presses a kiss to your forehead, then another, softer one to your temple. His lips linger there, as if he is taking in your warmth.
You tilt your head up.
And he kisses you—just a brush of lips. Gentle. Testing if you’re really here and if it’s not just a dream he is having.
You kiss him back, feeling his soft lips on you, his hands exploring your body. You missed the immediate calmness Joel radiates. The one where every inch of your body melts to him, and your mind goes all hazy, thinking about nothing but Joeljoeljoel.
Joel pulls away, groaning while his hands pull you up so your body is on top of him.
“How are you doin’, babygirl?” He asks, gently brushing through your hair.
“It was strange,” you say, voice low. “Being alone. I thought I’d hate it. But… I didn’t. I liked the quiet. The space. I needed it.”
Joel nods, watching you carefully.
“But I missed you,” you add, glancing at him. “Missed your voice. Your coffee. You’re everything.”
He smiles, just barely. “Missed you too, bun. So fuckin’ much.” He places a kiss on your forehead. “But you needed that time. After everything… I didn’t want to crowd you. I figured you’d come back when you were ready.”
You look at him, eyes soft. “And now I’m here.”
He nods, quiet for a beat.
“Yeah. Now you’re here. Makin’ me one happy bastard”
You giggle at that, and you look up, brushing your nose against his.
Then you kiss him again—real slow, real unhurried, like you’ve got all the time in the world. His hands settle on your hips, grounding you, then they move on your back. He draws big, soft circles on there. You deepen the kiss, just a little. And then your hips begin shift—tentative at first, a slow press of warmth against his crotch.
His breath hitches.
“Bug…” he warns, voice low.
You lean down, your hair brushing his cheek.
“Take me,” you whisper. “Please.”
He freezes.
You don’t know what possessed you to say that. Maybe it was the silence, thick and humming with everything you couldn’t say. Maybe it was the way your body still remembered the heat of his hands, the sound of your name in his mouth, the way he looked at you like you were something precious while trembling because of his hands.
His hands tighten on your hips, then still. He reaches over, flicks on the nightstand lamp. The soft amber light spills across your face.
He looks at you. Really looks.
Your cheeks are flushed. Your lips parted. Your eyes wide and glassy with something between nerves and need. You look like you did that first night—when he found you trembling and desperate and burning all at once.
He exhales, a low, rough sound from deep in his chest. “I see you picked up right where we left off with ruinin’ me,” he mutters.
You pout, just a little. “You like it.”
“Babygirl…” he groans, sitting up slowly, pulling you into his lap. His hands settle on your waist. “That ain’t no small thing. Literally.” He tries to lighten the mood with a sarcastic line but fails.
You raise an eyebrow. “You’re about to say it.”
“You’re young,” he starts, but you cut him off.
“You’re young, I’m old, i’ve made mistakes, blah blah blah, ugh.” you say, rolling your eyes.
His eyebrows shoot up, his voice firm. “Now watch your tone. I’m serious.”
You go quiet.
He sighs, brushing your hair back from your face. “Ain’t somethin’ quick. Ain’t somethin’ you just ask for, hell—you’re still a virgin.”
You look down, cheeks burning, maybe it wasn’t a good idea after all.
“No, baby,” he says quickly, voice softening. “I didn’t mean it like that. Hey—look at me.” His hands find your face, and they cradle you. “There’s nothin’ wrong with it. Nothin’ wrong with wantin’ it.”
“Then what’s the problem?” you ask, voice small.
He leans back, runs a hand through his hair. His fingers tremble.
“The problem’s me,” he says. “Already had trouble holdin’ myself back two weeks ago. And now… if you want to take it a step further, I’ll break.”
His voice cracks.
“And?” you ask.
He looks down.
“And I’ll be the old man who ruins your first time.”
You shake your head. “Joel,” you whisper. “I don’t want to hear that anymore. Seriously.”
You cup his face in your hands. “I don’t care how old you are. You think those boys my age wouldn’t ruin it? You think I’d be here if I didn’t feel safe?”
You kiss his cheek. Then his forehead. “You told me I’m yours.”
He nods, voice barely audible. “I did.” A beat. “And you are,” he says, pulling you closer. His hands slide up your back, holding you like you might vanish. “You are.”
You rest your forehead on his shoulder, breathing him in.
“Then please,” you whisper. “Don’t hold back. I want it all.”
And you do. All of him.
He shudders. His arms tighten around you. “This is your first time, bug. This ain’t just a night.” he mutters, voice breaking again. You roll your eyes, sit up slightly, your hand on his chest, your eyes steady on his.
“Joel,” you say softly. “Do you want me?”
He freezes.
“Baby…” he breathes, like it hurts to even hear the question.
