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katiexpunk · 2 months

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Caller Number Nine | Pairing Javier Peña x Fem!Reader

Summary: You're a radio host of a popular late-night segment on relationships, advice and more. After a particularly bad night of calls, your final call of the night takes you by surprise.

Warnings: Javier is a flirt. Alcohol/marijuana. Humor/Banter. Flirting. References to infidelity and a man's negative view on his wife's postpartum body (the reader puts them both in their place). Both reader and Javier are lonely. New York. Slightly dom Javier. Biting. Javier gives reader a hickey. Murphy the Cat (this cat is DEA). Bodegas and a wholesome shop owner named Carlos. Some Spanish. TUWOMT call back to Paddington 2 but in a Javier AU. Javier calls the reader a slut once (she likes it). Praise kink. Thigh riding. Use of pet names. Just a hot fuck. Creampie. Unprotected sex. Fingering. Pizza on ranch. Dave Portnoy gets mentioned (iykyk). No use of Y/N, no use of daddy. For immersability, the reader has no major physical descriptions.

W/C: ~6K

A/N: Let's just say this story was inspired by the slutty mustache that has made a triumphant return. I’m also just really into pizza with ranch right now, too, idk. If you need me I’ll be internally freaking out about the fact that there are almost 1,400 of you interested in my silly little stories. Thank you. 🥹🖤

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People suck at listening. You used to, too. But over time, call after call, you have become intimately acquainted with the quiet moments—the pauses between heartbeats, the breaths taken before confessions spill forth, the silence that stretches like a canvas waiting for emotions to color it.

These moments, often overlooked in the noise of daily life, are where you find the truth that guides you through the tangled web of love and relationships you navigate every night on your show.

For you, the quiet is not emptiness but a space brimming with potential. It's in these pauses that you listen most intently, not just to the spoken words but to the ones that tremble on the edge of silence, too shy or too scared to make themselves heard. You have learned that what is not said can be just as important as what is, and you can hear those unspoken fears, dreams, and desires.

Each night, as the clock winds down and the world outside your studio window holds its breath, you lean into the quiet, inviting it into your show. You encourage your callers to do the same—to listen to the quiet within themselves, to the truths they've buried under layers of fear, doubt, or societal expectation. "In the silence," you often say, "you'll find the answers you've been too busy to hear."

Most of the time the callers are open to your feedback, their hearts open and kind.

Most of the time.

Tonight isn’t one of those times.

++++

“Have you ever had Brussels sprouts made for you at midnight by a gorgeous woman in no pants following multiple orgasms? I have, and they’re fucking delicious,” one caller said. It was obvious after minutes of talking to him that he was failing to heed your advice that if he didn’t stop sleeping with women who weren’t his wife, she would likely find out one day and leave him. God, you hope she does.

“I love her, you know? I just don’t find myself that physically attracted to her after she had the baby, it’s not my fault…” another said. Ugh, fuck off, dude. You were quick to shut that one down, to tell him that he was being a boy, to go to the store and buy his wife some goddamn flowers and apologize for being such an asshole.

Like a broken record stuck on repeat, this is how the night continues. One bad call after another, each seeming to echo or outdo the last in its what the fuck factor.

In the dimly lit recording studio, a soft hum of equipment fills the air, punctuated only by the occasional flicker of LED lights on the soundboard. You think briefly about letting out a scream before your last call, surely the foam walls would absorb the sound.

The glow of the computer screen casts a soft light on your face, accentuating the furrow of your brow and the downturn of your lips. You're a picture of frustration, a stark contrast to the empathetic persona that your listeners know and rely on. Each bad call tonight has chipped away at you. You drop your head into your hands and rub your temples for a brief moment before looking up at the clock, its hands inching their way to your liberation.

Just one more call.

The phone lines blink red. Your hand, a little steadier than you feel, reaches out and cues up the next caller, your voice finding strength as it always does when you speak into the void.

“Hi there, caller number nine. You’re on the air with Midnight Confessions. What’s on your heart tonight?”

“Ah shit – oh, uh probably shouldn’t say that on air huh – mm, wasn’t expecting to get through,” the man admits, his tone telling you he’s nervous, and probably a little drunk.

“Guess it’s your lucky night then. And it’s a late-night show, you can curse all you want to. What’s your name?” you ask, trying to ease him into the conversation.

There’s a pause, the kind that tells you the caller is weighing his options on whether he should give you his real name or not. Finally, he exhales softly, his mouth close to the receiver, enough for the exhale to cut through the static.

“I’m Javier. And you are?”

“You can call me the voice of the night,” you reply, a small smile tugging at the corners of your mouth, the first genuine one in hours.

“Didn’t realize I called the crime fighters hotline.”

The joke catches you by surprise and you let out a little laugh.

“Can’t say I’ve gotten that one before,” you respond before eventually giving him your real name. “So tell me, Javier, what would you like to talk about tonight?”

There’s another pause, longer this time, before Javier’s voice returns softer, and you can tell the tone is about to shift.

“This is stupid, I shouldn’t have called. I’m sorry for wasting your time tonight ma’am,” he says, and you can tell he’s seconds away from hanging up.

“Javier, wait –” you say, but he doesn’t respond. The line hasn’t disconnected, so you know he’s still there.

“Listen, I don’t know you – and you don’t have to tell me anything – but I can tell from the tone of your voice that it sounds like you’re carrying quite a bit on your shoulders. It’s brave of you to want to open up about it. Sometimes, talking to a stranger is easier than talking to someone you know,” you say, letting the dead air hang heavy for a second, “let me try to help.” You try not to make a habit out of convincing callers to spill their guts, but something about this call, this man, compels you to.

Javier sighs a sound that carries a world of worry. “I don’t even know where to start. My whole life, I’ve defined myself by my job, and without that, I –” his voice starts to crack, and he stops. You hear the clank of an ice cube against glass, and he continues again, “I realize how alone I am, how I don’t have anyone or anything. I feel like the only company I have these days are the ghosts of a past life.”

You don’t have the full context of his confession, but it hits you deeper than expected, echoing a sentiment that's all too familiar. You think about how most of the time, when you’re not working, you’re either turning to dust on the couch or in the company of fictional men you read about in books.

"Javier," you start, your voice softer, threading through the silence with care, "I understand more than you might think. You're not alone. It might feel that way right now, but I promise you’re not,” you say sweetly.

When he doesn’t say anything, you continue, “Losing a part of our identity, especially one that's been a cornerstone of who we are, is like losing our direction. But it's also an opportunity, a chance to rediscover yourself, to find new aspects of your life that give you meaning and joy."

You pause, giving Javier space, letting your words hopefully seep in to provide some comfort.

“What does that mean – that you understand more than I might think?” he asks, not acknowledging the rest of your statement, a curiosity in his voice.

“It means –” you start. Oh god, here we go. You’re not often like this with your callers, but this feels different. The studio, with its blinking lights and the gentle hum of the machinery, suddenly feels more intimate, as if it's just you and Javier at this moment, connecting through the airwaves.

“When I was little, my mother always knew my things, quirks, you know? Things like the fact that I’m scared of heights, that I get cranky if I don’t eat breakfast, and that I only like ranch dressing on pizza and never salad. It’s all trivial, small little details, but from this, I think I learned that being known is to be loved.

You take a deep breath, and let the silence swallow you whole for a moment before continuing.

“When I say I understand more than you might think, I mean that I’m still one of those people who’s waiting for someone to tell me how much I mean to them, still hoping for someone who will know those things about me, too,” you pause.

“Someone who will hold my hand tightly when I’m on a rooftop so I don’t somehow tumble over the edge, someone who will make sure I eat breakfast, even if it’s just a shitty granola bar, someone who will buy the fancy ranch, even if it only gets used on greasy pizza.”

You hear Javier chuckle through the line.

“Something funny?” you ask, a little confused, slightly embarrassed that this call has somehow reversed the roles and you’re the one spilling your confessions over like a broken yolk into his hand.

“No, no – it’s just ranch on pizza, that’s uh, that’s…disgusting,” he admits, a playful tone to his words, the sadness before seems to be gone, but you know his humor is likely just a mask.

“Excuse me, I’ll have you know ranch on pizza is a classic, and quite delicious. Thousands – no millions – of people like ranch on their pizza, it’s not that weird,” you quip.

“Right,” he rasps, “I’ll take your word for it, sweetheart.” You bite your lower lip and try to ignore the heat that’s risen to your cheeks, the little thrill you feel in your stomach from your banter. You’re quickly brought back to reality when you look at the clock and realize your call time is nearing an end.

“Well, Javier, you're my last call of the night and I’m afraid it’s time to wrap the show up. Is there anything else I can help you with before I let you go?”

“No,” he says, his voice a low rasp, thick like honey, “thanks for saying all of that.”

“That’s what I’m here for,” you say, the smile still on your lips like sugar from cotton candy. You slump back into your chair and the line disconnects.

++++

As the clock ticks past one, the studio lights fall to darkness, leaving only a solitary desk lamp to cast long shadows across the room. You loop the familiar weight of your backpack over your shoulder and put on your headphones.

You lock the studio door, and step into the brisk night air — it’s March, technically Spring, but the remnants of Winter are still holding tight. The city's pulse is tangible, even at this late hour, as you navigate your way to the subway. With only the Eagles in your ear to keep you company, you watch as the Graffiti-streaked walls blur past.

Once off the subway, you think about heading straight home to promptly melt into your mattress, but the rumble in your stomach reminds you that you haven’t eaten since lunch.

Might as well go see Murphy. He’s always happy to see you.

You round around the corner and the bodega lights come into view. The ground beneath you is damp and you’re careful not to step into any puddles as you make your way to the shop. You push open the shop door and the familiar chime of a bell alerts Murphy to your presence.

“Hi Murphy,” you coo, crouching closer to the ground so he can rub up against you. “How’s my favorite boy?” You say, scratching his favorite spot under his chin, feeling the comfort of his soft fur and rhythmic purr. If Murphy had it his way, you’d live at the Bodega, ceasing only to exist to give him love.

Your stomach growls again and you rise, “Gonna get some dinner now, okay Murph?” You walk through the tight aisles, grab a can of tuna as you pass by the canned goods, making your way to the frozen section in the back.

Chicken nuggets it is, you silently tell yourself before grabbing the frozen bag and making your way to the register.

"Hola, Carlos. ¿Cómo va tu noche?" (Hi, Carlos. How’s your night going?)

"Oh, hola.” As much as you’d love to practice your Spanish with Carlos, he needs to practice his English more and you’re more than happy to oblige.

"Good to see you. Listened to your show tonight, what a piece of work some of those people were,” he responds, using his index finger to punch numbers on the cash register.

"Tell me about it. How much do I owe you?"

"$7.50. Murphy says thank you for the donation,” he smiles, holding up the canned Tuna, and like clockwork, Murphy jumps up on the counter and starts assaulting the can with his cheek.

“Like he gave me any choice,” you respond, handing over $10. Carlos gives you your change and you give Murphy a few final loving pats on the head.

“¡Hasta mañana!"

"Buenas noches."

Back in the quiet of your apartment, the microwave fights you, its door refusing to stay closed until you jam it shut with a wooden spoon. With dinner finally spinning inside, you sink onto the couch, the night’s weight lifting off your shoulders. You feel yourself nodding off before the sound of the microwave beeping and the rumble of your stomach wake you up.

Dinner done, you smoke a joint, the smoke curling lazily in the lamplight. Your mind goes fuzzy and you stare up at the ceiling, trying to make shapes out of the popcorn on the ceiling. Your mind drifts to the thought of your last caller and you let your mind wander as you imagine what he might be up to tonight. Is he asleep? Or is he staring up at his ceiling, lost in thoughts as you are?

The only thing you know for certain is that you’re both alone tonight. At least there’s some comfort in knowing you’re not the only one.

The city outside continues its restless murmuring, but your mind goes silent as you fall asleep.

++++

You're grateful to have the next night off. Not like you have plans, but at least you don’t have to show face or wash your hair. Even if you did have to go out in public tonight, it wouldn’t matter — that’s the beauty of New York. You could look like a gutter rat and nobody would give a shit. But still, the freedom of an evening without obligations feels like a luxury, a small pocket of time where the demands of the world fade into the background.

Staring at your nearly empty fridge, its emptiness staring back at you, you sigh. Fuck. And then it hits you, unexpected but undeniable, a craving for pizza. Not just any pizza, but a pie from your favorite local spot, where the crust is always perfectly crisp and the cheese melts in a way that feels like a hug for your taste buds.

Stepping out into the evening rain, you make your way to the pizzeria that’s only a block away. The moment you open the door, a warm wave of garlic, tomato, and baked dough envelops you. The line isn’t long, but it gives you enough time to deliberate over your order, though deep down, you know you’ll end up choosing your usual — a Margherita.

You peek up from your phone and notice the man in front of you at the order counter. Broad shoulders strain against the fabric of his shirt, his tight jeans outlining a figure that speaks of strength. Dark hair and tan skin contrast strikingly under the fluorescent lighting. He orders confidently, his voice smooth, almost familiar. As he’s about to cash out, he adds “Can I get a side of ranch too, please?”

“No problem,” the cashier says, a little too happy to oblige his request. She’s flirting, you don’t know her, but you can tell. When the cashier asks for a name for the order, it confirms what you think you already know.

"Javier." The name hangs in the air, a familiar sound that sends a jolt through you.

It couldn’t possibly be.

The words escape your lips before you have a chance to second-guess it.

“I thought ranch on pizza was disgusting.”

He turns to face you and oh. You might have guessed that he was attractive from his voice, but seeing him is something else entirely. He’s strikingly handsome, with a dark mustache trimmed perfectly above his lip, his jaw stark and chiseled. The corners of his lips turn up in a smirk.

“Shit. Caught red-handed by the crime stopper herself,” he says with a wink.

Okay, so he’s handsome and charming. You’re so fucked.

As Javier steps aside, your gaze lingers for a moment longer before you place your own order. You feel his eyes boring into the back of your head as you do.

“No plans tonight?” He asks, and you shake your head.

“Not really, just this. Might swing by to see my boyfriend on my way home,” you say, noticing the way his expression shifts into disappointment, it’s subtle, but it’s there.

“Oh,” Javier says. He thinks for a second that maybe you were lying last night about understanding what it’s like to be alone.