“No,” you say, firmer now. “Tell me. Do you want to take me?”
His eyes close. His jaw clenches. And then, finally, he exhales—like he’s been holding his breath for weeks. “God,” he says, voice breaking. “There’s nothin’ I want more than that.”
You feel your insides warming at his words. You look at him—really look—and he’s already looking back. Like he’s seeing you for the first time. Like he’s terrified and in awe all at once.
You reach for his face, thumb brushing his cheek. “Then do it, Joel,” you whisper. “Without guilt. I’m right here.”
He exhales, slow and heavy.
His hand dips lower, landing on the underwear beneath your shorts. His fingertips slowly caress the dampness on the fabric making you close your eyes and breathe.
“…You haven’t touched her since, have you?” His voice is low, almost disbelieving. His fingers press gently over the damp fabric. “You’ve been neglectin’ her… waitin’ on me.”
You nod, barely, your voice a whisper. “Mhm. Waited for you.” Joel stills, like the words hit somewhere deep. You swallow, eyes flicking to his. “Every time I saw you working… the way your hands moved, the way you looked…”
You trail off, breath catching. “I wanted to. I did. But I—I wanted it to be your hands.”
His breath leaves him in a shudder, he releases a sigh.
“Alright,” he murmurs. “If we’re doin’ this… we’re doin’ it slow. Real slow.”
You nod against his chest.
“I mean it, bug,” he says, tilting your chin up so you’re looking at him. His eyes are soft, but serious. “I ain’t gonna rush you. Not a damn second of this.”
You nod again, and he brushes his thumb along your cheek.
“There’s some things we gotta talk about first,” he says. “Not to scare you. Just…so you know.”
You sit up a little, still straddling his lap, your hands resting on his chest.
“It might hurt,” he says gently. “First time usually does. Might be some bleedin’. That’s normal. But if it’s too much—if you wanna stop at any point, you tell me, alright?”
You nod, but he waits.
“Say it,” he says softly.
“I’ll tell you,” you whisper. “If I want to stop.”
He nods, satisfied.
“Good girl.”
His hand moves to the drawer besides the bed. He pulls out a small foil packet and holds it up between two fingers.
“We’ll use one of these,” he says. “Condom. Keeps things safe. Clean. I’ll take care of it.”
You blink, then squint at him. “Wait… why do you even have those?”
Joel clears his throat, suddenly looking sheepish. “Tommy gave ‘em to me. Said I should…y’know. Get outta my shell.”
You stare at him—then giggle, the sound bubbling up before you can stop it.
Joel groans, dragging a hand down his face. “Ain’t funny.”
“It’s a little funny,” you whisper, still smiling. “You’re blushing.”
“I ain’t—” He scowls, but his ears are pink. “You’re impossible.”
He kisses your cheek, then his eyes turn serious again. “I ain’t gonna do nothin’ you don’t want,” he says. “Not ever. You say stop, I stop. You say slow down, I slow down. You say not tonight, I’ll hold you and that’s it.”
You smile, eyes stinging a little. “I know,” you whisper. “That’s why I’m here.”
He leans in, presses a kiss to your forehead.
“You really sure?” he asks. “Not just ‘cause you think I want it. Not ‘cause you feel like you owe me.”
“I’m sure,” you say. “I want this…and it’s not because I have to, Joel. It’s because I can finally feel like I can choose.”
He swallows hard, eyes locked on yours. There’s something in his expression—something raw and aching. Like he’s trying to hold back a tide of emotion and failing, just a little.
“Alright,” he says, voice rough, a little broken. “Then I’m yours. However you want me.”
So, he kisses you first.
Not rushed. Not greedy. Just slow. Reverent. Like he’s trying to memorize you—the shape of your mouth, the way your breath catches when he deepens the kiss, the soft sound you make when his tongue brushes yours. His hand cups your cheek, thumb stroking gently, and you melt into him, your fingers curling into the fabric of his shirt.
Then, carefully, he shifts.
His hands slide to your hips, guiding you as he rolls, easing you beneath him with a tenderness that makes your chest ache. He hovers above you, braced on his forearms, eyes searching yours.
“Wanna see you,” he murmurs, voice thick. “Wanna take my time.”
You nod, breathless, and he leans in again—this time kissing your neck, your collarbone, the soft skin just below your ear. Each press of his lips is slow, deliberate, like he’s savoring every inch of you. His stubble scrapes lightly against your skin, and you shiver, your hands sliding up his back.
His hand starts to trail lower, slow and sure, until his fingers land inside your underwear and brush through the slick heat. You gasp, hips twitching, and he stills—not pulling away, just waiting.
“Easy,” he murmurs. “You’re alright.”
You nod, breath shaky, and he strokes again—featherlight, just enough to make your breath catch. Then his thumb circles your clit, and your whole body jolts.
“There she is,” he murmurs, smiling against your neck. “Still so sensitive.”
You whimper, your hips rocking without thinking.
“My poor bun is so needy, huh?” He asks, placing a breathy kiss on your cheek. You can’t do anything but nod needly, a whine leaving your lips.
Then his fingers trail lower, teasing your entrance, and he pauses.
“Gonna put one in,” he says. “Just like last time. Let’s see how you take it, yea?”
You nod, breathless, and he eases in—slow, careful, watching your face the whole time. The stretch is still unusual but not painful. Just…full.
You gasp when Joel starts to thrust in, your thighs trembling, and his free hand comes up to cradle your cheek.
“You’re okay,” he murmurs. “Doin’ so good, baby.”
He starts to move, slow and shallow at first, letting you adjust. Then he curls his finger just slightly, and your back arches when he brushes something deep inside you that makes your whole body light up.
“There,” he says, voice low and rough. “Remember what this is called?”
You gasp, eyes fluttering. “G-spot.”
He grins, presses a kiss to your jaw. “That’s my girl. Knew you’d remember.”
He curls his finger again, slow and deliberate, and your breath stutters, rubbing over that spongy spot that makes your eyes roll.
“Feels good, don’t it?” he murmurs.
You nod, barely able to speak. “So good.”
“Yeah,” he says, watching your face twist with pleasure. “She’s been waitin’ on this. On me.”
His fingers move with a rhythm inside you, slow and steady, when his other hand slides up your side. He pushes your dress higher, bunching it around your ribs, and then he sees you.
His breath catches.
“Oh, baby…” he murmurs, voice cracking. “They’re hard already, bun…” His thumb brushes over your nipple, featherlight, and you shiver. “You ever touched these before?” he asks, eyes flicking up to yours.
You shake your head, cheeks burning. “No.”
He groans, like the answer physically hurts him.
His hand cups your breast, thumb brushing again, slower this time. “Saw ‘em that first night,” he says, voice low and wrecked. “You remember? You were sittin’ in front of the mirror, that little dress on… they were already perked up. Couldn’t stop starin’.”
You nod, breath catching. “You touched them. Through the fabric.”
“I did,” he whispers. “Rubbed my thumb right over ‘em. You gasped so sweet, like you didn’t even know they could feel that good.”
He leans down, mouth brushing your skin. “Been thinkin’ about this ever since. About how you’d feel. How you’d sound.”
He kisses the swell of your breast, then the peak, lips soft and reverent.
“So fuckin’ soft,” he breathes. “So warm. You’re killin’ me, bun. You really are.”
His mouth closes around your nipple, slow and deep, and you cry out, your back arching. His fingers inside you curl just right, and your whole body tightens.
“Joel—”
“I know, baby,” he murmurs, voice shaking. “I know. I’m right here. Just let me love on you a little longer.”
Your breath stutters, caught somewhere between a gasp and a sob. His fingers keep moving, slow and sure, curling deep inside you with a rhythm that’s just right—like he’s listening to your body more than your words.
You clutch at his shoulders, your thighs trembling.
“Close—” you breathe, voice cracking.
“I know, bug,” he whispers, lips brushing your skin. “I got you. Just let go.”
The pressure builds, hot and unbearable, and this time you don’t fight it. You let it crest, let it take you. Your body arches, a cry slipping from your lips as you come around his fingers—tight and pulsing and overwhelming. It’s not loud, not wild. It’s deep. Shaking. Like something breaking open inside you.
Joel holds you through it, his hand never faltering, his mouth still soft on your chest.
“There you go,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “That’s it.”
You collapse against the mattress, breathless, your skin flushed and damp. He slows his hand, easing you down, then stills completely, just holding you.
You feel his forehead press to your shoulder, his breath warm and shaky. “You alright?” he asks, barely audible.
“Yea—yeah. That was good.” You say breathless.
He smiles softly, brushing the damp hair out of your face.
He watches you for a beat longer, then leans over to the nightstand. You hear the soft crinkle of foil as he grabs the condom, and he glances back at you.
“You ever seen how these are used before?” he asks, not teasing—just checking.
You shake your head. “Not up close.”
He nods, then tears the packet open slowly, deliberately. “Alright. Watch, then. Just so you know how it works.”
You do. You watch as he pulls down his shorts, his cock jumping free—once again, droplets of pre-cum formed on the tip. He rolls the condom on, his movements careful, precise. And there’s something strangely intimate about it—not clinical, not awkward. Just…real. Human.