“Yeah, we’ve got a hot date with a can of tuna,” you respond, smiling as you watch his very visibly confused face, the furrow of his brow. You can tell he’s not quite sure how to respond, the words a tangled knot in his brain, or perhaps conjuring up some weird kinky thoughts about what a date with a can of tuna could entail. He’s not sure he wants to know.

“I’m just messing with you,” you laugh. “He’s a bodega cat up the street, I usually swing by every night after work and I’ve developed a soft spot for the little guy. His name’s Murphy.”

“Wait, Murphy? From Carlos’ shop?” Javier asks, and you’re a little surprised.

“You know Carlos?”

“Yeah, yeah — he’s friends with my father. Great guy,” he adds, nodding to the pizzeria worker who hands him his order. You notice the blush on her cheeks when he says thank you.

You watch intently as the other worker packs up yours, placing two to-go containers of ranch on your box.

You grab your pizza and use your free hand to grab one of the containers of ranch and extend it to Javier. “For you,” you smile as you hold it out to him.

“Eat with me?” He asks, grabbing the ranch from your hand, your skin briefly touching.

How could you say no?

You smile and nod, and follow him through the restaurant. He holds the door open for you and places his hand on your lower back as he guides you out. You feel like a schoolgirl with a crush. He’s just being a gentleman, but something about the touch causes something in your core to run hot, a hint of arousal in its warmth.

In typical New York fashion, you find a relatively clean stoop to sit on. With the pizza boxes open on the step in front of you, the steam wafting in the cool night air, you smile at Javier.

“Are you ready to have your world rocked?” You ask, holding the pizza up long enough for the strings of cheese to disconnect from the box. He does the same.

“After you, Cariño.”

Cariño. So he’s a flirt, too.

You dip your slice into the ranch, a perfect amount clinging to the tip, before you bring it to your lips. The anticipation builds with the scent of garlic and herbs wafting up.

You barely pause to savor the moment before you declare, “Some people say the first bite of pizza is the best, but I disagree.” You dunk it back into the ranch and take another, this time bigger than the first, “The second bite is really where it’s at.” Since when did you become Dave Portnoy?

Javier watches with amusement as you delight over your dinner. “Go on now, after you,” you nod, continuing to work on your pizza like a starving dog. You watch as he delicately dunks his pizza into the ranch, and like a baby bird, takes a small bite. You study his expression, a mix of curiosity and amusement, as he carefully chews. His face gives nothing away, a poker face if you ever saw one, until he finally delivers his verdict, “Can’t say it’s my favorite.”

“What?” you gasp, half in disbelief, half in jest. You playfully nudge him, your hand reaching out to liberate the neglected ranch from his box. “Let me save this from your indifference,” you tease, claiming the ranch for your own. The banter feels easy, much like it did when he called in the other night.

“So tell me, Javier,” he stops you “You can call me Javi,” he says.

“Javi,” you smile, picking at a tomato on your second slice. “What made you want to call in the other night?”

He looks at you as you bring the tomato to your mouth, and lets his gaze linger on your lips. You notice.

“That’s a good question. Um,” he says, taking another bite before continuing, his elbows on his thighs, staring out into the street. “Truthfully, I was a little drunk, and a lot alone. I think I just wanted someone to talk to.”

“I get that,” you acknowledge.

“What? You probably talk to dozens of people every day,” he responds, turning to face you this time.

"False. I listen to dozens of people every day, but I don’t really get to talk. At least, not about things that matter, not truly." He gives you a long look, then nods, understanding etched into his features. He doesn’t pry further.

A comfortable silence settles between you as you both work on finishing your pizzas.

"What about you?" you finally break the silence.

"What about me?" he echoes, a hint of curiosity in his tone.

"I spilled my plans for the night, my glamorous date with Murphy. What's on your agenda?" you ask, leaning forward slightly. His tight bicep muscles press up against your arm.

"This," he gestures broadly to the city around you, wrapped in the open night. Then, with a sheepish grin, he adds, "Well, actually, I was planning to go home and watch Paddington 2."

You laugh hard enough to let out a little snort. He looks at you with affectionate eyes, like you’re the cutest thing he’s seen in a while.

“Paddington 2? Like, the bear movie?” you manage between chuckles.

“Yep. I cried through the entire thing the first time I saw it. It made me want to be a better man.”

“I see, well I’ll have to take your word for it, I’ve never seen it.”

"Do you want to come over and watch it?" he proposes, the question hanging in the air. It’s a bold move, especially since you've only just met, but there’s an earnestness in his invitation that makes you pause, considering.

"Only if we can swing by and say hi to Murphy on the way," you quip, bumping your shoulder against his lightly.

“Deal,” he says with a wink.

++++

As the saying goes, you make plans and god laughs.

It's almost as if you could have, perhaps even should have, anticipated this turn of events.

Paddington 2 might as well have been code for want to come over and fuck?

The energy crackling between you two is undeniable, magnetic. His blend of wit, handsomeness, and confident charm weaves an irresistible allure, drawing you in closer with every word, every glance.

It's one of those rare, electric connections that you read about or see in movies, but seldom experience in real life. Yet here it is, unfolding in real-time, a reminder that sometimes the most memorable moments are those you never see coming. You rarely see yourself as the main character, but tonight you feel like one.

In the narrow stairwell, his hips press firmly against yours, your back against the cold wall, arms pinned above your head. His lips find yours with an intensity that leaves no room for hesitation, a crash of desire against desire. You surrender to the moment, tilting your pelvis into his, a plea for more.

The world around you is a blur; it's just the two of you, enveloped in a haze of passion. His hands, desperate and eager, fumble for his keys—a brief interruption in your heated exchange as he struggles to unlock the door without breaking the heat of your gaze, the connection of your lips only momentarily severed. The anticipation builds with each fumbled attempt, heightening the intensity as you eventually enter his apartment and he has you pressed up against the door.

His lips trail from yours down the razor edge of your jaw, the hallow of your throat, over your collarbones, and down the valley of your still-clothed chest. “Javi,” you moan, and he responds with a groan into your chest. He looks up at you through his gorgeous lashes, “Can I take this off, Cariño?”

“Yes, yeah — shit, yes, please.”

He makes quick work of your shirt and assists it over your head, before returning his lips to your soft skin and working to undo your bra at the same time. “God damn” he mumbles under his breath, and you can’t help but feel the warmth rush to your chest and cheeks, “so pretty.”

You can’t even remember the last time you were touched like this, nonetheless kissed. Your skin erupts in goosebumps as he makes his tongue trail over one of your nipples, the other being teased slightly between his fingers. The sensation causes you to tilt your head back in ecstasy and you let out a soft moan. “Oh, yeah? You like it when I do that, baby?” You nod your head in response. “Use your words.”

“Yes, oh god — feels so good.”

“That’s better.”

You bring both of your hands to the waistband of his denim and pull him in closer to you, close enough to feel his hard cock, desperate to be touched. He brings his hands to grip your hair, baring your throat to him. He forces your legs apart with his knee, shoving it against your core. You begin to slowly grind on the denim.

“Want more?”

“Fuck, yes — ” you whimper with another grind against him. He kisses you again, one hand tightly gripping your hip and the other wrapped in your hair. You cling to him, arms wrapped around his middle until you drop them to find his belt buckle. His lips find yours once more, and he sucks the bottom one into his mouth before biting it and letting go.

He steps back, and you work to remove the rest of your clothing and shoes. You shimmy your pants over your thighs, taking your underwear with you. He thought you were beautiful from the moment he turned around and saw you, but seeing you standing in front of him, chest heaving, bare and perfect just for him, is another story. He slides his pants and underwear off in one go, kicking them off the side along with his boots.

He only gives you a moment to admire his form, cock hard and thick, the tip of it red and weeping, before he surges forward and kisses you with new passion. He licks the seam of your lips before forcing it open with his tongue, swallowing every one of your moans like they’re a gift just for him.

When you both can’t breathe, he pulls back and peppers kiss down your neck once more before he sucks a hickey into your neck, eliciting a breathy moan from you. He smirks against your skin and moves to the expanse of your shoulder, finding a new spot to bite and suck.

He forces his thigh between yours again, pushing the expanse of it right up against your bare pussy. You moan and cling to him, once again riding his thigh. “You gonna come on my thigh, baby?” He questions against your skin, feeling your shoulders shudder from his breath ghosting along your neck. He tightens his grip on your waist and rocks you forward, “Use me. Want to feel you soak me,” he hums, kissing your neck. You’re lost in the haze of your arousal, chasing the friction you so desperately need.

“Answer me, Cariño.”

“Y-yes.” You breathe, tightening your grip on him. You grind against him more, faster, harder. “Want it so bad.” And fuck, you do, you need it so bad but you’re not sure you can get there from just this.

“What do you want, beautiful?” He questions with another bite to your skin. “Do you want to come on my thigh like the good little slut I know you are?” You whine at the filth of his words, the warmth of his praise causing your belly to tighten. He tightens his grip on your hips and guides you faster on his leg, his fingers digging into your skin, hard enough you hope you bruise.

“Show me how pretty you are when you come, Cariño — make a mess of me,” Your body seizes up and you throw your head back and let out a guttural moan. The spot where your pussy rests against his thigh gets wetter. When you tilt your head back up, his eyes are what throws you over the edge. He holds your gaze as he watches you come for him, on him, because of him. “Fuck, that was gorgeous,” he moans, holding you steady as you come down from your orgasm.

“Bed. Now,” he demands, guiding you through the hall and to his bedroom.

You fall back onto the bed, your back hitting the mattress with a small oof, your breasts bouncing with the movement. He holds his heavy cock in hand by the base as he gently strokes himself, and watches as you part your legs wide open for him and finger yourself.

He continues to work himself while staring at your tight, slick hole, dripping just for him. His eyes go impossibly dark as he watches your fingers saw in and out, you’re really quite the sight.

“Shit, Cariño. Look at your little pussy,” his voice in between a whine and a whimper, as he steps forward between your legs and begins to position himself at your entrance. One hand on your knee, the other holding himself, he presses the head of his cock into you, making you moan, his tip alone is a stretch you’re unfamiliar with — it’s intense but good.

He’s not trying to taunt you, not really. “Just wanna make sure you’re nice and ready to take this fat cock,” he says, pressing just the mushroom head in and out of you. The slow drag of it is excruciating, enough for you to let out a plea of please fuck me. “Look so good like this, baby. Can feel you sucking me in, she wants it bad, doesn’t she?”

You nod, “More, Javi. Need to feel you inside of me, please,” you plead, holding your thighs behind your knees, spreading yourself wider for him, giving him full access to your cunt.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, thrusting the full length of him into you, and ohhhhmyfuck.

Your pussy walls flutter and tighten around him, and he lets out a wrecked groan. He draws his hips back and slams that back into you with enough thrust that your tits bounce. His thrusts are hard, but slow, giving you time to adjust to his size. He’s quick to pick up the pace, causing you to sob in pleasure, broken moans leaving your lips as he knocks the wind out of you with each snap of his hips.

He draws himself nearly out, his cock glistening with your slick, and he grabs both of your hips to hold you steady as he fucks into you. “Look at the mess we’re making together, Cariño. So fucking beautiful, you’re taking this cock so well.” You’re starting to realize that he’s a smooth talker both in and out of bed.

You wail as he picks up his speed, panting and grunting, groaning as he watches the thin skin of your pussy stretch around his girth. He releases one of his hands from your hips and brings the pad of his thumb to the swollen clit between your folds, and begins to rub tight circles.

“So tight, baby, little cunt’s trying to make me come, isn’t she?” He groans, his pace slowly slightly, his stomach muscles tightening and his jaw clenched shut.

“Want you to, want you to fill this hole up with all of your come. Want to feel you drip out of me, need to feel you.” Your words spur him on more, and he continues working your clit, his cock thrusting in and out of you, “oh god, please, please, please.” You’re not usually one to beg, but something about him has it pouring out of you.

“Yeah? Want me to fill you up, baby? I will if you come with me,” he says, an intensity, an urgency behind his voice. You’re so close, you think you’ll be able to come with him, but before you have the chance to get there, you watch as he squeezes his eyes shut to try and collect himself, but he’s too close, nearly over the edge of his orgasm. His cock starts to swell and his movements get a little sloppy.

“Come in me, Javi. Want to feel you,” you moan, your voice a seductive whisper, and that does it.

His hips stutter, “Fuck, Cariño,” he groans, his voice a wreck, as he buries himself to the hilt inside of you and starts to throb ropes of his warm spend in you. There’s so much that it spills out of you and down your asscheek.

“Oh such a messy, pretty pussy,” he groans, admiring the way your cunt looks stuffed full of him, the glisten of your release and his on his cock, “Milking me so good.”

“Gonna make you come for me again beautiful,” he says, cock still spearing you, throbbing and pulsing as he collects some of his spend on his fingers and brings it to the needy button between your legs. It doesn’t take much to get you there, and within seconds you’re on the brink of your orgasm.

The warmth that pools in your belly grows and radiates through your limbs until your whole body feels tingly and your vision goes white.

“Oh my god, Javi, I’m coming,” you wail, a blubbering mess of pleasure, until you’re drowning in the sea of your orgasm.

“Can feel you squeezing me, sweet girl,” he groans, both out of pleasure and a little bit of over-stimulation on his already spent cock, “So. Fucking. Pretty. Such a good girl,” he says as he works you through the last of your orgasm. After you come down from your high, he gently pulls out of you, and a little trail of his come follows and spills out onto the sheets below.

“Jesus, Javi. That was something else,” you say, blissed out and thoroughly fucked. You nestle up into his chest like it’s easy, it comes naturally, a movement you don’t even question. He wraps his arm around you and plants a soft kiss on the top of your head in response.

“Can I say something?” He asks, and you look up at him a little worried. Waiting for the other shoe to drop.

“I’d buy the fancy ranch for you.”

END

If you like this, please consider a reblog. <3

Trying a thing where I don't use a tag list to see how it goes. To be notified when I post fics, follow @katiexpunkupdates

END A/N: the line she gives Javier in response to knowing what he means in the first part of the fic is adapted from a poem. I wrote it down, but forgot to name the author. So credit to the author, whoever it is.