When he’s done, he settles between your thighs again, his hand trailing down your side. He softly pulls down your panties, placing a kiss just above your mound.
“Still okay?” he asks.
You nod. “Yeah.”
Then, he leans in, kisses you—soft and slow then shifts his weight, one hand sliding between your legs. His fingers find your clit again, rubbing in slow, gentle circles, and you gasp, hips twitching.
“Just wanna make sure you’re still nice and ready,” he murmurs. “Don’t want nothin’ to hurt.”
You nod, breath catching.
He lines himself up, the head of him nudging against your entrance. He pauses, eyes locked on yours. “Gonna go slow,” he says. “Just the tip, baby. Let’s get you used to it, yea?”
You nod again, and he begins to press in — slow, careful, inch by inch. The stretch is intense, unfamiliar, and your breath catches in your throat.
You gasp, your hands tightening on his arms.
Joel stills immediately. “S’only the tip, baby,” he says softly. “You okay?”
You nod, but he waits. “I’m okay,” you whisper. “Just…full.”
He leans down, kisses your cheek. “I know. You’re doin’ so good.”
He stays still for a moment, just the tip of him inside you, his breath coming in shallow pulls. His eyes are locked on yours, searching, waiting.
“You’re squeezin’ me so sweet, baby,” he murmurs, voice rough with awe. “Can’t believe this is real.”
Joel leans down, presses a kiss to your cheek, then your jaw, then the corner of your mouth.
“Gonna go a little deeper,” he whispers. “You tell me if it’s too much.”
You nod, and he shifts his weight, one hand sliding down to lace his fingers with yours. He squeezes gently, grounding you, and then he starts to mov—slow, careful, easing in inch by inch.
You gasp, your brows knitting, and he stills again.
“You okay?” he asks, eyes flicking to your face. “Talk to me, bun.”
You nod, breath shaky. “Yeah. Just…so full.”
That’s the only thing you can say about his length inside you. Full. Stretching you to the brim.
“Oh, baby.” he says softly. “You’re doin’ so good.”
He kisses your temple, then your shoulder, and with one more slow push, he sinks the rest of the way in. You whine out, your body arching, and he groans—low and broken against your skin.
“All the way inside now, bun,” he breathes. “You’ve got me. Every inch.”
You cling to him, your heart pounding, your body adjusting around him. He doesn’t move, just holds you—one hand in yours, the other stroking your side, his forehead pressed to yours.
“Still with me?” he murmurs.
You nod, eyes glassy. “Yeah.”
He exhales, shaky and slow. “Okay. We’ll stay right here. Just breathe with me.”
You’re still adjusting, your body wrapped around him, in a way that makes your breath catch. Joel hasn’t moved—not really. He’s just holding you, breathing with you, his forehead resting against yours.
And then you whisper, voice barely there, “Move. Please.”
He huffs a quiet laugh, the sound low and frayed.
“Already feelin’ good, hm?” he murmurs, brushing his nose against your cheek. “S’alright. Just tell me—”
“Just tell me if it’s too much, if you wanna stop, if anything don’t feel right,” you cut in, mimicking his voice with a breathless little grin.
Joel stills.
Then he lifts his head, eyes narrowing just slightly.
“That’s the second time you interrupted me, honey,” he says, voice low and tight.
Before you can answer, he draws his hips back —just a little and thrusts into you once, slow but deep. You gasp, your eyes widen, your whole body jolting.
“Not gonna stay nice if you do it again.”
His voice is rough, teeth gritted, but his hand is still holding yours, his thumb stroking your knuckles. He’s still there—still Joel, but something’s cracked open now. The hunger. The heat. The part of him that’s been waiting too long to feel this.
He watches your face as he starts to move—slow at first, just a gentle roll of his hips, easing in and out with careful precision. You gasp, your fingers tightening around his, and he groans low in his throat.
“There it is… yeah. You’re startin’ to melt around me, huh?”
You can do nothing but mindlessly nod.
He finds a rhythm, steady, deep, unhurried—and your body responds before you can think. Your thighs tremble, your breath stutters, and he feels it.
He breathes, voice rough. “You’re takin’ me so sweet, bun. So fuckin’ sweet.
You whimper, your back arching, and he leans down, kissing your neck, your shoulder, your jaw.
His thrusts stay slow, but deeper now, more deliberate. He watches every flicker of your expression, the way your mouth falls open, the way your brows knit, the way your eyes flutter shut.
The whole room fills with your moans.
“You okay?” he asks, voice strained.
You nod, breathless. “Yeah. Feels…so good.”
He exhales, shaky. “Good. Just hold on to me.”
He presses his forehead to yours, his hand still gripping yours tight, and keeps thrusting slow.
“Joel.”
His rhythm falters for just a second when you say his name like that—soft, wrecked, barely a breath. He lifts his head, eyes locking on yours, and nods, his jaw tight, his breath ragged.
“I know, bun,” he murmurs, voice thick. “I know.”
But he doesn’t stop. He can’t.
His hips keep moving, slow and deep, and you feel every inch of him, every careful thrusts like a promise.
He reaches down now, feeling himself getting close. His fingers find your clit—slow, careful—and the second he touches your bud, you whine out loud, high and helpless.
“You’re so fuckin’ soft here,” he breathes, voice low and frayed. “So swollen. S’good?”
“Mhm, Joel.” All you can do is nod, eyes fluttering shut.
Then he thrusts a little deeper, a little firmer, making you moan louder around him.
“Didn’t know it could feel so good…” your voice barely above a whisper.
He chuckles, low and warm. “Yeah? S’posed to, baby. I’ve got you.”
Every thrust makes your breath catch. His hand is still laced with yours, his forehead pressed to yours, and you can feel the tension in his body. Every muscle tight. Every breath ragged.
But then he stills, just for a second, and you feel it—the way he’s holding himself back.
“Joel?” you whisper.
He shakes his head, eyes squeezed shut. “Fuck, baby… it’s been a long time.”
You blink up at him, dazed. “You’re close?”
He nods, jaw clenched. “Too close. But I want you to come first.”
You open your mouth to speak, but then his hand on your clit starts to rub tighter and faster circles, making your body jolt.
“Joel—” you gasp, hips twitching.
“I know,” he murmurs. “I know, bun. Just let me take care of you.”
He keeps moving inside you, just enough to keep the rhythm, while his fingers work you with quiet precision. His eyes are locked on your face, watching every flicker of sensation, every gasp, every tremble.
“You’re so close,” he breathes. “I can feel it. You’re squeezin’ me so tight, baby…”
You whimper, your body arching, and he groans—low and broken. “God, you’re gonna undo me,” he mutters. “But I need to feel you come first. Need to feel you fall apart around me.”
You cry out, hips jerking.
“Please”
“Shh, baby,” he breathes, voice shaking. “I know. I’m right there too.”
His fingers move in slow, steady circles, matching the rhythm of his hips. You’re already so close—the pressure building again, tighter this time, sharper.
“Gonna come… I think,” you whisper, barely able to speak.
Joel groans, forehead pressing to yours. “Good, baby. Gooood,” he murmurs, his voice thick with awe. “That’s it.”
His thumb moves just right, coaxing, guiding. “Remember to chase it,” he whispers. “Feel it, bun. Don’t hold back.”
You cling to him, your body trembling, and then it hits—hot and deep and overwhelming. You cry out, your body clenching around him, and Joel curses under his breath, his rhythm faltering.
“Fuck—” he groans. “That’s it. That’s my girl.”
You feel him lose control then—his hips snapping forward, deeper, rougher, and he gasps against your neck.
“Can’t—can’t hold it,” he chokes out. “You feel too fuckin’ good.”
You wrap your arms around him, pulling him closer. “It’s okay,” you whisper. “I want you to.”
He buries his face in the crook of your neck, his whole body shuddering as he thrusts deep one final time. You feel it—the way he stills, the way his muscles lock, the low, guttural sound he makes as he comes, spilling into the condom with a broken gasp.
His weight settles over you, heavy and warm, both of you slick with sweat, your chests rising and falling in sync. The room is filled with nothing but your breathing—ragged, uneven, real.
You slide your hand up, fingers threading into the damp curls at the nape of his neck. You stroke gently, grounding him, and he melts into it, pressing soft, open-mouthed kisses to your throat.
Neither of you speaks. You don’t need to.
He stays there, wrapped around you, his lips brushing your skin like a prayer, like a thank you. And you just hold him, your fingers in his hair, your heart still racing.
Joel hasn’t moved much—just shifted enough to ease his weight off you, but he’s still close, still inside the moment. His fingers brush your cheek, tentative. “Was that…okay?” he asks, voice low, uncertain. “I didn’t go too far?”
You blink up at him, stunned. “Are you kidding?”
He looks down, brows drawn, like he’s bracing for something.
You smile, soft and a little dazed. “Joel…that was more than okay.”
He exhales, shaky, and leans in to press a kiss to your forehead. “Good,” he murmurs. “Just…didn’t wanna mess it up. Didn’t wanna hurt you.”
“You didn’t,” you whisper. “You made me feel safe. Wanted. Like I mattered.”
His throat works around something he doesn’t say. Instead, he presses another kiss to your temple, then your cheek, then the corner of your mouth.