#javier peña #javier pena x f!reader #javier pena smut #javier pena narcos #javier pena fanfiction #pedrohub #javier pena x you #javier pena x reader #pedrostories #narcos smut #the slutty little mustache has returned

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wheresarizona · 1 year

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September Part 3

Jackson, 2024

summary: After twenty years apart, you and Joel Miller have been reunited and are picking up where you left off all those years ago—still just as in love as you were. Getting to the little town Joel’s brother calls home means showers, beds, and reacquainting yourselves thoroughly.

rating: Very Explicit (18+!! No y/n, alternating POV, age gap (10 years), unprotected p in v (wrap it up!), creampie(s), shower sex, oral sex (f & m receiving - Joel gets pussy drunk), vaginal fingering, masturbation (m), multiple orgasms, overstimulation, dirty talk, praise kink (Joel needs to know he’s a good boy), body worship (you’re kissing Joel’s scars), a lot of kissing, teasing, breeding kink mention, Joel being bossy, emotions, love confessions, slight angst, mention of pregnancy loss, dad jokes, Ellie giving Joel so much shit, TLOU tv Spoilers, TLOU game spoilers)

pairing: Joel Miller/f!reader (reader is a doctor with no physical descriptions aside from wearing Joel’s jacket)

word count: 17.5k+ (over 6k smut)

a/n: The name of this chapter in my brain was The Fuckening™ if that gives you an idea of what you’re getting into. I also have to increase the chapter count due to reasons… I’m over the moon by all the love for this series! All of the comments and asks make me so happy!! Thank you all so much! Shoutout to the love of my life, @juletheghoul, for betaing!

I reply to comments from my side blog @wheresarizona-writes

Thank you for reading! Comments and reblogs are appreciated!

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It may be Spring, but nights in the mountains of Wyoming are chilly.

The abandoned farmhouse you’d taken shelter in for the evening is drafty and cold, the scrubs you’re wearing not the best attire for the conditions. Joel had put his jacket on you, but when your teeth started chattering, he’d gotten up, broken down old furniture, and started a fire in the home’s old living room fireplace, him cuddling with you on the floor in front of it.

He’d checked on Ellie, who was hiding away on the second floor, huddled under dusty blankets and cozy enough that she didn’t want to join the two of you downstairs.

He told you to sleep while he kept watch, and so you laid down in front of the fire with your head in his lap, his jacket on you as a blanket, and you fell asleep to him stroking his fingers through your hair.

In twenty years, you’ve never slept better—no nightmares, no fear, just comfort. After so much time living in the apocalypse, your body had become accustomed to only sleeping a few hours at a time, so when you woke with the night sky still black outside, you told Joel to get some rest, taking over his post.

More wood is added to the fire, your legs stretched out in front of you, a gun beside you on the floor, Joel using your lap as a pillow, on his side, facing you with an arm wrapped around your back.

It’s embarrassing how long you stare at him, your fingers slipping through his grey strands and trailing over the shell of his ear, down his jaw, feeling the coarse hair of his beard, touching those spots where it refuses to grow, and smoothing over his eyebrow. God, he’s so handsome, Joel softly smiling as he drifts off, knowing when sleep takes him, his breaths evening out and body relaxing, him melting into you.

At some point, his face nuzzles into your stomach, hearing him sigh contentedly.

It’s still hard to believe that he’s there with you after two decades of being apart, unable to stop yourself from touching him, needing to feel him to know he’s real, your hands rubbing his arm, or playing with his hair, pretty sure your eyes don’t move from his head on your thighs.

Though your gaze is locked on Joel, you’re still on high alert listening for any potential danger—the house creaks, the fire crackles, a frog croaks outside, and thankfully, there’s nothing else.

Dawn breaks in a soft glow through the windows, Joel apparently having the same internal clock as you and waking after a few hours.

His body tenses as he comes to, seeing his eyes blink open, his eyebrows dipping down in confusion as he reorients himself with consciousness. His head turns in your lap to look up at you, seeing relief wash over his features before he smiles.

“You’re here,” his words come out rough from sleep.

You smile back.

“I’m here,” you reply, sliding your fingertips over his cheek. “And I’m not going anywhere. You’re stuck with me for the rest of your life, Joel Miller.”

It makes you grin when he gives you a dimpled smile, Joel chuckling as he moves to sit up and turns to get on his knees. He shuffles close to you, his big hands framing your face as he tilts your head to lean in and kiss you tenderly, long presses of his lips to yours like he’s memorizing how it feels.

His mouth leaves yours, kissing each of your cheeks, forehead, and the tip of your nose, faces close while he gazes into your eyes.

“I‘m not stuck with you,” he says. “I want you with me. I need you. I’ll do anything to make sure I never lose you again, and plan to spend the rest of my days on this godforsaken earth by your side. ‘Til death do us part, baby, and even then, I’ll find you again wherever we go to meet our maker.”

Your heart is thumping wildly, warmth flooding your veins at his proclamation.

“That sounds an awful lot like a marriage proposal.”

He smiles crookedly, his palms rubbing down your arms until he’s taking your hands in his larger ones.

“I’ve told you you’re it for me. I planned on marryin’ you all those years ago and still want you to be my wife.”

Sucking in a breath, there’s a nervous look on your face, because you’re not who you once were—not that naive girl who risked her job to date the hot older single dad. The world has chewed you up and spit you out, and there’s no room for risks anymore, every move needs to be calculated with your life on the line—saving Ellie worth the possibility of dying.

“We’ve been back together less than twenty-four hours��” you say slowly. “I’m not the same girl you fell in love with—”

“I don’t care,” he cuts you off, his thumbs smoothing circles on the tops of your hands. “I still see her, but I know you’ve changed, just like I have. We’re survivors. We’ve been through shit, I’d kill for you without a second thought, and I know you’d do the same for me. We aren’t the same people as before, but now we’re pretty fuckin’ similar—know what needs to be done to keep livin’, and that won’t keep me from lovin’ you. I loved you then, and I love you now, and I’d marry you if given the chance.”

Tears are brimming in your eyes, your throat getting tight.

“I knew I was going to marry you—was just waiting for you to pop the question.”

His eyes soften, looking a little nervous.

“Well, I uh—” He looks away to clear his throat. “—don’t have a ring to do it properly, but things are different these days.” Meeting your eyes again, he says, “And we can’t afford to wait, not when there’s no promise for tomorrow.” He squeezes your hands. “You’ve been the love of my life for over twenty years—gone on you the moment I saw you. You’re beautiful, smart, funny, and so carin’, everything I could ever wish for in a partner, and those things haven’t changed. I know it from how you were willin’ to risk your life for Ellie. You loved Sarah like she was your own, and here you are carin’ about Ellie, too.” You sniffle, tears rolling down your cheeks at all he’s saying, knowing what’s coming. “I’m a better man when I’m with you—you make me want to be a better man that you can be proud of because I’m so fuckin’ proud of you, baby, especially survivin’ all these years on your own. A—“ He pauses to gather his words. “—a friend once said the reason I’m here is to save and protect the people I care about; I saved Ellie, and now it’s time I keep you and her safe—I don’t want you to be alone again, and I think there’s another purpose for why I’ve survived—” His face goes so soft, eyes rounding, voice thicker when he speaks. “—and it’s to love you. It’s always been to love you, and like all those years ago when I asked you to give an old guy like me a chance to take you out, I’m now askin’ for the chance to be your husband. Will you marry me?”

He looks so hopeful, and you answer right away while nodding, “Yes, Joel.” Your cheeks are drenched in tears, wiping at them with your hands. “Of course, I’ll marry you. I wanted to be your wife in 2003, and that hasn’t changed—you’re my dream man, and I’d love for you to be my husband.”

The smile he gives you could outshine the sun, that dimple of his appearing, chuckling happily as his broad palms cup your cheeks, and he crashes his lips to yours in a searing kiss. Your fingers thread into his hair, your toes curling when he licks into your mouth to tangle his tongue with your own, swallowing your moan.

This is one of those breathtaking kisses where you can feel each other's emotions, able to tell how much he loves you, how happy he is, how thankful he is, telling you without saying the words of his devotion. It steals the air from your lungs and has warmth seeping into your bones, feeling so much happiness and joy—just over the goddamn moon.

It’s a question you’ve wanted to hear since the first time he told you he loved you.

A few months after you’d started dating, he’d canceled a date because Sarah was sick with a stomach bug. You’d shown up at his house with supplies to help her feel better—medicine, electrolyte drinks, and some broth to eat when she was up for it. You had only meant to drop it all off and spend your evening reading, but he’d invited you in, so you stayed, curling up with them on the couch to watch movies. Joel had to get up to grab something, and when he returned, Sarah’s head was resting on your shoulder, asleep. After he’d carried her to bed, the two of you were standing in the kitchen, you giving him instructions on the stuff you brought over, and he’d backed you up into the refrigerator, held your face in his hands as he said, “God, I fuckin’ love you.” From then on, you waited, the two of you making plans for your future with each other, knowing you were going to spend the rest of your lives together—there was a connection, something ingrained in you that told you he was the one, and he’d felt the same.

Did this seem quick? Were the two of you jumping the gun? Like Joel said, you live in a time where you can’t afford to wait, and tomorrow isn’t promised. People move quickly these days, wanting whatever happiness they can get for however long they can have it—life expectancy is abysmal. Plus, being with him again, it feels like you’re picking up where you left off, your love just as strong as it was then, so the next logical step in your relationship is marriage. It feels right, and you want nothing more than to be Mrs. Joel Miller.

You gasp in surprise when you’re suddenly being pushed to lie back on the floor, him half on top of you, still kissing you. His hand moves to palm your breast, excitement swirling in your belly, Joel encompassing all of your senses, only focusing on him and nothing else—feeling him, touching him, hearing him.

“Oh, gross!” Ellie exclaims as she enters the room, Joel’s mouth and hand leaving you immediately. “Get a room!”

He sighs, pressing his forehead to yours.

“We’re in a damn room,” he grumbles.

“Yeah, one with no doors to shield my innocent eyes.”

“We’re just kissin’,” he sighs.

“Grossly kissing. The sounds are going to haunt me for years.”

He finally lifts his head to look at her.

“You done?”

“Are you done shoving your tongue down her throat? Was worried she’d choke on it.”

“Ellie.”

“Jesus, Joel,” she laughs. “Learn to take a fucking joke.”

He lets out a long sigh, sitting up on his knees with a groan.

“I’ll take it you’re hungry?” he asks.

“Yeah. Starving. Can’t wait to get to Jackson for real food.”

Tilting your head back, you look at her upside down.

“Help yourself to the rations,” you say, pointing at your bag on a nearby dining room table. “Sorry, there’s nothing to sit on—we needed wood for the fire.”

“Thanks, Doc!” Ellie replies, making her way over and hearing her rummaging through the cans. “More peaches! Fuck yeah!” After she gets the can open, she turns toward you both. “So, I want to sit on the floor, but like, which part is… safe?”

Joel’s standing now, hands on his hips, while his eyes squint in confusion.

“The house is structurally sound…” he says slowly. “The floorboards are in decent condition. You can sit anywhere.”

“I know the house is okay. What I mean is, what hasn’t been contaminated?”

“Contaminated?” he asks. “We wouldn’t be stayin’ here if it wasn’t safe.”

You wanted to laugh at how it was going over his head, you sitting up.

“She wants to know where we fucked, Joel, so she can avoid it.” There wasn’t any actual penetration, just some amazing oral that had you ascending to another plane of existence and Joel coming without being touched.

Fuck, he knew how to use his mouth.

His eyes get big at what you say, flush staining his cheeks as he clears his throat. You point behind you. “In that area, Ellie,” you tell her.

She makes a face as she replies, “Yuck. I’ll sit here.” Lowering herself onto the ground, her legs crisscrossed in front of her, immediately digging into her peaches. “How long of a walk to Tommy’s?” she asks with her mouth full.

Joel seems to get his wits about him, answering, “From the truck to Jackson, I thought maybe twelve hours. We only managed a few yesterday before the sun started settin’, so about nine more today.”

“That’s not too bad,” she muses, swallowing her bite. “The real question—“ she holds up her fork, pointing it between the two of you “—is if you guys can keep your hands off each other for nine fucking hours. My money’s on one—maybe. Wouldn’t be surprised if you break after five minutes.” Ellie goes back to eating her food.

You snort, and Joel scratches at the back of his neck.

“We aren’t a couple of horny teenagers,” he grouses.

“No, you’re not,” she agrees. “You’re too fuckin’ old—no offense, Doc.”

“None taken,” you reply as you stand up, your knees protesting and going a little wobbly with a grimace on your face.

Joel is in your space immediately, his hands on your arms to steady you.

“You okay, baby?” he asks, concerned.

“Like the young whipper snapper said,” you reply, nodding your head towards Ellie, her repeating whipper snapper in a confused tone. “We’re fuckin’ old—achy knees. I’d kill for an Epsom salt bath.”

He caresses your cheek.

“You need somethin’ for the pain? I got painkillers in my bag.”

“You’re sweet,” you answer, looping your arms around his neck. “But I’m fine. Just a symptom of aging.”

He pulls you into him, hugging you close.

“We’ll relax when we get to Jackson.” He kisses your hair.

“Fucking knew you guys wouldn’t last five minutes!” Ellie laughs.

Joel sighs, and you laugh along with her, the sound muffled in his chest.

The air outside is crisp, biting with cold, and the sun has barely risen as he walks beside Ellie down the highway. You’re on her other side, wearing his jacket, the semi-automatic rifle hanging at your side, ready to be used at a moment's notice.

He feels his lips curl up every time he catches a glimpse of you, something inside him loving that you’re wearing his clothes, reminding him of times you’d throw on his shirt after sex when you both padded to your kitchen for a snack and water.

He can’t help how his eyes always drift your way as the three of you keep walking, fearing that he’ll look and you won’t be there, the last twenty-four hours just some fever dream. But you are here, you’re real; Joel listening as you and Ellie discuss Jurassic Park, the book she read the night before, the girl wanting to know everything about the movies, and he can tell how happy you are to describe them to her in detail.

You’d always been good with kids. That was something that made him fall for you so hard. On your first date, he’d been upfront about Sarah, needing to make sure you understood they were a package deal, and she came first. This was where a lot of the few and far between first dates he went on ended because he could see on the women’s faces that they weren’t too keen on having to share him. You’d lit up, though, agreeing that Sarah was his priority, and asked him to tell you everything about her.