He swallows. “You’re mine now,” he says, voice low, almost shy. “Forever… if you want.”
You smile, fingers still stroking the back of his neck.
“You’re mine too, old man.”
He huffs a soft laugh, the sound muffled against your skin. “Yeah,” he says, pressing a kiss just below your ear. “Guess I am.”
And then he just holds you tighter, like he’s never letting go.
You weren’t a stray cat anymore.
Joel kept you now. Forever.
OH MY GOD🥹 this took sooo long but i’m proud of it. Hope it meets yalls expectations!! Also my last fic for this year😭😭
(No pressure tags) if you liked the first part, you may like the second: @mabelmiller @furiousprincesskingdom @elkenenvy @alpacinolover1213 @claredevee @lambs-fav-fics @spicytunarolllll @zoot3577 @cuteanimalmama @pookiewrldfics @zeida
⛧ kinktober day nine... knife kink starring jace herondale
warnings: smut, knife used in sexual context, blood mention, angst, friends to lovers, unprotected sex but she has the rune so it’s fine, fingering, kinda jealous toxic jace but then he’s sweetie, reader is very very briefly mentioned to have dated simon (my sweetie)
wc: 2.7k
notes: nobody ever cares ab my jace content but i will be speaking anyway. also knife kink does not happen the entire time they end up being soft idk what happened
you loved watching jace. you'd never admit it to anyone, especially not to him but you could watch him do almost anything. the way he moved, his cat-like grace and reflexes, affected you in a way no one else ever had. it was hard, at times, having to occupy the institute alongside him, never admitting your real feelings. you told yourself it was easier to keep it to yourself than to admit it and ruin everything. there had been moments between you, though, multiple little instances over years of knowing each other. one night, you'd both been at a party of magnus bane, tipsy and a bit too close to be just friends. "you look just like an angel in this light," he'd told you, golden eyes dark as he looked at you. "i'd hope so," you'd made a weak attempt at breaking up the tension, "we all look like the angel." "you know what i mean," he'd said, hesitant like he had more to say. "jace, i-" you'd started, but then izzy's arm was around your shoulders, pulling you out onto the dance floor, and you'd never finished your sentence.
years later, you found yourself sitting against the wall of the training room, watching jace fling knives at targets. "you'd think you wouldn't worry about training anymore after all this time," you said, busying yourself with runing blades, "we can always improve," he looked at you, and you felt like all the air was knocked from your lungs. "maybe," you hummed, "i don't think you really need it." 'you flatter me," he had that familiar smug tone, "you could do with some practice yourself. i'm feeling generous, come spar with me." "oh, how kind of you," you rolled your eyes, pulling yourself up and tucking your stele into your pants. he tossed you a blade, grinning when you caught it without faltering. "i really don't think i even need this," you said, even as you edged yourself close to him on the mat. "no one thinks they need to train until you're backed into a corner and under prepared," he said in that matter of fact way that he always did, the tone that managed to get under your skin every time. "or maybe you're an overachiever," you chided, backing away as he lunged for you. "spoken like a true under achiever," he smirked, darting away from your reach.
the two of you went in rounds for half an hour, your frustration growing each time he dodged you. you made a reckless move, leaving yourself unguarded, and he made a move. he placed his dagger to your throat, your back flush against his chest, so close that you could feel his heart beating. "you have to watch your back, love," he murmured, his breath fanning against your neck, leaving a trail of goosebumps. heat pooled in your stomach, unwelcomed and traitorous, your heart picking up. "let me go," you hissed, straining in his grip. "are you afraid?" he ghosted the edge of the knife over your skin, "i can hear your heartbeat, darling. it's pounding." "i'm not afraid of you, jace. don't be ridiculous," you sucked in a sharp breath as he trailed the tip of your vein, "maybe i just don't enjoy being held hostage." "oh, i think you do enjoy it," his voice dripped with a mocking sweetness, "i think that's the problem here, love."
he pulled you impossibly closer, your entire body pressed against his, rigid and hot. "do you like knives?" he teased, his voice right against your ear, "is that it? or do you just have a sudden fondness for me?" "fuck off," you kicked back against him, his alarm releasing you as your foot made contact with his shin. he grinned even as he clenched it, "you're feisty as usual, i see." "we're done training," you crossed the mat, putting away your blade. "oh, come on, darling. be a good sport," he followed after you, catching your wrist in his grasp. you turned to face him, pupils dilated as you looked at him. "i just need to go to bed," you lied, swallowing the lump in your throat, "you should, too." "bed?" he repeated, "sweetheart, it's six in the evening. you haven't even eaten dinner." you pulled away from him, "i'm not hungry." you turned away from him, heading for the door, and for a moment you thought he'd let you go.