After some time, his daughter became your daughter, too, and eight months into dating, Joel was positive you were it for him, and he was it for you, him seeing how much you loved Sarah, he asked if maybe she should have a sibling—you’d happily agreed she needed a couple, and didn’t bother refilling your birth control.

It made his chest ache how he dreamed of having a house full of kids with you—how you’d been so excited and nervous, making a plan for how you’d handle completing your residency to become a doctor and the possibility of getting pregnant.

There ended up being no point in worrying about it because six months later, the Outbreak happened, and Joel experienced the worst day of his life.

That was years ago, and he’s finally started to heal. It is no longer excruciatingly painful to talk about Sarah, happy to remember her, happy now to have someone to remember her with and keep her memory alive.

And just like how you’d taken a shine to his daughter, here you are with Ellie, treating her the same, understanding without him having to tell you that they’re a package deal.

His feelings from before haven’t changed, he knew you were it then, and he knows you’re it now, you willing to die for the young girl cementing in him that you’re the person he wants to spend the rest of his life with, and it was about damn time he finally asked you to marry him.

Christ, he’s so fucking happy you said yes.

“You’d think after the first failed attempt at a dinosaur theme park,” Ellie says, “they’d realize it’s not a good fucking idea.”

“People are stupid when they’re greedy,” you reply.

“People are just plain stupid,” Joel adds.

You snort.

“That is also true,” you say.

He was stupid not to ask you to be his wife the moment you agreed to have his children, mentally kicking himself in the ass for wanting to wait for your internship to end. It was a dumb decision, but he’s making up for it and marrying you the first chance he has, positive Tommy will have someone to officiate.

Things now are different than they were in 2003.

There’s no societal pressure in regards to marriage. FEDRA sure as fuck doesn’t care about the institution. There are no places to buy rings and no big wedding celebrations; it’s just not something many do anymore, not seeing the point with how fucked everything is. People still get married, of course, but it’s a personal choice to show their commitment to each other—there’s no official process, no red tape. Some say vows to one another, others just start referring to their partner as husband or wife; you can find a person to officiate, but it’ll usually cost you some ration cards for a man or woman of God to seal your commitment.

Joel wants to do it the old-fashioned way—he’s always been old-fashioned, hoping Jackson has a minister or someone ordained to marry you both, though he’ll be fine if it’s just the two of you making your promises to each other with Ellie and Tommy as witnesses.

It’s important to him they’re there, and he knows you’ll want them there, too.

He focuses back on you and Ellie talking, happy she has someone else to socialize with and ask all of her questions; it makes him smile that you’re doing your damnedest to answer them.

“I swear this is a serious question,” the teenager says.

“I’ve thought all of your questions have been serious,” you respond, smiling at her. “Especially when you asked who’d win in a fight between a T-Rex and a triceratops, and I still say triceratops—they’d stab the hell out of the T-Rex.”

“I accept your wrong answer.”

“Agree to disagree. Now, what’s this serious question?”

“Right. What do you call a fish wearing a bowtie?”

“So-fish-ticated,” Joel answers immediately.

Her head swivels toward him.

“You asshole!” she exclaims. “How the fuck do you know these?”

“It’s a dad joke!” you laugh.

“What’s a dad joke?” she asks, her attention turning to you.

“Really terrible, dumb jokes dads tell their kids to annoy them.”

“They aren’t dumb…” Joel mumbles.

“I didn’t mean to hurt your feelings, babe,” you say. “I love them—tell Ellie the ocean and beach one. It’s my favorite.”

“What did the ocean say to the beach?” he asks Ellie.

She looks at him with a raised eyebrow.

“What?”

“Nothing, it just waved.”

She splutters into a laugh, making him smile.

“That’s so fucking dumb!”

“Dad jokes,” you say. “One time I asked him if he got a haircut, and without missing a beat, he answered, ‘No, I got them all cut.’”

“A fucking smartass,” she replies.

“A dad,” you correct. “I love his dad humor. It’s cute.”

You meet his eyes, smiling at him, and warmth spreads through his body.

The conversation continues between them, Joel only offering his two cents occasionally or grumbling when Ellie makes a jabbing remark at him, the kid constantly giving him shit.

The route you’re on, he and Ellie went down months before to get to the Firefly hospital, and at the time, it’d been clear of infected since it’s in the middle of nowhere and up in the mountains. You’re all still on alert in case of bandits or hunters, but hours pass as you walk along the asphalt, passing old abandoned cars overgrown with vegetation, with no signs of any other humans.

Every few hours, breaks are taken, and his knees are aching by the time you make it to the ridge overlooking the town down in the valley, the place surrounded by tall log walls to keep the townspeople safe.

Now that it’s the home stretch, Joel’s mind is replaying your words from the previous night, how you said after he’s showered, you’ll want to hole up in a bedroom and not leave for a day or two—having him fuck you over and over so you’ll feel him for days. His pants are feeling a little tight, thinking about how fucking good your pussy tasted, wanting to spread you out on a bed and eat you out until you beg him to stop. Fuck, you taste so good when you come. He could spend hours between your legs, has spent hours there, making you come so many times you were a whimpering, boneless mess by the time he was done.

And you said he can finish inside you, the thought making him sweat. He loves filling you up and fucking his come so deep inside you, so you’re dripping with him—dreams of how your cunt clenches up at the first spurt, locking him there so he can’t move, feeling how you need him, how you want him to fill every nook and cranny with himself.

God, when there was a chance it’d take, Joel would lose his fucking mind at the thought of you growing his baby. It made him harder than a fucking rock at the prospect of his seed taking root, coming so damn hard he’d go cross-eyed.

That wasn’t a possibility now, but he’s changed; it making him just as hard knowing he doesn’t have to worry about knocking you up, that he can fill you over and over without there being any consequences—something he hasn’t done since the last time he was nestled deep in the tight confines of your pussy because Joel didn’t want to risk it, couldn’t risk it, not after everything he’s been through.

He’s walking a little faster as you approach the town gate, wanting to get to whatever accommodation his brother offers as quickly as possible, getting annoyed when the men up in the guard tower won’t let you all in, Joel demanding they get Tommy.

His hands are clenching, feeling impatient. You sidle up next to him, standing beside him.

“I guess we didn’t make the VIP list,” you say, patting his arm.

He sighs, turning his head to meet your eyes, sliding his hand over the small of your back to grab your hip.

“You’d think Tommy woulda fuckin’ told them to look out for me or somethin’,” he replies, frowning.

“Or, maybe Tommy told them his brother would be returning with a girl, and me being here is causing red flags.”

“That could be it. My brother will fix whatever the fuck is goin’ on.”

“I know he will. Can’t wait to see that asshole.”

He smiles.

“He’ll be excited to see you, too.”

“I can’t wait to have hot food,” Ellie says, both of you looking at her. “And hopefully, Tommy and Maria will be cool and let me use their shower. I’m smelly.” Her nose crinkles.

“Hi, smelly, I’m Joel,” he deadpans.

“You’re so fucking lame. How have your jokes gotten worse?”

“You mean better?”

“No, I mean worse—your jokes are as bad as you smell. Like holy shit, dude, you need a shower more than me.”

He frowns, knowing he needs a good scrub.

“On the bright side,” Ellie continues, “it’s pretty fucking clear that you guys are really in love since Doc doesn’t seem to mind you reek and are filthy as fuck.” She makes a face. “It’s some true love shit, like this one kid’s book I read where a girl falls in love with this ugly ass beast—” She raises her hands above her head, making them look like claws. “—but obviously Joel isn’t gonna become some handsome prince after he showers—he’ll be just as hideous but clean.” Her arms fall to her sides.

His eyes narrow.

“Did you just call me the fuckin’ beast from Beauty and the Beast?”

Sarah loved those cartoon Disney movies when she was little; Joel and her watching the mermaid one so many times they wore out the VHS.

“Oh my god, you think we’re a fairytale couple?” you ask, sounding delighted.

He looks at you with narrowed eyes, seeing you grinning.

“Yeah!” Ellie exclaims. “Beauty and the Beast! I don’t know why you’re mad, Joel. The beast was a grumpy asshole; you’re a grumpy asshole; the beast falls in love and gets all soft; you’re in love and disgustingly soft.”

He sighs because she isn’t wrong, and it’s really fucking irritating.

The doors finally push open after some minutes, the familiar figure of his brother standing on the other side as you all start making your way toward him, Joel keeping his hand on your lower back.

Tommy’s eyes are locked on you, a furrow in his brow, clearly not expecting another person with him and Ellie. Joel smiles when recognition hits the other man, seeing the shock, followed by his face lighting up.

“Holy shit!” Tommy shouts. “Am I fuckin’ seein’ things, or is that you, Doc?”

The first time you met his brother, Tommy was shocked to find out you were a doctor—not because you’re a woman, the Miller boys were raised to respect women, but because you were so young, and like many other Texans, he started calling you ‘Doc,’ instead of your actual name as an honor and to be a little shit to Joel, a way to remind him you were way out of his league—younger, smarter, and you’re so fucking beautiful he still can’t believe you gave him a shot.

Joel’s sure it made you happy that Ellie decided to use it as a nickname for you, too.

You’ve got a beaming smile on your face when you answer, “It’s me!”

Tommy moves quick, his arms wrapping around you in a big bear hug, squeezing you so hard he lifts you from the ground, making you laugh. He sets you down, leaning back to get a good look at your face, smiling.

“Fuck, it’s good to see you alive—you haven’t aged a bit. Can’t believe it’s been over twenty fuckin’ years.”

“It’s crazy, but I’m sorry, Tommy, you’ve gotten old—look at those grey hairs,” you tease.

He throws his head back as he laughs.

Looking at you again, he says, “You’re givin’ me shit about some grey hairs and lookin’ old—how do you feel about how Joel’s aged?” Tommy nods his head toward him.

Of course, he’s fishing for information, the nosey bastard.

“Oh, Joel’s aged like the finest wine.” That has Joel perking up. “The sexiest man I have ever seen and looks so fucking good. Like, have you seen his ass? There’s so much more of it now, and I just wanna—”

“Yeah, yeah, yeah,” Tommy cuts you off. “I don’t need to hear all that.”

“Me either,” Ellie adds, sounding disgusted.

“I wanna know,” Joel says, his chest puffing out a little that you still want him in his current state.

Tommy looks at him, saying, “Of course you do, you fuckin’ horndog. So, I’m assumin’ y’all are together again?”

“I’m marryin’ her,” Joel answers, smiling.

“Wow,” Ellie says. “Why am I not even surprised?”

“You finally asked her?” Tommy asks, grinning.

“I did.” Joel nods.

“And she fuckin’ agreed to marry your grumpy ass?”

Joel glares.

“As I stated,” you start. “I quite like his grumpy ass, thank you very much. And I did say yes.”

It made those damn butterflies flutter in his stomach hearing you say that.

“How long have y'all been back together?”

“A day,” the three of you answer simultaneously.

Tommy’s eyes get big.

“A day?” He whistles lowly. “Well, I’ll be damned, a day and you’re already gettin’ hitched.” He shrugs, “When you know, you know, and the world is fucked up, might as well spend whatever time you have remainin’ bein’ happy.”

“Yeah,” Joel replies. “You got a minister or someone to officiate?”

Tommy grins. “I happen to know just the guy. Let’s get y'all settled, though. Had a house readied for you—knew you’d be comin’ back. Expected the girl, but Doc is a welcome surprise.” He hugs you again before stepping back to lead you all inside.

When he and Ellie were here last, they didn’t get to explore the town much—too preoccupied with finding out the location of the Fireflies, Joel originally planning to have Tommy take her but changed his mind at the last moment.

He’s glad he took her, fucking relieved, because if it had been his brother, there’s no doubt in his mind she would’ve died, and Joel would have been left to carry it on his conscious along with all of the other fucked up choices he’s made in his life.

All of the choices he’s made about Ellie have been right.

Taking her from Boston.

Getting her to the Fireflies.

Saving her life.

Murdering the bastards to keep her safe.

Bringing her to Jackson to give her a chance at getting to be a kid.

He wouldn’t change a single one because she’s here with him and still living, and that’s all that fucking matters.

The town has many residential homes, a main street containing stores, a bar, places to eat, an old church with a looming bell tower, markets, greenhouses, a school, and a farm complete with livestock, the primary mode of transportation horseback—may Callus, the horse they rode on their trip to the Fireflies, rest in peace.

It’s truly impressive how self-sustaining the community is, not needing many outside supplies and powered by a hydroelectric dam nearby.

As Maria tells it, she and a group established this settlement some years earlier, and they’ve done a good job rehabbing all of the buildings and making the place feel like it hasn’t been touched by all the carnage outside the walls protecting it.

“This is the house,” his brother says, you all standing on the sidewalk in front of a two-story craftsman-style home that, if Joel had to guess, was built in the mid to late 1970s. Tommy gives him a hard stare. “We don’t have an abundance of homes to offer and make sure to match the needs of who arrives. Two bedrooms for Ellie and you, but I’m sure you’re more than willin’ to share with Doc. I chose this one ‘cause after checkin’ it out, I don’t think your eye will twitch at shoddy craftsmanship—if you hate it, I don’t care.”

“It’s perfect, Tommy,” Joel replies. “I’m not gonna complain about you givin’ us a roof over our heads and a place to sleep. I’m fuckin’ grateful.”

His brother smiles.

“Damn straight you are. Let me show you inside.”

It’s two bedrooms, like Tommy said, and three baths. The place is picked clean of decorations, but he’s impressed with the built-in bookshelves lining a wall in the living room.

There’s nothing to complain about, and he wouldn’t if there was, truthfully he really is grateful to have a place he can call home and live with you and Ellie.

But anywhere is home with the both of you. It’s just nice there are beds, plumbing, electricity, and heat.

The rooms contain essential furniture to make the place livable; Tommy says the bathrooms are stocked with necessities, the kitchen with basic cookware, and the bedding on both beds are clean—he’d have someone bring groceries the following day. Ellie put her backpack on the bed of the smaller room down the hall and past a bathroom to the master bedroom.

The tour ends in the backyard, where there’s an old garage that’s been converted into a one-bedroom studio apartment with its own kitchenette and bathroom; the place is empty. You’re standing beside Joel, Ellie on his other side.

“We planned on givin’ this to a single person who might come through, but if Ellie doesn’t like the idea of livin’ in the house and wants her own space, she can have it. We’d just need to get her some furniture, which wouldn’t be too hard.”

“That’d be fuckin’ awesome!” she exclaims. “I’m assuming you’ve been around these two when they’re together—” She points her thumb at you and Joel “—and you know how vomit-inducing they are? I’d like to avoid my ears bleeding or fuck, having to stab my eyes out 'cause I saw shit I didn’t want to see.”

Tommy laughs, and Joel sighs.

“Yeah, kid, they’re fuckin’ ridiculous! I caught them in my truck once—my fuckin’ truck! Made Joel pay to have it professionally cleaned—” It was worth the money. “I lost count of how many times I had to save…” he trails off, suddenly looking uncomfortable, his hand scratching at the back of his neck.

Joel feels like shit that Tommy thinks he can’t mention Sarah after how he’d refused the photo of her and him the last time he was here. He knows it doesn’t help that he’s spent years actively avoiding bringing her up and shutting down when Tommy mentioned her in the past.

“Tommy would take Sarah out,” Joel finishes for his brother, the other man looking surprised. “He’d pick her up and get her out of the house. She loved it 'cause he’d take her to movies and see shit she wasn’t allowed to watch at home.”

“‘Cause, you’re no fun. She was a big kid—always had a blast.”

Joel looks at him pointedly.

“Except for that one time you took her to see that damn scary movie, where she was afraid for a fuckin’ week that a girl was gonna come through the tv and kill her.”

That whole week, Joel had to sit on her bed for her to fall asleep, stroking her hair like when she was little.

“Okay, that was on me,” Tommy says, putting up his hands in defeat. “It was PG-13. I didn’t think it’d be that bad.”

“You slept on my couch for two nights.”

“As I told you then, my heat was out.”

“You’re a fuckin’ liar.”

“Anyways,” Tommy says, changing the subject. “We can figure out furniture for Ellie this week. I’m sure we can find extra shit. Now—” His attention turns to her “—how about I give you a better look at the town, introduce you to some kids around your age, and we meet up with Maria for dinner—she’d love to catch up with you.”

“Oh, thank god,” she replies. “Would Maria mind if I crash on your couch tonight? After what I heard last night, I’d prefer to be out of earshot for a good twenty-four hours for them to either run out of energy or, you know, Joel breaks a hip or something.”

Joel’s eyes go wide, not believing what she just said.

He thinks he’s in pretty great shape for his age—the knees, back, and hearing issues aside—there’s no fucking way he’d break a goddamn hip.

“Break a hip?” Joel asks. “I’m not that fuckin’ old!”

You pat his arm as you say, “Babe, you’d qualify for a senior discount.” His head snaps toward you, seeing the amusement on your face, Joel’s mouth opening and closing like a fish, not sure what to say because he feels ganged up on and betrayed. Tommy and Ellie are laughing their asses off, but he notices the shift in your eyes, that little look you get when you’re about to say something he’s really going to like, his mouth closing. “But,” you continue. Oh, he knows that look, his heart picking up when you squeeze his bicep.”I don’t care how old you are.” You’ve dipped into that sultry tone that makes his pants get a little tighter, Joel swallowing hard. “I still wanna fuck you. Very badly.”

He has to hold back the groan with the way you’re giving him ‘fuck me’ eyes, it evident that you do want him.

“Well, it’s time for us to go, kid,” Tommy announces, ushering her away. “Maria won’t mind you sleepin’ on the couch. Let’s grab your stuff before they get inside, and you know…”

“Disgusting,” she replies.

“I’ll have food and clothes left by the front door for when y'all come up for air,” Tommy calls to you both.

“Thanks, Tommy,” Joel replies, not bothering to look at his brother, instead, his gaze stuck on you.

He can hear their receding footsteps, focused on staring at you, feeling the air shift, your eyes darkening. He licks his lips, his fingers itching to touch you. Turning toward you, he grabs your hips to make you face him, smiling when you suck in a breath as he pulls you into him.

His voice goes lower, “You wanna fuck me?” he asks, seeing you visibly shiver. It makes something inside him purr that you’re so affected by him.

“Yes.” You nod. “I do.”

Leaning in close, he nudges his nose against yours.

“I wanna fuck you, too,” he rasps. “Miss how your tight little pussy feels around my dick. Wanna be inside you.” His lips ghost over yours. “You want that?”

“Yes,” you breathe, your answer making his dick twitch. He knows you’re waiting for him to kiss you, sure your heart is pounding in your chest. He pulls back, smirking as you gasp in surprise.

“We better shower then,” he says, smacking your ass and making you squeak.

Your eyes narrow, poking him in the chest.

“You’re a fucking tease, Joel Miller!”

He grabs your hand, chuckling as he kisses your knuckles. He loves when you get needy.

“I’m your tease, baby.” He winks. “And it’s fuckin’ payback for callin’ me a goddamn senior citizen. I’m gonna show you how well my hips work when I’m fuckin’ you into the mattress.”

“Is that a promise?”

He smiles.

“You know damn well it is,” he answers. “Now, let’s get in there. They should be gone by now.”

He can’t help that he practically drags you by the hand he’s holding, too excited to get you naked and under him, as he leads you up the back porch and into your new home.

All of your gear is discarded on the master bedroom floor, and once it’s off your bodies, the nerves kick in—worried he won’t like you naked or that after all these years, you’ll be bad at sex. He’s nervous, too; you can tell by how tense he is, refusing to look you in the eyes.

Taking a deep breath, you break the silence, “I’ll take a shower first,” you say, pointing at the en suite.

He finally meets your gaze, nodding, “Okay.”

You’re just in your dirty scrubs, squeezing his arm before heading to the bathroom, the door shutting with a soft click behind you.

Logically, you know you have no reason to be nervous—Joel loves you and everything about you, yet the doubt is still there in your brain. What if you don’t measure up to the women he’s been with since everything went to hell? What if he finds he’s no longer attracted to you now that you’re older and not as perky as you once were? The thoughts are swirling in your brain as you strip and start the shower, getting in when it heats up with a clean washcloth in hand.

Your hair’s washed, and you know you shouldn’t, but while scrubbing your body with the soaped-up rag, you wonder what Tess looked like. Was she younger than you? Older? Prettier? He said he couldn’t love her, but he had found her attractive enough to fuck her.

You’re rinsing the suds from your skin, lost in thought, when the shower curtain is roughly pulled open, gasping in surprise, dropping the washcloth while your hands come up, ready to fight. You only have a second to realize it’s Joel before his broad palms grab your face, stepping into the tub as he crushes his mouth against yours.

He’s naked, your heart hammering in your chest, moaning as he eagerly presses his tongue into your mouth, backing you up into the shower wall opposite the falling water. You hiss at the coldness against your back, Joel desperately tasting every bit of you he can, his hands moving down your body to touch you, grab you, feel your skin, anything he can touch. You wrap your arms around his waist, letting him explore—palming your bare breasts, sliding along your tummy and back, his fingers taking notice of your scars, and grabbing handfuls of your ass.

Coming up for air, his lips are on your jaw.

“God, I’ve fuckin’ missed you,” he husks, squeezing your clean tits together, all of your earlier worries vanishing, now replaced with unbridled desire. Bending down, he pulls a nipple into his mouth, making you moan at the shock of pleasure that shoots through your core. He laves at your hardened bud, then moves to the other to give it the same attention, pushing your fingers into his wet hair.

Your toes are curled, arousal burning in your belly, while he worships your breasts, licking and biting at them, one then the other, over and over.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan. “I love this, but can you please wash up so I can touch you.”

He comes off your nipple with a pop, moving his head to kiss you quickly. Joel turns toward the water, shutting the shower curtain, groaning as he bends to pick up the washcloth. Your eyes are locked on his back when he straightens, seeing the muscles move as he leans to grab the soap bar to lather the towel and start scrubbing himself down, taking his time to ensure he gets every bit of skin he can reach, being thorough.

The freckles you remember are still there on the expanse of his back, constellations scattered over his golden skin, but there are now scars littered amongst them—some faded from age, others newer, one round and about the size of a golf ball that you could tell is only a few years old. He bends at the waist to wash his legs and feet, and when he stands back up, you reach out to gently press your fingertips to it, Joel tensing.

“What caused this one?” you ask.

“Fell on rebar.”

Your eyes go wide.

“Fell on rebar…?” you ask slowly. “Did it go all the way through?” He turns to face you, his skin pink from how hard he scrubbed, your eyes immediately seeing the twin scar on his torso, touching that one, too. “Jesus Christ, Joel,” you gasp. “You’re so fucking lucky it didn’t puncture anything important.” You’re thinking of the organs it narrowly missed, shocked he even survived. There's another wound on his stomach that's recent, and whoever sewed it up was inexperienced. "That new one on your stomach happened on the road," you murmur. “Did it get infected?” You meet his gaze, seeing him frowning.

“Yeah,” he grunts. “Can you wash my back?” Handing you the washcloth that he washed and soaped back up.

“Of course,” you reply, accepting it and smiling because he always asked you to get his back when you lived in Texas. He faces the water again, and you get to work, moving the cloth over his shoulders and spine while he washes his hair. “How’d you treat the infection?” you ask, making sure all of the golden skin in front of you is sudsy.

“Antibiotics.”

“Must’ve been hard to find,” you mused.

“Very.”

You finish up, happy to see his skin pinked up like his front. “Done,” you say.

“Thank Christ.”

He turns quickly, his hair slicked back, rinsing the soap off his body, and shutting off the water when he’s done, turning his attention to you. Now thoroughly clean, he plucks the washcloth from your hand and lets it drop onto the floor without a single care. He’s on you, invading your space, his hand cradling your jaw as his lips descend onto yours in a devastating kiss that has you moaning when he’s licking into your mouth. It’s all tongues and teeth—biting, sucking, licking, Joel caging you in against the tiled wall, his body pressing into yours, feeling the hard line of his cock between your bodies, while his other hand explores your skin.

“I want you so fuckin’ bad,” his words are muffled into your lips as he grabs your ass.

Your cunt is throbbing, needing him inside you.

“Fuck me, Joel,” you all but beg.

“God, I love hearin’ you say that,” he groans. His hand moves between your legs, sliding his fingers through your folds, your hands digging into his shoulders for something to hold onto, the air thick from humidity and anticipation. “You’re so fuckin’ wet—need you to come.” He circles your clit with two fingers, sparks of pleasure igniting in your belly, gasping his name.

He knows how you like it, remembers how to get you off fast, soft sounds spilling from your mouth when he presses one thick finger inside you easily, followed by another, pumping them while his thumb works your sensitive little clit. They feel so good, canting your hips into his hand, panting breaths, your fingernails imprinting half-moons into his skin.

“So fuckin’ tight,” he grunts. “Gotta open you up.” Your arousal is dripping down your thighs as he pushes in a third finger, making you mewl at the stretch. You feel so full, Joel pushing them in and out, filling you over and over, getting you closer and closer to your release. His other hand squeezes your breast, rolling your pebbled nipple between his fingers, your legs squirming at all the pleasure he’s bringing you.

He’s kissing you again, your brain buzzing, electricity thrumming under your skin, the heat building in your core, getting hotter and thicker. Joel works you up until he crooks his fingers to find that spongy spot inside you that makes you see God. He pinches at your stiff peak, his fingers inside you finally finding that sacred place, your body tensing up with a gasp.

“There it fuckin’ is,” he says. “Come on, baby lemme have it—lemme feel your little pussy soak my fingers. Come for me.”

He focuses on the spot, his fingers squelching in and out of you from your arousal spilling around them, Joel rubbing against it fast, rough, while tweaking your nipple until euphoria crashes over you, crying out his name as you come.

“My good fuckin’ girl,” his voice is hoarse. “You get so fuckin’ wet when you come.”

His fingers keep working for you to ride out your high, hearing the sounds get wetter between your legs, enjoying the waves of pleasure that have your limbs tingling.

When your breaths even out and pussy stops fluttering, he removes his hand, your eyes opening to find him looking at you with a hungry gaze, seeing the want so evident in the dark pools.

“You want me to fuck you?” he rasps.

Heat floods your system, cunt clenching at the thought of him inside you. It’s been so fucking long, and you’re craving it, wanting it with every fiber of your being.

“Yes,” you answer, nodding. “Please.”

Your back is pressing into the tile, Joel not wasting another second to lean down and hook an elbow under your knee, lifting it to spread you open, balancing on the ball of your other foot, and wrapping your arms around his neck. You know he’s got you; not afraid of falling. His eyes lock on your center, seeing you glisten with slick, his tongue sweeping over his bottom lip.

His cock is so hard the tip is an angry red and weeping precum. You watch as he spits on his fingers, moaning when he spreads the saliva over your sopping hole, getting his digits wet again to coat his dick.

Your body vibrates in anticipation, sucking in a breath when he presses to your entrance. He starts pushing in, and your eyes roll back in your head, a strangled noise coming from your throat.

Time stops.

You’re lost in the sensations, his thick cock stretching you to your limits, savoring the slight burn, Joel crashing his lips against yours, moaning into your mouth.

It feels like you’re burning inside, every nerve in your body lit up like the fourth of July, and you can’t breathe, feeling like you’re being split open.

He bottoms out, his dick pushed in deep, taking up so much space that you feel unbelievably full—something coming over you at how fucking perfect it feels, how right. This is where he’s meant to be, his cock nestled inside you, joining you together, not wanting him to ever leave.

“Oh, fuck, baby,” his words come out strained against your lips, breathing hard. “I’m not gonna last. Oh shit, you feel too fuckin’ good—I missed this, I missed you. Your pussy is squeezin’ me so tight, takin’ me so fuckin’ well. Fuck.”

Oh, he’s just as lost as you are.

You finally take a breath.

“Use me,” you croak out. “Fuck me until you come—fill me up.”

He whines, his cock jerking inside you, and then he’s moving, desperately rutting into you over and over, groaning as he keeps pounding to chase his bliss.

He’s pushing you up the wall with his hard strokes, whimpering at how he’s filling you again and again. His lips attack yours in lust, pushing his tongue into your mouth to tangle with your own, Joel fucking into you hard and fast, the slap of his hips echoing in the small space.