"you can't tell me you don't know how i look at you," he called after you, "you must know." you paused, heart stopping. "i know you feel it too," he continued, "you used to get so angry when i brought girls around. at that party we almost- i just know you feel the same way." you turned back to him, swallowing, trying to gain some composure. "if i'm wrong, fine. i'll never speak another word of it," he cleared his throat, "but i don't believe i'm wrong. you light a fire in me that nothing else ever has, and i see that very same fire inside of you." your body seemed to move on it's own, gravitating towards him like you always did, crossing the room in an instant. you didn't hesitate, for once in your life, throwing yourself at him and crushing your lips to his. his easy confidence didn't falter for even a moment. he wrapped an arm around your waist, walking you back until you hit the wall, his body heat making a welcome return.
you gripped his shirt in one hand, kissing him roughly, desperate and frantic. all the years of build up shattered, the intensity of the moment raw and all consuming. he nipped at your bottom lip, sliding his tongue against yours, his hips pressing into you. you pulled away to catch your breath, your lips slick, your entire face hot. "how long have you been wanting to do that?" he rasped, eyes dark as he gazed down at you, "because it felt like you've been pent up for a long time." you rolled your eyes, wrapping your arms around his neck and pulling him into another kiss. he put his arms on either side of you, caging you in against the wall, his knee slotted between your thighs. you writhed against him, hungry for more of him, some inescapable urge to be all over him taking over your mind. he pulled away only to press hot kisses to your jaw and throat, biting gently at the delicate skin. "tell me, darling," he murmured, "is it just me, or was it really that knife that got you so worked up?" as he said it, he pressed his knee more firmly against you, eliciting a quiet whine from your swollen lips. "both," you admitted raggedly, too worked up to feel ashamed.
he grinned against you, tracing a light mark on your neck with his tongue. “i’ve dreamed of this,” he murmured lowly, “you have no idea how much i’ve thought of you.” you ground against his thigh, your hands tangling in the golden hair at the nape of his neck. “i know you’ve thought of me too,” he cupped your jaw with his hand, gazing down at you, “tell me, darling. don’t get shy now.” you leaned up to catch his lips in a quick kiss, “i’ve thought of you for years,” you murmured, breath ghosting over his jaw, “there was never anyone else, jace. there were only place holders.” he made a low, possessive sound in his throat, pushing you back against the wall firmly, his hand settling at the base of your throat. “no one else should’ve touched you,” he grit out, “the thought of another man touching you-“ “you’ve brought all sorts of girls home,” you teased, though jealousy pricked over your skin, “so that’s hardly fair.” “they never meant a single thing to me, i’ve told you that,” he muttered, “i wanted to kill simon. he never had any right to you.” “oh, so you have a right to me?” “are you saying i don’t, darling?” in a blink, his dagger was pressed against your neck once more, the metal cool against your skin.
“tell me, sweetheart. tell me i don’t have a right to you,” he breathed, eyes sparkling, “go on.” “jace,” you exhaled shakily, pulse thudding against the blade. “mm? let me hear it, darling,” he murmured, cloyingly sweet. you parted your lips, his knee grinding up against you, stealing your breath. “it’s only ever been me,” he rasped, watching you intently, “it’s only ever been us, angel. you know it.” “jace, please,” you strained against him, heat pooling deep in your core, your thighs clenching around his, “it’s you. it’s always you.” “you’re writhing around just from my knife at your neck,” he sounded impossibly pleased, “what will you do when i finally fuck you, love?” you clenched around nothing, desperate for some stimulation, “please, just touch me.” he tsk’d, tucking his dagger away, trailing one hand between your thighs, cupping your heat. “you’re soaked,” he murmured, “can feel you through your pants, sweetheart. is this all for me?” “of course,” your back arched as he finally slipped his hand beneath your leggings, fingers searingly hot against your drenched core. “oh, you’re dripping,” he took in a sharp breath, pushing your underwear to the side, “you’re sure about this?”
“yes,” you said immediately, “of course.” he kissed you, slow and intense, as he rubbed your clit with two fingers. you moaned into his mouth as you kissed him back messily, gripping his shoulders to hold yourself up. he slowly, tentatively pushed a finger inside of you, your walls sucking in the digit greedily. “oh, angel,” he rested his forehead against yours, wet, slick wounds filling the air. you tried your hardest to stifle your moans, your teeth digging into your bottom lip. “jace,” you mewled, “please, i can’t-“ “you have to be quiet, sweetheart,” he murmured, resting a hand on the back of your head, letting you bury your face in his chest, “you’re so responsive. i knew you’d be like this.” you balled your fast in his shirt, legs shaking as his hand worked between your thighs, fingers curling expertly. “i’m close,” you let out a broken, stifled moan against his firm chest, dizzy with pleasure. “let go for me, darling,” he coaxed, “there you go, that’s it.” “oh, god,” your muscles went taut as your released washed over you, trembling in his hold. “perfect,” he rasped, pressing a kiss to the top of your head, carefully withdrawing his fingers, “you’re incredible.”