Quickly his rhythm gets sloppy, his breaths shakey, knowing he’s close to his end, and it’s no surprise when he slams into you one last time, coming with a long, rumbling groan, feeling him gush inside you. He rolls his hips, fucking his come as deep as possible, hissing from the overstimulation until he finally stills.

His head falls into the crook of your neck, panting hot breaths into your skin.

The two of you stay like that for minutes, your fingers sliding into his wet hair, scratching lovingly at his scalp, Joel humming happily, your heartbeats slowing down together.

His mouth makes a path up your neck, kissing your skin along your jaw to get to your lips to kiss you tenderly.

Pulling back, his cheeks are flushed, looking you in the eyes with a soft smile.

He’s hoarse when he says, “Haven’t come that quick since I was a fuckin’ teenager.”

You smile, pushing his hair back with your fingers.

“It’s honestly very flattering you couldn’t last—makes me feel like I still got it.”

“Oh, you still got it, baby,” he replies, kissing you. “You more than got it.” He puts your leg down, pulling out of you with a hiss. Breaking the kiss, he takes a step back, eyes on his hands as he rubs them up your belly to squeeze your breasts, pushing them together. “You’re so fuckin’ sexy—love your tits.” He can’t help himself, leaning down to suck a nipple into his mouth, leaving you gasping at the sensation.

“I know you love my tits,” you reply.

He comes off you with a wet pop to look you in the eyes.

“They're gorgeous,” he says.

His fingers ghost down your ribs, his attention going back to your body, not expecting when he crouches down, pressing his face into your tummy.

“Love your body—so soft.” His voice is muffled in your skin. You suck in a breath when he presses his lips to a ragged scar on your lower abdomen. He kisses another at your hip and one over your ribs; with each new one he finds, he places a soft kiss, which has your eyes burning. “Love your scars.”

“Why would you love my scars?” you ask, barely above a whisper.

His head tilts up to look at you.

“They mean you’ve fought like hell to survive. Evidence of how fuckin’ strong you are.”

“That’s so fucking sweet.”

He stands back up with a groan.

“Hope you don’t mind mine,” he says. “I know my body isn’t what it used to be.”

Moving closer to him, you lean in to kiss the silvery scar on his face, Joel’s eyes closing as he shivers.

“I love your scars, too,” you reply, moving down to kiss one on his chest, then another you find, and another, Joel trembling. “I know you’ve fought like hell to survive, too.” Lowering, you press your lips to one over his belly button. “These are all just reminders that you’re alive, you’ve survived—” You kiss the newer one from his fall on rebar. “—you told death to get fucked, because you needed to live to fulfill your purpose in life.”

He pulls you up, his hand sliding over your cheek to cradle your face.

“To be here to love you?” he asks.

“No.” You shake your head. “To protect the people you care about and love them when nobody else will. Ellie might be a pain in your ass, but she’s your kid now, and you’re the only person she has. Apparently, you, Joel Miller—” You poke his bare chest “—are a girl dad. Which is so cute. Sarah would be proud of all you’ve done for Ellie.”

There are tears in his eyes.

“I couldn’t let her die,” he says thickly. “Not after losin’ Sarah, not when I had a shot at savin’ her—woulda died tryin’, 'cause you’re right, Ellie is my kid and a big pain in my ass,” he chuckles. “But I still care about her, even if all she does is give me shit.”

You snort.

“That’s how teenagers are.”

“That they are. You’re wrong about somethin’, though.”

“What’s that?”

“I’m not the only person she’s got—she has you, too.”

“That’s true. She makes my maternal instincts go haywire—feel the need to protect and take care of her.”

He strokes your cheek, smiling sweetly.

“You would’ve been a great mom.”

Sadness washes through you, making your throat go so tight it’s a struggle to swallow.

For twenty years, you’ve mourned the life you could’ve had, knowing just how close you’d gotten to being a mother and having it ripped away by the Outbreak happening. You lost so much, and you let your grief get the better of you, taking drastic measures to ensure you could never become pregnant… again. The only thing that kept you going was the hope you’d find Joel and Sarah, and as the years went on, it became harder and harder to believe you’d come across them, changing your reason to continue surviving with wanting to find a cure to save people. That’s the key to keeping your will to live in such a desolate fucking world—always have something that keeps you fighting, find a purpose, anything that makes you want to wake up the next day, and not give up.

Joel would never know he lost two children in 2003, it would devastate him, and there’s no point in adding to his suffering—he’s been through enough.

You’ve had time to grieve and heal; it’s all in the past and something you try not to dwell on, not ruminating on what could have been, only focusing on the now.

Traditional motherhood may not have been in the cards for you, but you’d gotten over a year with Sarah, who was like a daughter to you, loving her immensely, and doing your best to be a positive female role model, always there when she needed you. You want to be that for Ellie, too. She’s been in your life for a day, and you already care about her, happy to be there for her however she wants.

You’re getting a chance to raise another teenager with Joel, and that’s enough.

It’s more than enough.

“You’re thinkin’ awfully hard,” he says, taking you from your thoughts.

“Sorry.”

His eyebrows pinch together.

“You okay, baby?”

Smiling reassuringly, you nod as you answer, “Yeah, I’m great.” You need to get your mind on something else, rubbing your hands up his wet chest—God, he’s so broad. “Now, I think I was telling you how much I love your body.”

He smirks.

“You said somethin’ about my ass earlier.”

Your palms slide to his back and down to grab handfuls of said backside.

“Oh, yes. I love your ass very much.” You squeeze his flesh to punctuate the sentence, making him chuckle. “Like, my god, I can’t believe how much bigger you are.” Feeling up his back, his muscles play under your palms, resting them over his shoulder blades. “And your shoulders. Fuck, babe, you’re hot and look so fucking good. You’ve still got it, too—I’m wet just looking at you,” you say with a wink.

His hands move to grab your ass, his eyes going dark.

“You sure you’re wet, or is it my come drippin’ outta you?”

You smile, twining your arms around his neck.

“Both. Now, let’s wash off and take this party to the bed,” you say, wiggling your eyebrows.

“I like how you think,” he replies, kissing you quickly.

After a quick rinse, towels were found under the sink—not as fluffy as the ones at Bill and Frank’s, but they got the job done, drying off quickly and discarding them in a pile on the ground. He stands with his hip against the bathroom counter, his arms crossed, smiling while he watches you tend to your hair as he’d done hundreds of times before, and it makes him feel so fucking warm doing it again.

“I told you,” he says.

You glance at him with a raised eyebrow.

“Told me what?” you ask.

“That you didn’t need all those damn creams and serums you put all over your face and body every night—you’re still fuckin’ beautiful without ‘em.”

“If I had my damn creams and serums, I wouldn’t look so fucking old!” you laugh.

His eyebrows pinch together, frowning.

“Stop that. You don’t look fuckin’ old. I’ll tell you as often as it takes to make you believe me when I say you’re fuckin’ sexy.”

“Stop being sweet. You’ll make me fall even more in love with you,” you reply with a wink.

He smirks.

“Good.”

Once you’ve finished your hair, he can’t help himself, making you giggle when he moves behind you and wraps his arms around your middle, kissing your shoulder and neck as you both walk awkwardly into the bedroom, him tackling you onto the mattress.

It’s a queen size bed, a thick navy blue comforter on top over cream-colored sheets that had seen better days. Turning you to face him, he cups your jaw, taking in how you look with your wet hair, big smile, and those eyes he loves so much—they’re gorgeous, you’re gorgeous. Even after all these years, he thinks you’re the most beautiful woman.

“You’re so goddamn beautiful,” he whispers out loud, staring in awe.

And you’re here.

The happiness has him kissing you hard enough to steal the air from your lungs before you can respond. He needs to feel you, tracing his palm down your side and back, your hand wandering over him like you need the same thing—physical evidence that you’re both real.

He presses his tongue between your lips, and your fingers dig into his shoulder, moaning into his mouth as you welcome him to slide it along your own in practiced movements. He’s touching all of your warm skin, feeling the familiarity but also the changes, cherishing each scar he feels or the hardness of muscle in places that used to be soft, knowing it’s all proof of your survival and strength.

Joel has you naked and clean, and for the moment, he just wants to lie here kissing and feeling you, take his time to just enjoy the two of you being back together—there are no threats, no time crunch, no risk of a fourteen-year-old girl interrupting, it’s just you both in the safety of your new home, finally being able to relax.

There’s still a loaded gun on the bedside table, more nearby on the floor because old habits die hard even though it’s a relatively safe place—he’ll always be paranoid. It’s what happens when you live in an apocalypse, you have to be prepared, or you’ll die.

He’s as relaxed as he can be, his right ear pressed to the mattress, hearing from the left your soft moans, loving how your hand feels on him, and the familiar press of your lips slotting against his so perfectly, not wanting to stop kissing you, wishing he could stay like this forever.

Minutes pass, his hand sliding between your legs, feeling you wet and warm, shifting his hunger.

You’re panting when his mouth kisses your jaw, hearing you suck in a breath when his teeth nibble on your chin.

“Can I lick your pussy?” he purrs.

“You didn’t get enough when I sat on your face last night?”

“Nope,” he chuckles, nuzzling into your cheek. “Missed it. You taste so fuckin’ good, I could eat it for hours, and it still wouldn’t be enough.”

Your fingers thread into his hair, pulling on his head to make him look at you, a smirk on your pretty face.

“It’s nice to know that the world ending hasn’t curbed your addiction to eating pussy,” you tease.

He frowns.

“I, uh, haven’t done it since you…” he replies, swallowing hard.

It isn’t something he’d wanted to do with anyone else, it felt far too intimate. Sex for him was always quick and a means to an end, the only foreplay being his fingers to make sure his partner was wet enough to take him. It was hard enough fucking other people, the first couple of times, he couldn’t even finish, learning that if he put them on their knees, closed his eyes, and imagined it was you, he could get there.

Tess didn’t mind… at first because she was thinking of someone else, too, moaning her dead husband’s name the first time Joel made her come while fucking her from behind. They were using each other, they knew they were using each other to try and feel close to the people they’d lost, but something changed after many years had passed, and it felt like he’d been doused in cold water when his name fell from her lips.

There was an understanding from the beginning that there would never be anything more between them—he wasn’t over losing the love of his life, and she’d been in the same boat with the loss of her husband. After about ten years of being together, she developed feelings, and Joel didn’t, knowing he never would. Sure, he loved Tess, but it wasn’t the same way he loved you. It could never be the same way he loved you; no matter how much he tried to convince himself he needed to move on, he couldn’t. He’d tell her no when she’d ask him to be on top until he finally relented with the room pitch black and your face on his brain.

Even after all the time she was with him, he never tasted her. He didn’t want to, knew it wouldn’t be the same, and he was already giving her more than he wanted; that would be too much, knowing it’d cause him to feel guilt and sadness, so he avoided it.

He sees the surprise on your face at his admission, your eyes rounding.

“Oh…”

“Yeah… Just didn’t seem right.”

“No, I get it. Yours is the last dick I sucked.”

His lips turn up.

“Yeah?”

“Oh, yeah. Between lack of personal hygiene and the fact you have the perfect dick, I wasn’t sucking anybody else off.”

“You really think it’s perfect?”

Your hand strokes his cheek, Joel leaning into the touch. “Babe, I fantasize about your dick. The only way I can get off is if I think about it and you.”

He cups your cunt, pressing his lips to yours in a kiss.

“You’ve got the perfect pussy,” he murmurs into your mouth. He pulls back to look you in the eyes. “For twenty fuckin’ years, I’ve only come thinkin’ about you, rememberin’ how it felt to be inside you, touchin’ you, fuck, how you taste—fucked my hand so many goddamn times thinkin’ about my head buried between your thighs.”

“God,” you gasp.

“It’s Joel, but close.” He smirks.

You laugh, slapping his chest playfully, and it makes him grin.

“You’re ridiculous.”

“But you love me,” he replies, grabbing your hand and placing a soft kiss on each of your knuckles.

You smile sweetly.

“I do. Very much.”

“I love you, too.” He gives you a quick kiss, meeting your eyes when he asks, “Now, may I please lick your pussy? Got years I gotta make up for.”

“You’re just fuckin’ jonesing for a taste,” you giggle. “Of course, babe. You can eat me out and get your fill, but I get to suck your dick after. I just wanna choke on it, you know?”

His cock twitches, stifling a groan at remembering how good your mouth felt around him.

He smiles, chuckling as he says, “Still hungry for my dick.” He kisses you. “You wanna choke on it, and I wanna drown in your pussy. We’re a match made in heaven.”

You snort.

“Yes, we are,” you reply, smoothing your fingers through his wet hair.

His mouth trails open-mouthed kisses along your jaw and down your neck. He needs to get you in a better position, knowing he can’t kneel on the floor like he used to due to his knees being fucked, so he pushes you onto your back, wrapping an arm around your middle and using his strength to tug you up into the middle of the bed.

The mattress squeaks in protest as he moves to get on his knees between your spread legs, his cock throbbing while his eyes track over you spread out naked in front of him—you’re looking at him with want, your lip tugged between your teeth, Joel wanting to touch your breasts, and kiss your belly, the light from the bedside lamp reflecting on the glistening lips of your pussy, showing just how much you wanted him.

He licks his bottom lip, mouth watering at the thought of tasting you, stroking his hard cock a few times to ease the ache.

Just like how it’s a fact the sky is blue and grass is green, Joel Miller is a tits man, through and through, and he’s always been obsessed with yours.

Bending at the waist, he palms your breasts, feeling the familiar weight before leaning down to pull your stiff nipple between his lips, loving how you moan when he sucks. He laves at the bud, nibbling it with his teeth, knowing it drives you crazy. His cock is throbbing by the time he moves to the other side, giving it the same treatment, hearing you moaning unabashedly, your fingers tangled in the bedding.

Your nipples are shiny from spit when he finishes, his beard scraping against your skin as he kisses down your belly, his lips finding that one scar below your belly button, wondering in the back of his mind what caused it. The bed jostles while he maneuvers to lay down in the space between your open legs, having to adjust his dick digging into his stomach.

He grabs the front of your thighs to keep them open, seeing you sit on your elbows to watch as he kisses a wet streak along your inner thigh, goosebumps rising on your skin.

“Joel,” you say his name in that breathy exhale that makes his cock twitch when he sucks hard on the tender skin.

A smile is on his lips when he turns his head, hearing you gasp when his breath ghosts over your pussy to get to your other thigh, where he makes the same trail of kisses.

He’s lost count of how many times you’ve accused him of being a tease over the years. There was just something he loved about getting you all needy to the point you begged—that you’re so desperate for him, that he’s the only one who can give you what you need, so when his teeth sink into your meaty thigh, and you whine, “God, Joel. Stop teasing me,” the words go straight to his dick, making him groan.

He raises his head to meet your gaze, crookedly smiling at the crease in your brow and wanting to kiss your pouting mouth.

“You needy for me, baby?” he asks in a raspy tone. “Want me to touch that pretty little pussy? I’m just takin’ my time—wanna savor this.”

Your pout gets more defined.

“Well, I want you to touch me.”

“Is that any way to ask for somethin’?” His eyebrow raises.

“Joel,” you whine again. “Please, stop teasing me, and pretty please, with a goddamn cherry on top, touch me.”

“That’s my good girl, askin’ so nicely,” he winks, seeing you visibly shiver.

His attention moves to your center, his fingers spreading open the glossy lips of your sex, his other hand gripping your thigh.

“Such a pretty fuckin’ pussy,” he husks, licking his lips.

He spits on your clit, watching the saliva drip down, and he dives in, swiping a broad stripe of his tongue from your entrance to the perky bundle of nerves, groaning at the first taste of you. You’re the best thing he’s ever had in his mouth, and he can’t get enough, hearing you loudly moan as he does another circuit.

“You taste so fuckin’ good,” his words said into your pussy, the bed protesting when you fall back on it.

He reaches to thread his fingers between yours to hold your hand while he laps at you, licking up every bit of your need from your puffy lips and between your folds, greedily wanting it all.

There’s a wet spot where his dick is leaking precum under him, Joel in fucking heaven languidly tasting you, and in no rush, appreciative sounds rumbling in his chest. You’d asked him so nicely to touch you, but you didn’t specify where you wanted him to touch, so he’s licking everywhere except your clit, which he knows is driving you crazy, feeling you squirm, your pussy weeping for him. He eagerly licks inside your cunt, making his tongue go stiff to fuck it into you, your juices enveloping his tastebuds.

Fuck, you taste so fucking good.

He could live here.

If he died right this second, he’d die a happy man.

Your hips are moving as he swipes through your folds to try and get him where you want him, making a pitiful sound when he doesn’t oblige.

He’s been going at this for a while and knows you’ll be at your breaking point at any second with your skin glistening in sweat and your whimpering moans.

“Joel, I swear to fucking god if you don’t—” your sentence cuts off into a long, loud cry as his lips wrap around the little berry of your clit, and he sucks, your back arching off the bed. He has to put an arm over your waist to keep you still, your hand squeezing his tight, and with how your body seizes up, he knows you’re coming, dipping his mouth down to drink down every drop of your release as it spills from you.

“You’re so fuckin’ sweet when you come,” he groans into your cunt, shoving his tongue inside you, feeling you flutter around his muscle.

He doesn’t stop after getting you off once—he’s addicted, ravenous, wants more of your come on his tongue, and continues licking and sucking, devouring you like a man starved enjoying his first meal in years. And wasn’t he? Yesterday was the first time he had his mouth on you in over two decades, and drowning in your pussy wasn’t enough to curb his hunger.

It’s obscene the noises of him slurping and moaning into your cunt, enthusiastically eating you out, while soft sounds slip past your lips.

You sit up on an elbow, and your eyes meet, Joel seeing how good he’s making you feel, and it has him twisting his lower body to rest on his hip and free his cock, continuing to hold your hand while the other moves to stroke himself to ease the throbbing ache, squeezing the base of himself to keep from coming.

You’d been joking about his addiction to eating pussy, but he was—if there’s time, he’s getting his mouth on you, no questions asked, he wants to taste you.

You love it.

And it makes him so fucking hard knowing how much you love it.

“Fuck, Joel,” you moan. “You’re gonna make me come again.”

That just has him doubling down, taking his hand off his dick to push two fingers into your soaking hole, rubbing them into that spot only he can reach while he harshly sucks on your clit.

Your head falls back, gasping his name, your cunt clenching and wetting his fingers as you come, Joel groaning, slipping them out to fuck his tongue into you and drink up your juices.

He doesn’t want to stop, even when your thighs snap shut over his ears and you fall back onto the mattress, he just keeps going, his mouth working against you, and he knows he’s gone—he’s gotten a taste, and now he’s drunk on your pussy, the world falling away around him, losing himself to you.

Wrapping his fingers around his cock, he jerks off while he makes you come a third time, him quickly following, raggedly moaning into your cunt while lapping up your release, his spend spurting over his hand and onto the blanket.

Time passes, he gets you off two more times, and you finally push at his head, Joel unable to hear you saying his name with your thighs clenched against his head. He untangles his fingers and pulls your trembling legs from him, coming off you to find you up on an elbow meeting his eyes, noticing your body shaking like a leaf in the wind while he pants.

“Too many?” he asks, voice hoarse.

“Too many,” you croak, and he can see how blissed out you are.

“Need a break?”

“Please.”

“Okay.”

He feels your wetness coating the lower half of his face, drenching his beard, smelling you in the hair under his nose. Licking his lips, he tastes you, savoring it on his tongue.

Crawling up your body, you lie back, his half-hard cock pressing into your belly as his face hovers over yours.

“Sorry, baby.” He kisses you, making you moan when you taste yourself.

You break the kiss, eyes narrowing.

“No you’re not, you liar.”

He huffs out an amused breath.

“You got me. I’m gonna clean up and go grab us some water.”

He kisses you quickly, feeling you smile into his lips.

“This is why I love you,” you reply. Your gazes meet when he pulls back. “You always take care of me after making my legs turn to jelly.”

He chuckles.

“Don’t need you passin’ out from bein’ dehydrated.”

“And I love that you care. God, you’re the best. The moment I can use my limbs, I am giving you the sloppiest blow job.”

He grins.

“A deals, a deal.”

It made you laugh that Joel walked bare ass naked downstairs after cleaning up in the bathroom without a second thought.

He didn’t have much choice, being as all of his clothes are dirty, and he wasn’t going to make you move for his modesty’s sake to grab a sheet, so down he went with his dick out at half-mast.

He’d returned with two glasses of water strategically held in one of those big hands of his, the other holding a large duffle bag that Tommy had apparently dropped off in the entryway while you two were otherwise occupied.

Joel’s brother even left a sweet note inside it:

Dinners in the bag.

I’ll be by in the morning with breakfast.

For the love of god, don’t break your fucking hip. You’re pushing sixty. Stick to missionary. –T

“Asshole,” Joel scoffs, crumpling it and tossing it to the floor.

You’re sitting on the edge of the bed, the bag beside you, Joel rummaging around in it, seeing it’s stuffed with clothes for the two of you, him handing you two wrapped sandwiches, peeking inside one to see it’s steak.

The realization you’re both hungry hits when your stomachs growl almost at the same time from the smells wafting in the air, the duffle bag getting set with the rest of your gear, and Joel taking a seat next to you, eating your sandwiches in companionable silence, before downing your cups of water.

He crawls onto the bed to lay with his head on a pillow, pulling on your arm to get you to join him, resting your head on his chest, hearing the strong thuds of his heart beating.

Your fingers are drawing circles over his other pec, Joel’s arms wrapped around you, holding you close to him.

Kissing your hair, he murmurs, “I missed this.”

Tilting your head up to see his face, you ask, “Eating my pussy for—” You look over him to the alarm clock on the bedside table “—almost two hours.”

His chest rumbles under you as he laughs.

“Well, I missed that, too, but I’m talkin’ about holdin’ you.” He squeezes you. “Always fit so perfectly in my arms.” He kisses your head again.

“I missed this, too,” you reply, leaning your head up to kiss his chin. He moves so his lips meet yours, it starts off chaste, the familiar press of your lips to each other’s. Before you know it, there’s a shift, that need you have for one another taking over, and the kisses get more urgent, him pulling you on top of him to plunder his tongue into your mouth, his hands roaming over your back and ass, squeezing the plump flesh.

It’s no surprise when arousal threads in your belly, his cock hardening under your pussy.

You’re panting when he bites at your lip, moving his mouth to nibble at your jaw.

“I wanna suck your dick,” you say through heavy breaths.

“Don’t we gotta wait thirty minutes after eating?”

“That’s swimming and a myth—zero scientific evidence.” You pull his head back to look you in the eyes, his so dark barely any brown remains. “It’s my turn. May I please suck your dick?”

He audibly gulps, nodding his head.

“Yeah,” he answers. “You can suck my dick.”

You grin.

“Thank you.” You kiss him quickly on the lips, then make a path over his stubbled jaw and down his neck, sucking on the taut skin hard enough to leave a mark, Joel moaning under you.

He always loved when you marked him, proudly wearing your hickies and never hiding them, Sarah always making a face if she saw one, and Tommy giving him shit, which Joel always said was worth it for people to know he was seeing someone.

Going lower, your mouth moves over his chest leaving kisses and marks in its wake, his hips bucking when you flick your tongue over his nipple, smiling when you suck on it, and Joel makes a choked-out sound under you. His fingers dig into the bedding as you lave at his other one, nibbling on it gently.

“Fuck,” he gasps.

Looking at him through your lashes, your head coming up, you reply, “Glad that hasn’t changed.”

You continue your way down his body, scooting off of him and between his spread legs, your knees sinking into the mattress, kissing and marking his belly, scraping your nails down his chest, feeling his muscles tense beneath your lips.

“Christ,” he groans, pressing his hands to his face. “Is this payback for all my teasin’?”

“Maybe.”

His cock is resting against his stomach, leaking precum, letting him feel your hot breath along his shaft, Joel’s arms falling to his sides, rough sounds coming from his throat.

“Baby,” he growls when you shuffle back and away, making you smirk.

“Don’t enjoy getting a taste of your own medicine?” you tease.

The pillow under his head has him propped up enough that he’s got a view of you between his legs, Joel glaring daggers at you.

You laugh, giving yourself enough room to bend forward and press your cheek to his thigh.

“Don’t look at me like that,” you say. “You started it.”

“And I’m about to fuckin’ finish it,” he says seriously.

“Ooh—“ You kiss his skin “—you’re making threats.” Your head rises, eyes locked on his, smiling as sweetly as possible. “You don’t scare me,” you say, “and I know you’re gonna stay right there and let me do whatever I want to you, because even though you’re a big, gruff, scary, tough guy—that stare probably putting the fear of god into grown men—there’s something about you that’s never changed.”

“What’s that?”

“You are and will always be my good boy.”

His cock jerks, his mouth going slack, eyes closing as he moans deeply—his reaction making it feel like there’s electricity humming under your skin, a jolt of arousal shooting through your core.

No matter how different his exterior may look, you know what’s inside and what makes him tick, and that delights you to no end.

His voice is rough when he speaks, “You’re gonna be the death of me.”

You snort.

“Never,” you reply. “Now, I’m gonna make you feel good.”

He doesn’t have a chance to reply, lowering your head to pepper kisses along his inner thighs, his breaths stuttering when you suck a mark onto one, then the other.

“Shit,” he moans when you finally take him in hand, his cock velvety smooth and hard like steel in your grasp, pumping him languidly.

His hands are at his sides, eyes locked on what you’re doing, his lips parted.

Nerves are swirling in your belly like the first time you were met with this man’s big dick, trying to figure out how you’d fit it in your mouth. This time around, you know your limits and won’t overdo it and gag on him again.

He’d been very sweet at the time and honestly apologized for the size of his cock.

It was cute.

You gather spit on your tongue, letting it drip onto the tip, your mouth quickly following to engulf him, Joel harshly sucking in air, you tasting the salty tang of his arousal before opening your mouth wider to take him as far as you can, Joel moaning as your warmth envelops him.

“Your mouth feels so fuckin’ good, baby,” his strained voice says.

You’re stroking what won’t fit, hand gliding wetly from your saliva and his precum, bobbing your head, his dick sliding along your tongue to hit the back of your throat. He bucks his hips a little to chase your heat on the upstrokes, not wanting to leave your mouth, and it’s like riding a bicycle—quickly, the nerves disappear as you find your rhythm, your moans vibrating around him because this is something you loved doing—still love doing, sucking his cock always an experience.

Your eyes meet, seeing his glazed over.

“Love havin’ your lips wrapped around my dick,” he rasps. “Such a pretty fuckin’ mouth—God, I missed it.”

Swirling your tongue around the tip, hitting those sensitive spots, and using your free hand to fondle his sack makes him gasp, fuck, his hands clenching the bedding tightly in his fists.

You wonder if this is how he feels when he eats your pussy—his noises, hearing how much he enjoys what you’re doing going straight to your cunt, your inner thighs coated in slick. You love his slightly salty taste and how he fills your mouth, fitting so comfortably snug like he was made for you. But then there’s how he looks at you like you hung the moon and every twinkling star in the sky—full of reverence and devotion; it makes your heart pick up in pace, and you try harder to suck his soul out through his dick.

It’s messy, saliva and precum dripping down his length to his balls, hearing the wet slide of your hand stroking him, you humming around him. His cock glides along your palate, Joel sounding like he’s losing his mind in pleasure, praise slipping from his lips at how good you’re making him feel.

It’s a powerful feeling to have a gruff, hard, grumpy man like Joel Miller turn into a moaning, whimpering mess beneath you.

He’s practically writhing when you swallow around his dick and take him into your throat, a strangled noise leaving his mouth—your lips suctioned tight around him, sucking while your throat squeezes him.

He’s unashamed about the sounds he’s making, doing his best not to move, the muscles in his thighs and stomach tensed.

“Fuck,” Joel whines. His eyes are squeezed shut, fingers gripped tight in the comforter, sweat shining on his skin, a bead sliding down the column of his neck, and he’s so beautifully flushed all over. Tears stream from your eyes at suppressing your gag reflex, something you’re glad you still remember how to do, breathing through your nose. “You’re gonna make me come,” he pants. “Don’t wanna come yet. Please.”

It’s the last word that makes your cunt clench hard around nothing, sputtering and coming off of him with a gasp, a line of spit and precum connecting you to him.

His eyes open, Joel’s chest heaving, reaching to rub his thumb along your bottom lip.