“let me-“ you reached for his belt, but he stopped you, bringing your hand to his face and pressing a kiss to the inside of your wrist. “i want to be able to savor this,” he murmured, “come to my room tonight when everyone’s asleep.” the anticipation washed over you, warm and welcome. “okay,” you nodded, “ten?” “not a minute later, darling,” he smiled, a rare, disarmingly authentic sight, kissing you quickly, “i’ll be counting the seconds.” you watched him go, fingers brushing your tingling lips, giddy and flushed. you returned to your room, practically floating on air, mind reeling with possibilities. you showered, trying to keep yourself busy, taking your time scrubbing every inch of your skin and layering lotion after toweling off. you pulled on silky pajamas, lying across your bed, pointlessly flipping through a book as if you could focus on anything but jace. when ten o clock came and the floors of the institute were quiet, you passed to his room, away from the doors of the others. you knocked once, and he pulled it open immediately, a towel hanging around his hips and his golden hair still dripping beads of water.
“hi,” you exhaled, blinking up at him, mouth going dry. “hi yourself,” he grinned, pulling you inside and closing the door behind you, his lips on yours without wasting a second. you melted into him, winding your arms around his neck, standing on your tiptoes to angle up towards him. his arms were rapped around your waist, lifting you up, the kiss deepening. you let out a surprised gasp when he picked you up fully, his hands guiding your legs to wrap around his hips. “jace,” you giggled, giddy from the feeling of being with him. “i’ve got you,” his voice was husky, “don’t you trust me?” “more than anyone,” you kissed him again, clinging to him. his hands settled on your ass, squeezing you through your thin pajamas. he pushed you back against the door, kissing down your neck to your chest, undoubtedly leaving a blossoming trail of hickies in his path. you tugged at his damp hair, arching into him. he explored you with his hands, pushing up your tank, looking at you through his blonde lashes as he wrapped his lips around your hard nipple, the other rolled between two of his fingers. “oh, jace,” you threw your head back, keening. he palmed your breasts, groaning against your skin, straining against the towel. “need to fuck you,” he murmured, “want to take my time, but i need you so badly.” “we have all the time in the world,” you whimpered, “just fuck me, please.”
he let the towel drop, balancing your weight with one arm to push your shorts to one side. you sucked in a breath as his tip nudged your entrance, and you could feel him holding back, using all his restraint not to pound into you right there. “you’re sure?” he rasped, meeting your eyes. “positive,” you nodded, “please.” he pushed into you in one fluid motion, letting out a shuddered moan as you gasped, adjusting to his size. “perfect,” he exhaled, “you’re fucking perfect, darling.” “you’re so big,” you mewled, nails biting at his shoulders as he fucked you against the door, the wood thudding rhythmically. he held you, stilling inside you as he walked you to his bed, lying you on the silky sheets. “need to see you,” he said hoarsely, pulling out just long enough to rid you of your tank and shorts, his hands roaming your bare skin as he slid back into you. “you’re so beautiful, darling,” he praised, arms on either side of you, the mattress dipping with each thrust, “can’t believe you’re mine.” the words only added to the slick between your thighs, your wetness echoing as he thrusted. “feels so good,” you moaned, lost in pleasure, eyes rolled back. he placed a hand between you, his thumb rubbing your clit, circling it in time with the movement of his hips.
“jace,” you gasped, back arched off the bed, chest flush with his. “that’s it, angel,” he groaned, “you feel so good, i’m not gonna last.” “i’m so close,” you raked your nails down his neck, spasming around his length as he pressed firmly to your clit, sending you over the edge, raspy moans escaping your throat as you came around him. “oh, that’s- you’re perfect,” he moved his hands back to either side of you, the tips of his hair brushing your face, “can i- do i need to pull out?” “have the run,” you managed, voice trembling. “fuck,” he let out a deep, guttural moan as he came inside you, chest heaving. he dropped his head to your chest as you both caught your breath, pressing lazy kisses to your sweat sheened skin. he rolled off of you after a moment, lying on his back, pulling you into his arms. “that was overdue,” he finally said, and you could hear the smirk in his voice. “should’ve made a move sooner,” you murmured, pressing a kiss to his shoulder. “it was worth the wait,” he ruffled your hair lightly, “sleep in here?” “wouldn’t dream of leaving.”