“Still remember how I like my dick sucked,” he says. “That mouth of yours almost got me.”

Smiling, you reply, “Wouldn’t have been a bad thing.”

“If I came down your throat, it’d be a bit before I could be inside you, and I’m fuckin’ achin’ to feel your pussy squeeze me.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.” He nods. “Get up here and sit on my dick.”

“You’re so bossy.”

“You know damn well you wanna.”

Sitting up on your knees, you start moving.

“Of course I do,” you reply, straddling his hips, rocking your pussy back and forth along his hard shaft between your bodies. “But where’s the romance?” you continue, seeing him swallow hard, his hands grabbing your breasts, his thumbs circling your nipples. “Sometimes a girl wants to be wooed.” His cock is wet below you from a mixture of spit, precum, and slick, hearing your movements, seeing Joel having difficulty concentrating, moving to grip your waist. “The least you can do is ask nicely.”

“Sorry, baby.” His eyebrows are pinched together, him swallowing again, panting. “I wanna be inside you—need to be inside you. Missed you. Wanna feel you. Please, baby, will you ride me?”

A Cheshire cat grin pulls up on your lips, leaning forward, holding yourself up with a hand pressed into the mattress by his head, hovering your mouth over his to meet his lust-blown gaze.

Your voice goes husky, “Yes, I will, since you were such a good boy.” Your tongue flicks up his top lip, Joel moaning, his cock jumping under you as he digs his fingers into your skin.

His mouth crashes into yours, kissing you hard.

Your lips stay connected as you raise your hips, your other hand guiding him to your entrance, sinking down on him, moaning into each other's mouths as he fills you—that first initial stretch always taking your breath away, savoring the slight pinch of him stretching you out, his cock carving out space in your depths.

Bottoming out, you feel so full, the kissing pausing with your jaws going slack at the intensity of how fucking good it feels, breathing each other in—sharing in this moment of being joined once more, feeling that strong sense that this is where you’re meant to be, this is who you’re meant to be with, and you’re finally home.

You feel the prickle of tears in your eyes, overwhelmed by the emotions coming over you. The shower had been quick, desperate, and not a lot of time to truly feel, and now it’s all washing over you, everything hitting you at once that you feel so complete, like you found that one piece of the puzzle you were missing, and you’re finally whole.

“I love you,” Joel says, his words unsteady with emotion. You open your eyes to find him already looking at you and can see in his gaze that he’s feeling it, too, just as overcome as you are. “I love you so fuckin’ much it hurts.” He kisses you, continuing to speak into your mouth. “Thank you for findin’ me. Thank you for still lovin’ me. Thank you for wantin’ to marry me—I’m forever fuckin’ yours.”

A tear rolls down your cheek.

“I love you, too,” you murmur against his lips. “I’m yours, I’ve always been yours, I’ll always be yours. Thank you for loving me, asking me to marry you, and giving me another kid to raise. I love you, Joel Miller.”

He smiles as he kisses you, a roll of your hips making his breath stutter.

“Fuck, you feel so good,” he groans.

Your head comes up to meet his heated gaze.

“I love how you feel inside me—so fucking big.” His cock twitches inside your walls. “Fuck me like you mean it, Joel. Fuck me like I’m already your wife.”

A growl rips from his throat, his big hands grabbing onto your ass, kissing you while he starts fucking you on his cock, up and down, the slick slide of him moving in and out of you making your brain go fuzzy in pleasure.

You’re moving with him, picking up pace, rising up on your thighs, and dropping back down, spearing yourself on his dick, feeling him so deep it knocks the air from your lungs. His lips are still on yours, the kisses messy, uncoordinated, like all he cares about is feeling your mouth on his, swallowing each other's breathy sounds.

Fingers dig into the plump flesh of your backside, gasping when Joel starts thrusting up into you, stuttering your moans at how he pounds into you, him grunting, breaking the kiss to bare his teeth, a feral look on his face as he fucks into you with abandon—the beginnings of your orgasm taking shape, starting to build. The wet slap of his hips sounds in the room, mixed with the rough sounds from Joel’s throat and the softer one’s escaping your mouth, taking everything he’s giving to you, making the arousal burn brighter inside you.

There’s sweat beading on his forehead and down his neck, the muscles tense under his skin, and you're unable to stop yourself from licking a stripe up the salty column of his throat, being rewarded with a gasp.

He’s kissing you again when he loses steam, pulling you down to grind on his cock, the curls at the base of him rubbing deliciously against your clit, working you up, getting closer and closer to your release.

His mouth leaves yours, Joel suddenly groaning as he sits up in the bed, an arm around your back to bring you him, spreading his legs out in front of him, your own bracketing his waist, keeping his dick inside you while getting you comfortable in his lap.

Looping your arms around his neck, you press your fingers into the sweat-damp hair at the back of his head, looking him in the eyes.

You’re breathless when you say, “Hi, babe.”

He smirks.

“Hi, baby.”

You start rocking your hips, circling them, to try and find the best angle, your mouth falling open when his cock rubs against a spot that has your toes curling.

Joel’s arm is wrapped around you to hold you close, his other hand on your hip helping you move, kissing you passionately, deeply, one of those ones where you can feel deep down in your bones how much he loves you—chasing his mouth when he pulls back to nuzzle his nose against yours.

“Want you close,” he murmurs. “Wanna feel you come like this.”

“Okay,” you breathe, focusing on what feels good, working yourself up and down to have him pressing into that pleasurable place on every downstroke.

“That’s it, baby,” he rasps. “Fuck yourself on me—use me.”

You’re building yourself up, Joel’s mouth wandering—a nip to your chin, pressing kisses to your jaw, each corner of your lips, along your neck, his beard scratching across your skin; his hands roam—gripping your ass, sliding over your tummy and up to your breasts, pinching and teasing your hard peaks.

The nerves in your body are alight in pleasure, panting moans falling from your mouth. He ducks his head to lick your nipple, engulfing it in his hot mouth, the sensation shooting to your core, making your head fall back, “Oh, fuck, Joel,” you moan, gripping his hair. “Feels so fucking good.”

He moves to the other side, bouncing yourself on him, pushing yourself closer, feeling your muscles beginning to tighten. He snakes a hand down, pressing his thumb to your clit, making you cry out from the jolt of pleasure.

He’s close to coming.

He’s too fucking close.

Feeling you fluttering around him, making him almost lose it, so worked up from being inside you again—your warmth, the tight squeeze of your cunt hugging him like a warm blanket.

He’s trying to calm himself down, but you’ve taken over all of his senses—touching you, tasting you, seeing you, hearing you, smelling you—you’re all he can think about, and it has him feeling like he’s going to blow his load at any second, which is embarrassing. His stamina has never been this bad, can’t believe he came in three minutes flat when he fucked you in the shower, knowing he lasted much longer the very first time you had sex.

What is happening to him?

He’s never had this problem before.

Is it his age? Has it finally caught up to him?

It’s glaringly obvious what has Joel getting close to becoming a two-pump chump, and it’s you.

He’s at your mercy.

You’ve got him fucked up.

And he wouldn’t change it for the goddamn world.

He’s trying to control his breathing, his thumb circling your clit, his other hand digging into your ass to guide you up and down, knowing you’re almost there, and if he goes with you, then so be it.

Raising his head, his face is a hair’s breadth from yours, seeing your lips parted and eyes closed, moaning loudly as you chase your high, moving at your own pace, looking so fucking beautiful his heart skips a beat.

“I know you’re close, baby,” he husks. “Look at me. Lemme see you come.”

Glazed-over eyes meet his, it’s evident how good you’re feeling, and he swears his dick gets harder at the sight, the tight clutch of you squeezing him, all wet and warm.

He’s missed this—your sounds, how you feel, how you look. He wants to stay like this forever and never leave your warmth, loving how it’s consuming him, spreading through his body to the tips of his fingers to his toes.

He’ll never tire of this, how perfectly you fit together, like you were made for each other, your softness complementing his roughness, helping to smooth out his edges.

He presses harder onto your bundle of nerves, your walls tightening.

“Come for me,” he says through his teeth.

He can see it when you come—is so familiar with that look it’s imprinted in his brain, sending a spike of pleasure down his spine.

Your mouth opens in a silent cry, clamping down hard on him as you come undone, gripping him so tight, you’ve stilled. Joel’s hanging on by a thread, moaning your name, feeling your release dripping down his balls, your cunt wetter and pulsing around him.

“My good girl,” he pants, rubbing his hands over your back, feeling your soft skin.

He takes a calming breath, trying to center himself, wanting to prove to himself he can last and really fuck you like his wife.

Getting himself under control, his arm wraps around you, and the moment you relax, he’s moving, grunting as he carries you forward to get you on your back, you gasping in surprise as you bounce gently onto the mattress, the springs squeaking beneath you.

His hips slot into the cradle of your thighs, sheathed to the hilt inside you, getting your hands above your head and intertwining your fingers to hold them, keeping his weight up on his forearms as his hips start rocking, the velvety walls of your pussy hugging him tightly, sucking him into your wet heat.

He catches your lips in a heated kiss, swallowing your moans, your legs wrapping around his waist to pull him deeper, loving how you feel under him—your body soft, welcoming him, beckoning him, wanting more with every slick drag of his cock in and out of your greedy depths.

It feels like there’s fire just beneath his skin, a burning knot growing in his belly, having trouble thinking with your mouth on his and the hypnotic feeling of your cunt pulsing around him.

He’s enraptured.

The primal being in him takes over, his pace quickening, mouths detaching to press his forehead to yours as he starts railing, the slap of his hips working into you over and over, wanting to feel the tight squeeze of you coming again.

“Joel,” you say his name in a breathy moan that has his hips stuttering from the stinging pleasure that cuts through him. You’re quivering beneath him, your legs trembling around his middle. “Oh, fuck,” you gasp. “You’re gonna make me come.”

That just spurs him on, grunting as he fucks you into the mattress, your moans getting louder, your hands squeezing his. His head falls into the crook of your neck, hearing the wet suck of your pussy taking him, knowing you're close with how you’re spasming around him.

There’s no sweeter sound than you crying out his name as you come.

You clench down on him so hard, keeping him buried inside like you want him to stay there for all eternity, and Joel has half a mind to do just that.

Lifting his head, he’s breathing hard as he peppers kisses along your jaw.

“So good to me,” he says between breaths into your skin, the words coming out rough. “My good fuckin’ girl.”

You’re trying to catch your own breath, Joel rolling his hips, needing the friction for his aching cock.

You open your eyes to meet his gaze, looking all dreamy and thoroughly fucked out of your mind, making pride swell in his chest that he made you feel that good.

“It’s your turn,” you slur, making him smile, kissing your chin.

“It’s my turn?” he asks. “Don’t want another? Could probably make you squirt.”

“No more. I’ll pass out. Want you to come inside me.”

His cock jerks, thrusting a little faster in your sopping pussy.

He kisses you softly.

“You want me to fill you up?” he murmurs into your lips.

“Yes,” you breathe.

He nudges the tip of his nose to yours.

“Then I will.”

His cock is throbbing, knowing he isn’t going to last long with heat curling in his belly. He starts fucking into you, hearing your skin colliding and the slick sounds between your legs, Joel panting.

You’ve got your eyes locked on his.

“You gonna come for me?” you ask. “Fuck me full of you, baby? I wanna feel it.”

A guttural groan rumbles from his chest, feeling hot all over, his skin drenched in sweat, thrusting harder. The thought of pumping you full of him until your dripping has his breaths getting shaky and rhythm going sloppy.

“Shit,” he hisses. “Gonna come.”

His balls draw up, cock thickens, that burning knot in his stomach winding so tight until he’s shattering into a million pieces, pushing into you as far as possible, moaning as he comes.

The hot flood of his spend has you clenching up tight, sighing happily at being filled, Joel unable to stop himself from rolling his hips—this urge, a need ingrained in his brain to make sure he gets his come as deep inside you as it will go, hissing through his teeth when the sensitivity becomes too much, finally collapsing on top of you.

He lets go of your hands, his nose pressed to your neck, breathing hard, his heart pounding in his chest.

“This okay?” he mumbles, not wanting you to be uncomfortable under his weight.

“It’s perfect,” you whisper.

He’s feeling euphoric and so relaxed that he thinks his bones have turned to liquid, pretty sure he wouldn’t be able to move even if he tried.

He can’t recall the last time he allowed himself to get this fuck drunk, usually still alert when he comes, always on edge, but right now, he doesn’t have a single care in the world except for the woman under him.

You slide your hands into his wet hair, dragging your fingernails over his scalp, and it has tingles shivering down his spine, Joel practically purring—in heaven, he wants to stay like this until time stops, and the universe becomes no more, basking in your warmth for all eternity, being with you always.

He lost too much time with you, and he won’t waste anymore, planning to spend each and every day with you, not entirely sure if he could stand being parted—just the thought of being away from you making his guts churn, scared he’d lose you again, and that can’t happen, not after finally getting you back.

He’ll keep you and Ellie safe and help Tommy with whatever he needs to protect the town because this is where his family is; this is home.

He has you.

He has Ellie.

He has Tommy.

He has a job to do, needs to keep the people he cares about protected, and God help any motherfuckers who stand in his way.

“Told you my hips are fine.” His voice is muffled in your neck.

You snort, your fingers stroking through his hair.

“Nights still young, babe.”

“I’m not breakin’ a fuckin’ hip,” he grumbles.

“You better not—I don’t know what the hospital situation is here and if they’d have the supplies I’d need to fix you.”

“Have I told you that you bein’ a doctor is sexy?”

You giggle.

“Because I can treat your sex injuries?”

“Yeah.”

“Again, I don’t know what’s here, so please don’t overdo it—Tommy would never let you live it down.”

He frowns.

He’s done more strenuous things like killing infected and running from hoards; he can handle a night or two of pure fucking—it’ll be a breeze in comparison.

You yawn, which has him yawning, too, exhaustion seeping into his bones.

“Tommy’s an asshole,” he replies. “Wanna take a nap?”

“Absolutely. I’m too old for all-night marathon sex.”

“Stop that. We just gotta take a break and rest. Drink some water, too—we still gotta do your favorite.”

“What’s my favorite?”

“Face down, ass up.”

“God,” you moan.

“It’s Joel, but I’m flattered.”

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